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pedroscurls · 10 months ago

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training partners

summary: you hire a new personal trainer to get you back on track, but you don't realize that she's also hugh jackman's trainer until you show up to the gym. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), reader has some description (hair, outfit), sexual tension (lingering gazes, teasing / complimentary banter, soft touches - come on, hugh jackman will be spotting you), no use of y/n. word count: 5.7k a/n: ok, so this is my first real person fanfic in a very long time. i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman and this is purely fictional (all in my delulu mind). next part.

That night, your trainer sent you a text to let you know that your next session tomorrow morning with her would include another person. You didn’t mind, though, you had been training with her for over three months now and she had gotten you back on track. Not only with your physical health, but you were back on track to loving yourself and putting yourself first.

Your boyfriend of three years had broken up with you before you hired your personal trainer. Throughout that relationship, you had let yourself go. You prioritized him in ways that you never planned to and the feelings were never reciprocated. You always put more into the relationship than he did. You were heartbroken though and still recovering from losing him, but you had come to realize that him breaking up with you was a blessing in disguise. You weren’t happy. You knew that you had fallen out of love with him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself up to be the one to end the relationship.

And now, meeting your personal trainer three times a week has been something you looked forward to. She always pushed you past your limits, very well aware of your potential, and she always made sure to hold you accountable – with your workouts, with your diet, but most importantly, with your self-talk. She had truly become someone you can rely on and as the months passed, she became a close friend.

You read the text she sends you: Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but someone is gonna join us tomorrow. I’ve been training him for years and we’ve had trouble finding a good day and time for him to train with me. It’s possible that this will become more permanent since he’s so busy. I hope that’s okay!

After all that she’s helped you through, you knew you couldn’t complain. Besides, you wouldn’t mind her attention being elsewhere. You knew she would still be there to help you. So, you send a reply: That’s fine with me! It’ll give me a bit of a break if your attention is on him, instead of me.

She replies quickly: You’re not gonna be slacking off, if that’s what you’re getting at.

You laugh to yourself and then send her a wink emoji followed by another message: Of course not! I’ll see you tomorrow.

—

The following morning, you pull up to the gym and climb out of your car. There are two other cars in the parking lot – you know one belongs to your trainer, but the other, you aren’t sure whose it is. Climbing out, you grab your duffle bag and water bottle before making your way inside. You’ve always dressed in an oversized hoodie and spandex shorts when going to the gym and today is no different. You’re wearing a faded black oversized hoodie with black spandex shorts and gym shoes with white socks. Your hair is in a single dutch braid, but is covered when you put the hood over your head and your headphones draped around your neck.

Once inside the gym, you notice your trainer setting up but you look around and don’t notice anyone else there. Huh, you think to yourself. Maybe it’ll just be me after all.

You walk over to her and greet her with a hug, setting your duffle bag and water bottle in the corner. “I thought you said there’d be someone else today and it looks like there’s another car outside, but I just see you.”

“Oh, he’s in the bathroom.” she chuckles and then points in the direction of the mats to signal for you to start stretching. “Go ahead and stretch. We’re gonna be doing a full body workout and we’ll start with a cardio warmup.”

“Yes, coach,” you salute, causing you both to let out a laugh.

You begin stretching, putting on your headphones over the hood and letting the music play in your ears. Surprisingly enough, you’re playing the soundtrack from The Greatest Showman and it pumps you up, gets you ready for what you expect to be a grueling workout. You’re on all fours, doing the cat-and-cow stretch for several seconds before you see a pair of feet in your peripheral.

You turn your head completely and look up at the man who decides to begin stretching next to you, flashing you a smile that immediately makes your stomach do flips. He’s wearing a black tank top with black shorts and he’s saying something, but you can’t hear him. You can’t even speak, but then he points to your headphones and you blush instantly. Of course you couldn’t hear him, you’re blaring From Now On and you’re sure that he can hear it from his end with how loud your music is. You remove your headphones, letting it rest around your neck and pausing the song.

“You know, listening to music that loud can hurt your eardrums, I hear.” He speaks and you melt instantly, his Australian accent thick.

“Gets me ready for a workout.”

“What does? The song or how loud you’re listening to it?” He winks.

“So, you heard what song was playing.”

“I did. What can I say?” He smiles. “It’s a good song.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “You’re literally Hugh Jackman and I’m trying not to freak out over here, but I don’t think I’m doing a great job.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle and then reaches out a hand for you to take. You realize that you’re still on all fours, staring at the man who you’ve had a crush on since he became the Wolverine. Quickly, you move to sit properly, not really wanting to introduce yourself in a position that can be taken as very inappropriate.

“Well, I’m Hugh,” he winks, his Australian accent coming through thickly.

You reach for his hand and gently shake it, looking down at it. His hand is so much larger compared to yours. You introduce yourself and tell him your name before dropping his hand, biting your lower lip as you look around to see your trainer look through her notebook.

“Nice to meet you,” you finally say. “I’m sorry if I’m crashing your session.”

“I think I should be the one that’s sorry,” he says. “This is only the day and time that works for me right now and she’s the best of the best,” Hugh continues, pointing in the direction of our personal trainer. “She’s helping me get back into shape for the Wolverine.”

“Oh, so you are coming back?”

Hugh chuckles and lowers his eyes to the mat before he looks back at you. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that, but yeah. I’m comin’ back.”

“Well good,” you reply, standing up after you’ve finished stretching. You look down at him and let your eyes rake in his body. It’s one thing to see him in pictures, but it’s another to see him in person, this close. “I always did like the Wolverine. One of my favorites, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, his eyes lowering to your exposed legs and back up to your eyes.

You can feel the tension thicken in the air between you as you both stare at each other. Your eyes can’t help but rake over his arms, the veins along his biceps, his chest flexing with each movement. You clear your throat and nod, biting your lower lip. “Definitely. Guess I got a thing for older men.” You don’t give him a chance to respond before you walk away and leave him to continue his stretching, but you do feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

You approach your trainer and look at her with wide eyes. “Um, you should have told me you’re Hugh Jackman’s trainer!”

She laughs and looks over your shoulder at him who’s still staring at you. “If I did, would you have come?”

“No, probably not. I’d be too scared. I won’t be able to keep up with him. I mean, have you seen him? He’s jacked!”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You can keep up with him,” she reassures. “Trust me.”

“Well, what if I can’t? I’m gonna make a complete fool out of myself and–”

“Stop.” She interrupts and points at you. “You’re spiraling and you don’t need to. You’re not here to compete with him. You’re both here to work out and who knows, maybe having him here will push you extra hard.”

“You already push me extra hard,” you say. “I leave completely drenched after every workout I have with you.”

“You don’t have to impress anyone. He’s here to workout. You’re here to workout. Remember why you started,” she replies. “And remember how far you’ve come.”

“You’re right,” you nod. “You’re right. He’s just so…” you sigh dreamily and then look over your shoulder to see him stand up and begin making his way over to you both. “Hot.”

She laughs, “Well, I hear he’s single.”

“Oh my god, he would never go for me! I mean, he’s completely famous and I’m just… Me.”

“There’s that negative self-talk again,” she tsks. “I’m gonna have to put you through a really tough ass workout to make you think of yourself differently.”

“Okay, okay,” you tease. “I’m amazing. I’m perfect. I’m–”

“Beautiful,” Hugh interrupts and winks in your direction. “Sorry, should I have not chimed in there?”

Your cheeks begin to heat up and the pit of your stomach feels like butterflies are swarming in there. He’s staring at you with a grin on his face and it makes you look away shyly.

“Okay, lovebirds. Can we get this workout started?” Your trainer interrupts, laughing quietly.

“Um, yeah. Let’s, um, yeah, let’s workout.” You walk over to the stairmaster and climb on it before you see Hugh do the same next to you. You look over your shoulder to see your trainer walk towards the speakers to play the music to get you both ready, but she knows that you like to listen to your own music when warming up.

This gives Hugh enough time to gently lean over and tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. You look up at him with big, hopeful eyes and he’s staring back directly into yours.

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line there,” he says genuinely. “I just–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, smiling up at him. “If we’re giving each other compliments, then I think you’re hot.”

Hugh looks down and lets out a quiet chuckle. “Even for an old man?”

“Oh, you’d be hot if you were my age too. But I like that you’re older. Gives you bit of an edge.”

“An edge, huh?”

“Well, I have always had a crush on you, so…”

Hugh smirks and he’s about to say something before your trainer speaks up to begin your warmup for fifteen minutes. You then nod in his direction before putting the headphones back on and starting the machine. You’ve always put your all into each workout and you have to tell yourself that you shouldn’t act any differently because the Hugh Jackman is working out with you. You had been so nervous and anxious to be working out alongside Hugh that you didn’t realize just how far you had come, just like your trainer mentioned earlier. For years, you had put someone else before you, put their needs before your own, and for once since then, you feel like you have control over your life again.

And for once, you knew what you wanted and you were going to go after it.

—

Fifteen minutes later, you and Hugh both stop the machine and climb off of it. You remove your headphones and take off your hood, already drenched in sweat. You look in Hugh’s direction and notice the sweat slicking off his frame as well, his tank top stained with sweat. You clear your throat and walk over to your duffle bag, setting your headphones inside and grabbing your small towel to wipe the sweat from your brows and temples. You know you’re going to end up removing your hoodie soon, but you feel a bit self-conscious and wish you should have worn a t-shirt because once you remove your hoodie, you’ll be dressed in just a sports bra and spandex.

You then realize that Hugh’s bag is right next to yours and see him grab his own bottle of water and towel to cool himself down before the start of your workout.

“Aren’t you hot in that hoodie?” Hugh asks.

“I like to get a good sweat in,” you blurt out. You clear your throat, not believing that you just said that. “I mean, I just–”

Hugh smiles. “No, no. I understand. It’s like your own personal sauna.”

“Sure, kinda.” You gnaw at your lower lip before you stand upright, holding onto your bottle of water. “I mean, eventually, this is gonna come off because she makes me work,” you laugh, referring to your personal trainer. “But I like to keep my body and muscles warm.”

“Ah, so I will get to see what you got hiding underneath there,” he grins. “I mean, your legs look great. I’m eager to see what else you got.”

Your cheeks heat up once more. “Oh, I wouldn’t be too excited. I don’t have arms like yours.”

Hugh chuckles and looks down at his own arms, flexing them in front of you and you feel the heat rush immediately between your legs. God, he’s just so muscular and chiseled and–

“I’d be impressed if you did,” Hugh winks. “Now come on. If we keep her waiting, she’s just gonna make us pay for it,” he continues, pointing to your trainer before he reaches down to take your hand.

“Ah yeah, that’s a good point. Thanks,” you say, taking his hand as he hoists you up to your feet. You stumble a bit and fall into him, your hands immediately reaching out to brace yourself on his chest. You clear your throat, feeling the hardened muscles underneath your fingertips. His hands fly to your waist to keep you steady and you’re extremely aware of how close you two are.

“Oh, be careful,” he whispers quietly, looking down at you. “Would hate for you to get injured.”

“Good thing I’ve got a big, strong man to brace my fall.”

Hugh chuckles and then releases his hold on you, making you do the same as you both take a step back to create some distance between the both of you. “You’re good for my ego. I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna have to get your number later so that I can be around you all the time.”

“Are you asking me for my number? The Hugh Jackman?”

Hugh laughs. “Would that be alright?”

“I guess we’ll see after today’s training session.” You smile in his direction, feeling more and more confident as the minutes pass. You walk away from him and make your way to your trainer who has two sets of dumbbells next to each other. One set is obviously heavier than the other and you know it’s for Hugh.

“We’re gonna start off with some bicep curls, supersetting it with bent over rows.” Your trainer begins, continuing to list off the rest of what the workout will consist of. You know that you’ve gotten stronger than when you first started and you try not to focus so much on the man next to you and focus solely on improving than the last time you had trained.

“After this superset, we’re gonna then move onto a barbell bench press and we’ll also superset it with push-ups.”

Your trainer continues to speak and you look in the mirror to find that Hugh’s staring at you too. You smile to yourself and then turn your attention to your trainer. She mentions that you will also both be doing squats with a superset of pull-ups. Once she finishes, you watch her make her way to the speaker to turn it up louder.

Throughout the first exercise, you remain focused on your form, inhaling and exhaling when needed. You feel the burn in your biceps when curling the dumbbells and the burn in your back muscles when doing the bent over rows. You’re dripping in sweat and by the time the first superset is finished, you finally lift the ends of your hoodie over your head. You walk over to your things to drop the hoodie into your duffle bag, grabbing your towel to once again wipe away the sweat.

Now dressed only in black spandex shorts and a black sports bra, you look up to see Hugh’s eyes taking in your newly exposed frame. He tries to be subtle with where he’s looking, but when your eyes meet his, a shy smile lines his lips. He mouths sorry and then turns away to walk over to the bench where your trainer is setting up.

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Your trainer asks.

You speak up instantly. “I’ll go first.”

Your trainer smiles. She always loved your eagerness. “Perfect. We’ll warm up with the bar, both of you.” She points to the bench and you nod, brushing past Hugh to lie back on the bench. You arch your back on the bench and reach up to grip onto the barbell above you.

“This should be easy for you,” your trainer says. “Aim for 15, but slow and controlled.”

You nod and unrack the bar before dropping it low to your chest before pressing it back up above you. You focus on your breathing and form as you continue the movements for 15 reps. Once you’re done, you re-rack the barbell and then sit up, looking up at Hugh who’s staring down at you with an impressed look on his face.

“Same thing for you, Hugh.”

Hugh makes the barbell look like it weighs close to nothing, yet he still controls his movements. You can’t help but watch his muscles flex as he presses the bar for the required amount of reps. It does something to you, seeing him like this, focused and completely in his element. You bite your lower lip and then see him stand up from the bench. He walks away for a moment to retrieve his towel and bottle of water, which gives you enough time to add weight to each side of the barbell.

This continues for four sets until the last set, your trainer adds 15 pounds to each side, totaling 75 pounds for you to press. You look over at her with wide eyes. “You think I’m able to do 75 pounds?” you ask genuinely.

“Oh yeah, it’s gonna be easy for you.”

“But what if–”

She interrupts. “Self-talk,” she says simply. “You can do it. Aim for 3 reps. That’s all.”

Then, Hugh gently nudges you with his shoulder. “You can do it,” he comments, adding your name at the end of his sentence. “And if you want, I can spot you.”

The trainer nods, “That’d be great, Hugh.” Hugh then moves to stand at the top of your head and watches you lie back on the bench. You look up, biting your lower lip at how close his lower half is to you and while you should be focused on bench pressing your personal best, you can’t help but your mind drifting to him.

“You ready, love?” Hugh asks, the term of endearment slipping past his lips.

You nod and then place your hands on the bar to unrack before you let it drop slowly to tap your chest before you push it above you with difficulty. It’s heavier than you’ve ever bench pressed before, but having Hugh hover nearby gives you the confidence and strength to do this.

“Great job, that’s one.” Your trainer says and then you continue for the next two reps without any issue. “Go for five,” she adds.

At the last rep, you struggle, but Hugh’s there to help you push the bar above your chest and then re-rack it. You sit up and grin, sweat dripping from your temples as you stand up.

“I did it. Oh my god, I did it.” You say with a grin, practically jumping up and down with pride and you quickly move over to hug Hugh, not realizing what you’re doing. Once you do though, you pull back immediately and the heat in your cheeks begin to rise. “Sorry. I just got excited and–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hugh smiles, his hand moving to rest on your lower back. “You did great. It’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

“Alright, Hugh. You’re up.” Your trainer says with a smile and his hand slowly drops from your back to then add more weight to the bar.

You move to the mats to do push-ups, but you can’t help but be distracted by Hugh. There is at least one 45 pound plate on each side of the bar and he’s pressing it so easily. His muscles are flexing and you can hear him grunting and it makes you squeeze your legs, clenching around nothing. It’s when he stands up from the bench that he makes eye contact with you and flashes you a wink.

Oh god, you think to yourself. He definitely knows what you were just doing.

Throughout the rest of the workout, you and Hugh train without issue. You find that you train really well together, pushing each other to the limit, but also very considerate once you’ve each hit that limit. When it came time to squats though, you find that Hugh’s eyes are glued onto you with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes take in your frame, lingering on your legs and definitely your backside. You pride yourself in the strength you have with squats, being able to add a 45 and a 25 lb plate to each side, totaling 185.

“Oh, you can do way more than 185,” Hugh says with a chuckle. “That’s way too easy for you.”

“That’s exactly what I said last week,” your trainer laughs. “I think you can at least add another ten pounds each side.”

“That’d be 205 total,” you say hesitantly. “I don’t know…”

“Come on. Let’s add ten each side.” Hugh says, grabbing two ten pound plates and handing one to your trainer. He slides one on one side of the bar while your trainer does the other side. He motions for you to get in position and then steps behind you. “I got you. I’ll spot you again.”

“But–”

“Self-talk,” your trainer calls out.

“Fine.” You get underneath the barbell and place it between your shoulder blades as your hands come up to grip the bar. You take a deep breath, looking in front of you in the mirror and seeing Hugh nod reassuringly. “If I’m not able to squat this–”

“You got this,” Hugh interrupts. “It’s all in the mind, love. You gotta believe you can do it.”

Love. The term of endearment actually motivates you and you take a deep breath before unracking the bar and taking three steps backwards. The bar rests heavily between your shoulders as you squeeze your shoulder blades tight and then you take a deep breath and slowly lower yourself to a squat. Hugh squats with you, arms stretched outwards underneath your own and then stands up once you do. He sees you struggle a bit, but then he watches as you push through your heels until you stand back upright.

“See, easy,” he whispers into your ear.

“You’re distracting me,” you call over your shoulder.

Hugh chuckles and then lets you continue your set of reps. He’s in awe of you. There’s not a lot of people that can keep up with him or his trainer, but he finds your dedication and eagerness to push yourself incredibly attractive. He finds you incredibly attractive. He isn’t paying attention until you re-reack the bar and accidentally bump into him, your backside fully pressed against his front.

Your trainer wasn’t in the room at the moment, having had to leave to go to the bathroom, so luckily, she wasn’t here to witness the tension that begins to thicken in the air again. Hugh’s hand darts out to rest on your hip, realizing that you were not stepping away from him.

“You’re impressive,” Hugh whispers, hand tightening on your hip. He feels you push back against him and he growls lowly into your ear. “You keep that up, love and–”

“Hugh,” you whisper, slowly turning around to look up at him. Your hands move to his chest, feeling him flex underneath your fingertips. His other hand comes up to rest on your other hip, pulling you flush against him as the front of your bodies press against one another. “We’re all sweaty,” you point out.

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“I think I like having you as my training partner,” you say quietly.

“Training partner, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“So, about my number…” you begin, biting your lower lip.

“Yeah?”

You really want it?”

Hugh nods. “Yeah, I really want it.”

You can’t help but notice the true meaning behind both of your words and you’re about to lean in when you hear the sound of a door opening. Quickly, you pull back from Hugh and look up at him. He’s smiling in your direction and then moves away to remove the weight off the bar.

“Let’s finish this session and then we can talk.”

—

After two hours, you and Hugh finally finish the training session with your trainer. You’re lying on your back on the mats, trying to cool down and catch your breath before your trainer gently nudges your foot. You sit up and then stand on your feet.

“Are you okay with Hugh joining us more regularly? You two are good partners.” she says, arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. That was a really good workout,” you point out.

“Good workout because he was here or because–”

“Because of you!” you interrupt with a chuckle. “And it helps that he’s here too.”

She laughs. “You did really well today. I know you got in your head a few times there, but you showed up for yourself. How do you feel?”

You shrug. “I’m a work in progress, but today was a good day. I’d consider it a win.”

“Good,” she replies. “I’m proud of you. It’s not easy, but you’re putting yourself first and that’s a huge improvement from when we first met.”

“I’m trying,” you say. “Taking it day by day, but I’m feeling good about myself. I feel like I finally have control again.”

“Well, you deserve all the good things in this world. You just gotta believe that too. I’ll see you next week.” Your trainer walks away to start cleaning up and she waves at Hugh who’s walking towards you now.

He leans down to grab his bag and drapes it over his shoulder as he looks down at you. “So, I think we’re training partners now.”

“I heard,” you smile. “Will that be okay? I know you have extreme training to do to become Wolverine again, but–”

“Of course it will be okay. Seeing you push yourself out of your comfort zone helps push me out of mine. This will be a good thing. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’ve done a lot of trusting you today,” you tease, grabbing your bag and slinging it across your body. You both wave at your personal trainer before leaving the gym and walking outside to your cars.

“And I haven’t failed yet, have I?” he asks, walking alongside you to your car.

“No. No, you haven’t.”

“Good,” Hugh smiles. “I don’t plan to.” He watches you place your duffle bag into your trunk and then before he could speak, you reach your hand out, palm facing upwards. “What?”

“Phone please, sir.”

Hugh’s eyes narrow down at you. Sir. He wants to push you against your car and just devour you, but he has to refrain himself. He reaches for his phone and then hands it to you, watching as you type away. Once you return it back to him, he looks down at his phone and lets out a soft chuckle. He sees your number, but then he notices the name that you entered.

Training partner 💪

“Oh, very clever,” he smiles.

“Maybe if I get as muscular as you, we’ll upgrade that to swole-mate.”

Hugh laughs, his nose wrinkling as the sound of his laughter comes deep from within. It makes you smile that you’re able to make him laugh. You had put him on a pedestal for being a famous actor, but after spending just a few hours with him today, he’s so much more normal than you thought.

“Swole-mate, huh?” Hugh says after his laughter slowly dies down. “Is that a play on word for soulmate?”

“Maybe,” you chuckle. “It’s dorky, I know. I was just kidding.”

“No, I like it. You don’t have to be muscular to be my swole-mate. So, I’m just gonna go ahead and change that.” He then types away on his phone and then turns it in your direction.

You smile to yourself and see the new name that’s now attached to your number.

Swole-mate 💪

“Perfect,” you say with a smile.

“I think so.” Hugh responds, staring deeply into your eyes. “So, I guess I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes, you will. Thank you for spotting me today… And pushing me.”

“Happy to do it.” Hugh winks. “Get home safe.”

“You too, Hugh.”

—

Later that night, you stare at your phone and realize that while you had given your number to Hugh, he hadn’t given you his. You try to reflect on today’s events, but your mind keeps drifting to Hugh. There was certainly something there between the both of you, something unspoken. You convince yourself that the attraction is mutual – after all, you couldn’t help but think back to that moment at the squat rack. You felt every inch of him when you pressed back into him and his hands on your hips–

You sigh, trying to shake the thoughts out of your mind. There was no way that someone like Hugh Jackman would be interested in someone like you. He’s famous and he could have any woman he wanted and you… Well, you were just normal.

Your mind continues to drift, but you feel your phone vibrate. It takes you out of your thoughts and you look down to see an unsaved number. Opening the message, a smile begins to line your lips and your heart begins to flutter with emotions you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

UNKNOWN: Hello, swole-mate.

You don’t even need to ask who it is because before you can even respond, another message pops up.

UNKNOWN: It’s Hugh, by the way.

You lie back on your bed, phone in your hand as you stare up at it with a goofy grin on your face. It feels like you’re a teenager all over again talking to your crush. You then add his number to your contacts list and add the same name that he has on his.

YOU: Hello, Hugh.

Then, after a few seconds, your phone begins to ring. You answer it without hesitation and hear his voice on the other end of the line. It sounds so much deeper and his accent is thicker as he begins to talk.

“I had to make sure you gave me your actual number,” Hugh chuckles.

“Why would I give you a fake number? When Hugh Jackman asks for your number, you gotta give the right one.”

He laughs. “You know, I’m a normal person too.”

You smile to yourself. “You’re the Wolverine, Hugh. I think saying you’re normal isn’t doing you justice.”

“What would you call me then?” He asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Hot, maybe?” Hugh teases.

“Okay, okay. That got to your head, didn’t it?”

You can hear Hugh laugh all day if you could. It’s so infectious and it makes you giggle too. “Maybe. Just surprised that someone like you thinks an old man like me is hot.”

“Here we go with the old man thing again,” you giggle. “Have you seen yourself, Hugh? You don’t strike me as old.”

“Oh, well my bones and joints will disagree with you, love.”

Love. There it is again and your stomach feels like it’s doing flips.

“You know, you are very distracting, Hugh.”

“Yeah? Am I distracting you right now?”

“Maybe…”

Hugh chuckles and then responds, “You’re very distracting too.”

“And we’re training partners,” you say with a quiet laugh.

“Actually, we’re swole-mates.”

You can’t help but laugh as you turn onto your tummy and bury your face into your pillow. Your cheeks are heating up as you hear Hugh’s voice on the other end.

“What’s so funny?”

“Can’t believe I got you to say swole-mates.”

Hugh chuckles. “Listen, um…” You can hear him breathing on the other end and it seems like he’s hesitating. Nervous. Anxious, maybe.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to come by my place and have lunch after our workout next week?” He finally asks.

You bite your lower lip and without hesitation, you reply. “That’d be great. Are you gonna cook for me, Hugh?”

Hugh lets out a breath of relief and then chuckles. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“Oh, then I’d love to have lunch with you.”

“I’ll pick you up and we can ride together to the gym?” He asks.

“That sounds great, Hugh.” You can’t help but imagine all of the different things that could happen and you can just feel Hugh’s hands on your hips, his length pressed against you as it was earlier. You need it. You need him. You weren’t the type of person to indulge in casual relationships, but after your last and most recent failed relationship, it’s time you prioritize yourself (and that includes your needs and desires).

“Alright then, love. We should call it a night.”

“Okay, Hugh. I’ll text you my address.”

“Perfect. Good night,” he says softly.

“Good night, Hugh.”

You hang up the phone and then look up at the ceiling once you roll onto your back. You have one week until you see him next and you’re sure that something will happen and it excites you. Hugh excites you.

Before you go to bed that night, you send a text to Hugh with your address. Within a few seconds, he replies.

HUGH: Great. Can’t wait to see you next week. Good night, love.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x f!reader #hugh jackman x fem!reader #real person fiction #real person fanfiction #real person fanfic #story: training partners

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mopslusher · 2 months ago

Text

SORE LOSER

NSFW

Hamzah was raging. Seething. How could he lose the fight? How? After all the hours of human labour he did to get to this point, torture almost, just to get here and lose. No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right and he had to do something about it while the adrenaline was still pumping through him. Or maybe it was pure anger that began to consume him, pure anger that he tried his hardest to cloak as the camera curled around him, capturing every angle of the rage that began to bubble beneath his seemingly calm surface , his tongue poking his cheek as he tried to keep himself in check.

You could see right through his act as you sat pretty in the crowd, watching his eyes darken as they announced the true winner, seeing the disappointment transform into rage right before you, his eyes clouding with a dangerous glint, there were no signs of acceptance of his loss. You could tell all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as possible the way he began to fidget, he was getting frustrated.

He was determined to win something, anything. He didn’t care what it was. He wasn’t resting his head on his pillow that night with only a loss hung over his head, he didn’t want the loss to linger, to play on his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t live with that. No. He needed to win something and he needed to win it today. That’s what you were here for, his eyes zeroing in on you sitting in the crowd, tuning everything else around him out. You knew that look all too well, his stare was heavy, piercing. Words didn’t even need to be exchanged for you to understand.

It’s why you were patiently waiting in the back of your own car, you had promised to drive Hamzah home after the fight. He had texted you “meet me in the car in 10”, after his essentials had been checked after the fight, and from that alone you began to say your goodbyes to everyone, giving some lame excuse as to why you were leaving so early. You sighed, staring out the tinted window. It wasn’t a sigh of annoyance that he was taking longer than 10 minutes, no. It was a sigh of realisation that your shit was about to get completely wrecked by this man as he approached you, walking with purpose, intent, you swore you could hear his heavy footsteps from inside the car.

Your heart sped up at the sound of him pulling at the handle, a small part of you hoping he would walk back into the venue and take his anger out on someone else, the other part mostly exited to be treated like a ragdoll. Oh well, the door was open now. For the first few seconds all he did was stare down at you in complete silence, his eyes slowly and shamelessly running over your outfit. It was wild how fast your hands became clammy and damp, your cheeks burning up as you shifted under the weight of his gaze. My god he made you so nervous.

You gulped. “So…how are you feeling?” It was all you could think of at the moment, your lips thinning in an awkward smile. He scoffed, kicking at the ground a smirk on his face.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the fight” his voice was rough, deep. He enunciated every single word. You could feel the vibrations of his voice in your pussy. His movements were slow and calculated as he ducked his head to enter the car, forcing you to back up and lay across the backseats his eyes never leaving yours as you leaned up on your elbows.

The car shook when he closed the door behind him before he moved his thick beefy arms to either side of your head as he knelt over you, his eyes clouded with darkness, an incredible juxtaposition from his usual soft gaze whenever he looked at you. But he didn’t want to look at you really. Not tonight anyway. He needed something to pound and destroy, missionary just wasn’t fitting enough. He kneeled up, flipping you over without a word, not even a kiss.

The way he manhandled you only made your panties soak even more, his hands roughly pulling down your leggings and panties in one motion, a wide smirk spreading across his face at the sight of your plump bare ass before him. All you could hear was the hefty rhythm of your own heartbeat ringing through your ears , trying to psyche yourself up before he ruined you before the sound of him unzipping his pants caught your attention. You gulped louder than intended.

“You ready baby?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I need to hear you say it” he practically growled, he was already getting impatient, he had you ripe and ready right in front of him and he was horny and angry. And a sore loser who just lost a boxing match. You were an outlet right now and he was about to reach his limit for how much he could bottle inside.

“Yes, yes im ready” you answered. But were you? Were you really? By the looks and sound of it you weren’t. Definitely didn’t seem like it when you practically squealed when he pushed his fat tip into your tight hole, your toes curling from the stinging pain. It didn’t hurt for long, it never did as the rest of his thick dick entered your wet creamy pussy, your eyes rolling into your head.

He didn’t have any mercy tonight. None at all. The way he fucked into you, grunting loudly with one hand firmly wrapped around your neck, the other gripping tightly onto your ass that already had a pink hand mark printed onto it, he was taking it all out on you. And you loved it, you loved getting slutted out like this in your own car, mouth open and strings of shameless moans dropping from it, your eyes squeezed shut as your sensitive cunt got continuously pummelled, juices dripping onto your car seats but neither of you cared for now.

Trust he already had you quivering and twitching beneath him in the first twenty minutes , but he wasn’t done yet. And if he wasn’t done then neither were you, no room for arguments on that the way he gripped your hair, firmly pulling it back as he leaned forward so your lips could meet in a sloppy kiss as his dick twitched inside your warm walls, filling you up with the warm substance for the third time now, you could feel him smile through the kiss. This was his happy place, and you loved making him happy.

Windows foggy, seats sticky and car shaking, your soft ass recoiling off his pelvis with every thrust giving him the round of applause he wanted but didn’t get from the crowd he had just left. You were clapping for him and only for him. This was the win he wanted. This was the only win he needed, to be able to fuck his beautiful girlfriend like this was better than a lot of things, and it definitely meant more to him than winning a boxing match, and he knew that now.

From completely seething to content, he was happy now. After cleaning you up and peppering your sore body with sweet kisses, he somehow manoeuvred your sleeping body into the passenger seat, driving your car home with you completely knocked out, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he glanced over to admire your sleeping form. 1-0 to Hamzah.

#hamzah fic #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzah the fantastic #hamzah #hamzah imagines #hamzahthefantastic #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x black reader #hamzahthefantastic smut #hamzah smut #hamzah fluff #hamzahsmut #martin and hamzah #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah angst #smut

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chrissv4mp · 8 months ago

Note

Hiii so I thought of something that could maybe be good and thought I’d send a request for it. I was thinking something about what happens after the chicken shop date and how Amelia goes on her other date after and Billie is super jealous but the date sucks so she ends up texting Billie the whole time and Billie is still mad but Amelia begs her for another chance and talks her into meeting up after because she realizes she should have just stuck with Billie instead of going on another date and then they hook up. You could make it the reader instead of Amelia if you want I just love the storyline and how flirty and hot Billie was in that interview. For the sex I’d like dom Billie/strap/choking/orgasm denial/squirting if possible but just do your thing hahaha thank youuuh😘

𝜗𝜚 SHE CAN'T COMPARE

WARNINGS: SMUT, sorta angst(?), strap-on sex, choking, orgasm denial, degradation, squirting, dom/sub dynamics, meandom!billie, brattysub!reader.

NOTES: okay woah guys i actually finished this quite fast..

WORDS: 6.2k

SUMMARY: During your "date" with Billie, you accidently let it slip that you have another date after this. However, you can't get the argument out of your head, leading you right back to Billie.

TAGS: @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @cannibalsclass @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @meliciousmel13 @zayluvss @hrtsdollie

BILLIE EILISH × F!READER

"I'm actually going on a date after this." You blurt with a smile on your face as you take a sip of your drink. When you see Billie's face drop, you almost choke on the liquid, "Sorry."

Billie just crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair as she stares at you with those intimidating eyes of hers, "What the hell?" She chuckles, glancing at the camera. She didn't look irritated, but you knew damn well that she was.

With all the playful flirting behind the scenes and the soft, quick touches, it wasn't hard to miss that she had at least some interest in you. And it wasn't weird because you've been friends for quite some time before you finally had the courage to ask her to be on the show.

For a few moments, all that consumed the room was silence. Tense silence, to be exact. Billie's gaze spoke to you like nobody's ever did, and somehow, you knew exactly how she was feeling. You bite your lip nervously, eyes moving away from hers as it becomes too much.

"That—it—I didn't mean to say that." You stutter awkwardly, a coy smile on your face for the camera. The whole crew was still here, and you really hoped they didn't notice what was going on between the two of you, "Just a thought I didn't mean to blurt out."

Billie nods her head, "Well, you sure did." She scoffs, sounding more as a laugh to distract the camera crew and the people who would see this when it came out. She tilted her head as you took another sip of your drink to wash away the dryness of your throat.

"Right—shit—Sorry?" You mutter in an apologetic tone, leaning back in your chair to make a little more distance between your bodies. The table didn't even seem to create distance at this point. Her eyes were trained on yours, but yours were nervously tracing the pattern on the tablecloth.

Billie rolls her eyes playfully at your response, fixing her posture and sitting up straight, "So—You're goin' on an actual date after this?" She asks, both literally and just for the cameras. More literally, but nobody has to know.

"No—Billie, it's—This is a real date." You smile, trying to lighten the mood as you giggle softly at her jealousy. She was intimidating, but God, was she childish when she got like this, "I meant like a friend... date. With my girlfriends." You mutter, watching as an amused smile comes to Billie's face.

"Oh, so now you have girlfriends?" She scoffs, tone playful, shaking her head softly as she licks her lips. She adjusts her hat, muttering something too quiet for the microphone to pick up as she reaches for a fry.

You just stay silent, thinking of anything you could say that would change the topic. She was only teasing you now, clearly, "I'm actually just going home right after this. Maybe with you, even." You smile, watching as Billie raises an eyebrow at your harmless flirting.

"But you don't wanna stand up the lucky girl, do ya?" Billie questions, seemingly a joke to the camera, but hitting you very hard in reality. She shifts in her seat again, eyes dragging along your body and silently praying that it wouldn't be caught on camera.

You shake your head as you hopelessly stutter your reply, "I—no—there's no date after this. It was a joke." You play it off terribly, mentally cursing yourself for even blurting the stupid words in the first place, "Y'know, you're really hitting me hard and soft with these replies."

Billie's lips part at your word play on her new album, nodding her head as she chuckles, "Well, maybe next time, don't bring up your other date." She teases. When you glance into her eyes, you can tell exactly what she's thinking. And it's anything but sweet.

"Billie, there's no—I don't have a date, forget I even said that!" You shush, rolling your eyes at her as you take the last sip of your drink. Billie just shrugs nonchalantly, hiding her true emotions as she bites her lip, "Okay."

The camera equipment is slowly getting put away and hauled into the back of some moving van. But, you and Billie are still sitting at the same table you were in the interview. It was getting dark, and you did, in fact, have a real date that you had to be at soon.

Billie stays quiet, finishing up her food and stealing glances at you every now and then. Her thoughts are all over the place, jealousy pumping through her veins as the hand in her lap grips her jeans roughly. Her eyes snap up to yours right when you decide to finally look at her.

"What's her name?" Billie mutters, face even more stern than before when you were both being recorded. Now, she could finally express herself with words that didn't sound light-hearted, "Your date, I mean." She states, taking the last fry into her mouth and waiting for your reply.

You stay silent, almost dumbfounded, that she was still stuck on that topic. It'd been almost an hour and a half since you had that conversation, and yet it was still lingering in the air. A forced chuckle emits from your throat as you sit up straight, "Ms. None-of-your-concern."

Billie perks up at your response, cocking an eyebrow at your words. She'd never seen this side of you, and you really should've known that right now was not the time nor place for you to show her it, "Don't gimme that shit right now. You're acting like a child."

"Yeah, well, were you not acting the same while the cameras were rolling?" You retort, furrowing your eyebrows as the smile on your face slowly fades. She just scoffs in response, rolling her eyes she breathes out some stupid argument.

Your leg bounces beneath the table, mind racing as you check the time. You only had about an hour before your real date, and God, did you want to get away from Billie sooner. You can still feel her eyes burning holes through you, but you pay her no mind, huffing quietly in exasperation.

Billie notices the way you check your phone every few minutes, and it only annoys her further each time she catches you, "Better hurry up. Bet she wants to take you home later tonight, maybe even fuck—"

"Fuck you." You scoff, moving back in the chair as the screeching noise reverberates around the small, empty restaurant. You swiftly grab your jacket before storming out, leaving Billie alone in her seat, fuming.

"But your date's already gonna do that!" She calls angrily, hands clenched into fists as she watches the door slam behind you loudly. Her eyes stay on the glass for a moment longer, almost waiting for you to come back. But, you never do, so she just sits in silence.

Her head lolls back as she closes her eyes, sucking in a deep breath before she huffs out in frustration. Sure, maybe she was in the wrong, but who's to say you weren't as well? You knew how jealous she got. Each time she had a crush, she'd always run to you to complain about their ex's, never hiding her jealousy. And she was sure you didn't forget, you just knew how to push her buttons.

Quiet footsteps caught her attention, head turning in the direction of the kitchen, only to find the owner of the small restaurant approaching her, "We're closing soon, ma'am." He says, the tiredness clear in his tone and eyes. Billie just nods, humming quietly as she grabs her stuff and throws it away on her way out.

The lights hanging above you dimly lit the table and the girl across the table from you, highlighting her ocean blue eyes, quite like Billie's mesmerizing ones—No.

You shift in your seat as you listen to her, nodding at almost each word she says in an effort to seem like you were really listening. But, in reality, all you could hear was the chatter of other people seated around you. All you could even think about was what happened earlier that evening, at the restaurant with Billie.

Maybe that was the one thing that was distracting you, the one thing that made you think this date was going horribly. The girl wasn't even boring or an asshole. She was sweet and genuinely interesting. You just didn't know what was wrong with yourself.

You smile softly as you notice she's stopped talking, toying with the food on your plate, your fork twirling the pasta around it but not exactly bringing it to your lips to eat it. You'd lost your appetite, and you knew it wasn't from the food you ate a few hours prior to this.

"You okay?" She asks, and that's the one thing that pulls you out of your thoughts, eyes snapping to hers. They were swelling with concern, and so was her facial expression. God, you were really blowing it. Maybe you were the asshole.

The fork leaves your hand, clattering against the plate softly as you nod in response, "Yeah, I'm sorry. I just—Need to use the restroom real quick." You mutter, an apologetic look in your eyes as you stare into hers. You knew yourself that you wouldn't come back, so you didn't even bother promising it, instead just smiling at her before quickly rushing to the restrooms.

When you're out of her sight, you grab your phone from your bag, unlocking it as you open the door to the women's bathroom, making your way down to the furthest stall from the door and locking yourself in.

You click the first pinned contact, not even needing to look at who it is before you begin typing, leaning against the tiles of the bathroom wall.

y/n: hey

You bite your lip as you patiently wait for her response, muttering something along the lines of, "Please don't be mad at me, please don't be mad at me, please—."

When the three little dots show up, you let out a breath you hadn't even known you were holding, gripping your phone tighter as your eyes dart all around the screen.

billie: thought u were at ur date?

y/n: bored

y/n: cant stop thinking about our fight

y/n: you keep distracting me. idiot

You can almost feel her own emotions through the device. That sexy chuckle of hers imprinted in your mind. She gives your last text a thumbs down, and then the three little dots begin to bounce again.

billie: good to know im still on your mind tho

billie: also thats not even my fault??? js stop thinking of me then youll be okay 🤷‍♀️

y/n: kinda hard when you teased me the entire fucking interview

y/n: even off camera dude like wtf

Billie shifts on her couch, your words making her heart swell with pride. Even if you did piss her off, she was still happy she was on your mind. But, really, when wasn't she floating around somewhere in there?

billie: sorry for being me, damn

billie: also wtf why are you skipping over that shit that you did at the restaurant?

billie: like ok tell me you have another date after i was clearly flirting with you fr the entire interview

Her lip was tucked between her teeth harshly, biting down almost hard enough to draw blood as she watched the dots begin to bounce in the small grey bubble again.

When you finally sent the text, her facial expression softened.

y/n: im really sorry billie. i didnt know it would hurt you, it wasnt my intention

billie: huh

billie: well it sure as hell seemed like it was

You sigh quietly as your eyes scan over her texts over and over again. Fuck, why did she have to be stubborn?

Your thumbs quickly begin to work on the screen, typing out an almost pathetic apology. No—It wasn't even an apology—It was more of a stupid text begging her to forgive you.

y/n: im really sorry bills

y/n: i dont want us to fight. please

y/n: i didnt even want to come here after it

y/n: you know i hate when ur mad at me

y/n: ill apologize to u a million times more if thats what u want

Her heart beats faster, and she swears it might pop out of her chest any moment now. Her thumbs quickly type out a response, a stupid smile coming onto her face.

billie: dont

y/n: well can you at least pick me up cus u were being an asshole too

y/n: pls can you pick me up i really dont wanna see the look on the poor girls face when she finds me in this bathroom stall texting u

billie: idk i might js make you wait 30 mins so she can find u in there

Your eyes roll at her texts, scoffing at her responses. She was so difficult, and you hated her for it.

billie: hurry to the front im omw dummy

A smile quickly comes onto your face as you read the last text, almost squealing until you remember that she wouldn't be easy when you got in the car. Fuck, this was gonna be a long night.

The car pulls up slowly in the front of the restaurant, and you glance back one final time at the windows before scurrying off the sidewalk and jumping into the passenger seat of Billie's car.

She doesn't even wait for you to put your seatbelt on, quickly driving forward to exit the parking lot of the place. Her eyes trace your side profile as she waits for cars to pass, her gaze going unnoticed as you buckle your seatbelt.

"Have fun?" She mutters quietly, jealousy bubbling underneath her skin and seeping through in her tone as her eyes avert back to the road. You turn your head at her words, sighing in annoyance. She was still going on about it.

Your cross your arms over your chest as you look out of the windshield at the cars passing by, feeling her car jolt forward as she gets onto the main road, "If I did, I wouldn't have texted you, idiot."

Billie scoffs at your name-calling, rolling her eyes as she presses on the breaks at a red light. She takes the chance to look at you again, eyes traveling lower this time and catching onto your change of clothes.

You were wearing a short black dress, the neck cutting low and exposing some of your cleavage. She would've pounced on you right then and there if it wasn't for the traffic behind her. And also if she wasn't still so fucking furious at you.

Her own choice of clothing was the complete opposite of whatever slutty piece of cloth you were wearing, her sweatpants hanging low on her waist and exposing the waistband of her 'HIT ME HARD AND SOFT' boxers.

When the light turned green, it was your turn to admire stare. On her top half, she was wearing a little white tank, the straps thin and almost slipping off her shoulders each time she moved her arms to turn the wheel.

Her nipples were poking through the thin tank, and it felt almost impossible to look away. Until she spoke and you got too nervous to keep staring, "Well, I still wanna know how it went."

Liar. She was only talking about it so that you wouldn't forget the deep shit you were in when you got to your house. Or maybe her house? You didn't know, and you honestly didn't want to. You wouldn't bother asking, either, not wanting to hear the whole, 'why did you change the topic?' rant.

"It was good, actually." You murmur, an idea sparking in your head as you glance at her face again. You can practically see the way her eyes twitches in annoyance, and it only spurs you on to say your next words, "She was so sweet, and she cared a lot. I could tell just by her pretty eyes."

Billie has to stop herself from slamming on the breaks in the middle of the road, instead deciding to breathe in deeply and bite her lip. Her grip on the steering wheel increases in tightness, tilting her head to the side like she always did when she was infuriated.

"Yeah?" She seethes, cocking an eyebrow as she takes another quick glance at you. She catches a glimpse of that stupid smile on your face, and it only makes her angrier. You hum in response.

"Yeah." You reply, giggling quietly as you watch her knuckles turn white from the grip she has on the wheel. She presses down on the gas harder, and the car only accelerates faster down the route to her house, "Flirted with me the entire time, asked me if I needed anything. She even pulled out my chair for me."

Billie nods almost robotically, like she's being forced to listen to you brag about the girl. Because she is. She can't just jump out of the car into the road, even if she really did want to in that moment.

"That's—Yeah, that's nice." She mutters, jaw clenched. Even if you had only said a few sentences about no-name-girl, she was tired of it already. She only started the conversation to maybe undermine you? She didn't even know anymore, all she knew was that she was going to die if you kept talking about this girl.

"And—" Billie couldn't turn onto the street to her house fast enough, speeding down the road as she tried to drown you out. Her eyes burned holes through you, specifically your chest. She didn't understand why you chose to wear that revealing dress for that stupid girl and not for her.

She pulled into the driveway quickly, turning her key and pulling it out after putting the car in park. Her hands rested in her lap as she threw her head back against the headrest, eyes shutting softly as she breathed out.

"Stay there." She whispered, getting out of the car and slamming it with a loud thud. Your eyes followed her as she rounded the car, gaze coming down to see her sweatpants falling down only a little further.

She opened your own door before you could. It made her crazy when you even tried to open it by yourself, so even if she was pissed, she'd never forget to open it for you. When you exited her car, she slammed your door and locked the car, following behind you to the front door.

You type in her code proudly, reaching for the door handle but quickly being swatted away by her own ring-clad hand. You laugh at her gestures, watching as she opens the door for you and lets you go in first.

She's silent the whole time. Even as she closes and locks the door behind her, no words slip from between her lips, only gentle breaths as she rubs her temples. Her eyes basically undress you as you walk down the hall and throw your bag onto her couch, heart beating faster and faster as the seconds pass by.

Her vision is blurred as she follows after your footsteps, time seeming to slow as she looks around at the pictures hanging on the walls. When she finally makes it into the living room, you're sitting down on the couch, legs spread like you owned the place.

And, honestly, it seemed like it after being here 24/7. You even convinced Billie into giving you a key with no hesitation on her part. She grips onto the wall harshly, holding herself up as her eyes take in all that was you. Your scent already fills the room, making her head spin and blurring her vision further.

Her other hand rests inside of her pants, the action normal because of how abnormally cold she always was. But, this time, you see her hand moving beneath the fabric in a repeated motion. Like she's stroking something.

Your lips curve into a smirk at the sides, sitting up taller as you realize. She only comes closer, now leaning against the far end of the couch across from you.

"Thought you were mad." You hum, tilting your head in imitation. You cross your legs, hands running along your thighs through the fabric and making your dress ride up. Billie groans quietly, gaze fixed sternly on you.

A few more steps, and now her hand is holding herself up on the couch cushion you were sitting on. Her lips almost touch your earlobe, breathing on your neck as her small smirk fades. She scoffs, her other hand slowly creeping onto your thigh and squeezing, "I'm fucking furious."

You smile at her words, gasping softly as she squeezes your thigh tighter. She leans back, lips level to yours as her eyes flit down to them, then back up to your beautiful eyes. You're the first one to close the gap, grabbing her face and practically pulling her onto your lap, your lips fitting onto hers so perfectly.

Her hands moved to your hips, quickly flipping your positions so that you were on top of her. As you sat on her lap, you could feel the bulge beneath her sweatpants poking at your thigh, causing an amused smile to creep onto your face, "Predicted this, huh?"

"Shut up." She grumbles, ring-clad fingers wrapping around your neck and smashing your lips onto hers. Your hips slowly grind on her sweatpants, moaning quietly against her mouth as your hands grip at her shoulders, nails digging into her skin.

Billie groans at the subtle pain, pushing her hips up when she feels you begin to rock back and forth on her lap. Her free hand moves down to undo the tie of her sweatpants, finding it difficult with only one hand and her eyes closed, "Ma, take 'em off f'me, would you?"

You don't hesitate, the need to tease her thrown out of the window. For now, at least. Your hands leave her shoulders quickly, pulling away from her lips with hesitancy as you look down to see what you're doing. Billie's eyes are on you the whole time, biting her lip as she feels you tug down her sweatpants and let them pool at her ankles.

Billie bucks her hips against you, and this time, it's like you can feel everything. Your lips part in surprise at her sudden movement, a quiet squeak emitting from your throat at how big her dick feels.

"Gonna sit and stare, or are you gonna take it off?" Billie sighs, her patience wearing thinner than before. It didn't help that you were still fully clothed, either. Her hands leave your neck and hip, moving behind and messing with the zipper of the skimpy black dress that adorns your beautiful body, pulling it down until you could easily slip out of it.

You crawl off her lap, eyes hooded and full of desire as you slowly strip for her. Her hands grip the couch cushions tightly, holding herself back from even saying anything that would elicit a snarky response from your part.

The dress falls to the floor, revealing your naked figure to her. She wanted so bad to call you a slut for not wearing any undergarments, to degrade you until you broke beneath her and finally gave in. But she stayed silent, instead taking in your mind-consuming presence.

When you came closer and dropped to your knees in front of her, she bit her lip. Her hands and thighs trembled as you rested your cheek on the inner part of her thigh, leaving a wet kiss on the bulge in her boxers before you grabbed the waistband of the constricting fabric with your teeth. Her breaths were short and ragged, eyes wide as she watched the silicone cock spring free.

Once her boxers were at her ankles, your eyes found hers again, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you came closer. Your lips hovered over the tip of her dick, spitting on it before your hand came up to stroke it softly, thumb rubbing at the tip as if she could actually feel it.

"Get up." She breathed, eyes locked on yours as you continued to stroke your hand up and down her dick, listening carefully to each quiet sound that she made, whether it be a whimper or a real moan, "Y/N, fuckin' listen." It was a clear warning, the way her tone changed just an octave lower, a very prominent warning that she wasn't gonna be easy if you disobeyed her again.

But, still, you stayed on your knees in front of her, your hand rubbing the silicone quicker. And, as much as she liked the way you looked on your knees, her hand quickly came down to grab a handful of your hair, tugging at it harshly in yet another warning.

This time, you listened, nodding softly as your hand left her cock, rising to your feet in front of her. Her hand left your hair as you moved up, standing up and stepping out of her sweatpants and boxers, kicking off her shoes and leaving her in only socks and that thin tank top barely covering anything.

"Want you on the bed, Y/N." She demands softly, eyes hooded and irises swirling with lust and anger. You nod, biting your lip as your eyes fall lower on her body, chuckling quietly as you see the fake dick standing tall between her thighs, "And don't make me fucking tell you again." She snarls.

You nod again once her words register in your head, your feet taking you down the hallway and into her room at the end of it. You shut the door behind you softly, scurrying onto the bed and seating yourself in the middle of it, back against the headboard and legs spread just for when she came back.

The time seems to pass way slower as you shift on her dark sheets, your lower back leaning against the pillows that she slept on each night. The room smelled heavily of Billie, her perfume filling all your senses and going straight to your core. This wasn't where you expected to end up tonight at all, but you weren't against it.

The creaking sound of the door is what catches your attention, finding yourself sitting up taller and gripping at the sheets. Billie pushes the door open slowly, hair up in a low ponytail, her tank top gone and revealing her tits.

You're unable to suppress a whine as she comes closer, locking the door behind her and only making you squeeze your thighs together, bucking your hips against nothing but the cool air in the room.

She moves so quickly that it should've been considered inhumane, her hands touching you everywhere all at once. Her hair tickles your shoulder as she tilts her head, lips pressing against your neck so softly as her hands grip at your tits so roughly. Her knee is slotted between your thighs, pressed harshly against your wet pussy and feeling every movement you make.

"She wouldn't kiss you like this," Billie whispers, biting at the sensitive spot just behind your ear, feeling as your body tenses beneath her, throat dry, and lips agape to let out all the pretty noises she was the cause of, "Only me." She finishes her sentence, moving to another part of your neck to scatter kisses and marks anywhere she possibly could.

Her thumbs circle your nipples, nails leaving soft indentations as she tries her hardest not to go absolutely insane on you. Just the thought of that girl fired her up, urging her to just ruin you first and then take it slow. But the bratty attitude you had all day only encouraged her to tease you, break you slowly, and then fuck you hard and rough until you were unable to say anything but her name, "I'm right?" She breathes, kissing your collarbone as she descends your body.

Her teeth nibble at the skin just above your tits, leaving hickeys in the shape of a heart slowly but surely. All you can do is nod in response, body reacting so eagerly to her teasing touches and kisses. She was driving you insane, but if you said anything, she'd only take it slower. It was torture.

"Answer me." Billie demands, biting down particularly hard just above your nipple, smirking against your skin as she hears you yelp softly. It's almost like she can feel your heartbeat on her lips, her head spinning with every idea of what she wanted to do with you tonight, "You were very keen to the idea of fuckin' smart-mouthing me during that interview. In front of people, too?"

"God, you just can't stand being good for more than 5 minutes, can you?" She scoffs softly, voice teasing and playful, but her words were real. She meant everything, and you knew that very well. Her lips wrapped around your nipple when she felt your fingers in her hair, tangling in the dark strands and pulling weakly. You whined at her degrading words, her knee hitting your clit perfectly as you rocked your hips sloppily.

"Bills—Only you, j-jus' you," you confirm, your voice merely a mewl in her ears, but to you, it was using all of the strength you currently had, trembling beneath Billie even though she's barely even touched you yet, "Please..." You beg, eyes fluttering shut as you find the perfect spot on her knee to grind on, hips moving faster.

Billie moves to your other nipple, sucking harshly and nibbling at the erect bud as her hands caress your thighs, nails scratching up and down your skin and making your thighs tremble just that little bit more. She releases your nipple from between her lips with a pop, now hovering over your face, removing her knee from between your legs, guessing knowing that you were close, "Please, what?"

"F-fuck me, Billie—Please—Jus'.. mm." You stumble over your words, mind scattered and unable to say anything to form a real sentence. Billie understands, though, a cocky smirk on her face as she moves her hand to one side of your body, holding herself up as her other hand pulls your thighs apart, lining her cock up with your entrance before she pushes it all in at once.

Your quiet cries are music to her ears, your trembling body cute and meek. Her hand leaves the silicone dick, traveling up your body and leaving a trail of fire up to your neck where she wraps her fingers around your throat, applying more pressure than you thought she would. You gasp quietly, the action only making the whole situation hotter and more intimate. She tilts her head, "You like that, don't you?"

You nod the best you can, whimpering softly as she slowly thrusts her hips, eyes examining your every movement from the way your chest rose and fell with the ragged breaths you took to the way your eyes fluttered each time her dick rubbed you in just the right way. Pathetic pleas for her to go faster slip from your lips, toes curling at her torturously slow pace, hands fisting at the sheets messily.

"Pleasepleaseplease—faster.." Billie's grip on your throat tightens at your words, eyebrows furrowing as she watches your eyes roll back, "Want me deeper, yeah?" She mocks, the fire in her lower abdomen growing as she sees you nod frantically, her hips already slamming into you almost twice as fast than she was fucking you before.

She leans closer to your neck, inhaling your scent and smelling her own perfume on your skin. A chuckle fills your ear, only making you moan louder, the whiny sound reverberating off the walls. Your back arches, chest coming up to brush against hers as you writhe beneath her relentless pace. Grunts fill your ears as she finds the perfect rhythm, muttering the dirtiest things in your ear imaginable. The words she was spitting should've cut deep, but they didn't, only adding to your pleasure and making you physically react.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, you see stars flash behind your eyelids, her strap hitting that sweet spot each time she thrusts into you. Your knuckles are white from the animalistic grip you have on her sheets, your orgasm approaching quicker than you could've imagined. Billie doesn't miss the way your breathing pattern changes, feeling it on her chest and hearing it 10x louder now that your head was turned slightly to the side, "Bill—Baby, fuuckk... plea—!"

"Hm?—Tell me, Mama, tell me." She mutters, almost begging you as her hips slap against yours each time she fully bottoms out. An evil smile is plastered on her face, but you don't know that. You don't even know what she'll say in response to your pleas to cum. But, you honestly don't think you'd be able to hold it either way, "Too fucked out to speak, s'that it? Can't even think, can ya? My dumb girl."

"Cum—Wanna cum, please, need t'cum!" You warn, your voice a mere squeak as you pull at the sheets. Tears streak down your face now, her silence making it impossible for you to keep whatever composure you had left. Billie breathes softly into your neck, kissing your shoulder before coming up to press a sweet kiss to your neck. Much sweeter than the words that fall from between her lips, "I think you can wait, hm? Since you made me wait so fuckin' long for this." She shakes her head in faux disappoint, scoffing.

"Hold it." She snarls, eyes narrow, lips parted and swollen, hips relentless. The headboard hit the wall in time with her hips, bedframe creaking beneath your bodies as she fucks you wildly, making it impossible to obey her commands. You try to squeeze your thighs together, but she doesn't let them close, sighing in annoyance as she gives your throat a warning squeeze, having you gasp for air, "Just a little longer." She groans, almost like she can feel the way your pussy clenches around her dick, walls fluttering from the immense pleasure.

Cries and whines are the only things that can leave your throat, dry from the screaming and moaning you've been doing for almost—Fuck, you didn't even know at this point. All you did know was the size of her dick, the sounds of her groans, and the look on her face as she fucked you recklessly. The bed shook, and you were sure her neighbors would be here in the morning to complain about the noises, but neither of you cared. The only thing either of you cared about was that you finally had each other.

Your vision blurs from the tears in your eyes, trying your best to keep them open but failing in the end as she pushes her body closer to yours—if that was even possible—and hits you at a different angle, the silicone cock sliding deeper between your walls. She's almost surprised at how well you're holding up, a smirk on her face as she tries her hardest to break you, free hand pulling and twisting at your nipple as her other squeezes your throat from time to time.

"Cum." She finally allows. It takes you a moment to register, but once you see her head nod in your blurred vision, you let go. The light, wet ring around the base of the dick only gets whiter as your juices flow onto her, squirting onto your thighs and parts of hers as your body shakes uncontrollably beneath hers. Your back arches further, chest pressing harsher against hers as you cry out her name, lower lip trembling, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou—Mm.." Your words come out in a hurry, thoughts messy and incapable of forming any other words.

Her hips slow, helping you ride out your high before she stops completely. She leans over you, fingers unraveling around your neck and coming up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your tear-stained cheek with a look of adoration in her ocean blue irises, "Y'think she'd be able to do that?" She teases, giggling softly at your mumbled words, your eyelids fluttering open and closed, clearly sleepy.

"Shh.." You giggle stupidly, pushing her face away weakly. You gasp quietly when you feel her pull out slowly, wincing at the slightly overstimulating feeling. The emptiness makes you frown, whining like a baby as she pulls away from your body completely, "No, no, Ma, m'right here." She coos as she comes back into your blurry vision, strap discarded somewhere on the floor. Her hands wrap around your body, enveloping you in warmth as she cuddles close to you, "She can't compare." Billie whispers, knowing damn well she won the stupid challenge that she made up.

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rick-on-the-run · 13 days ago

Text

Hiding from Grandfather.

I was taking a nap one day, and my dog came up and slapped me in the face with his paw for attention. Then suddenly, a little scene popped into my head. So I drew it. I've never really drawn an environment like this, and I suck at lighting currently, but oh well... The books were fun to draw..

What happened next...

Lots of ramblings below...

⚠️Warning⚠️ Extreme "wall of text" jumpscare inbound! Skip if not in the mood for a long(ish) read.

So now I have a new oc... Anyway...

This is Rick K-355 Or "Library". After going through a hectic point in his life: traveling through space, fighting in wars, and whatnot. He came back to his Beth a bit earlier than probably most Ricks, somewhere right before Morty came along.

When he lived there originally with his wife and daughter, he attempted to make money by employing himself as a sort of handyman: using his gadgets and such to fix and assist with things around people's homes. However, really only neighbors or friends utilized his services. Which meant his wife was the main breadwinner of the house. It did cause some tension, as money was tight, and science projects in their garage or being a barely successful handyman wasn't helping pay the bills. And for a time, he picked up a small job at the library. As being around books made having a job more tolerable, just as having a job where he can build and use his inventions. He was content; however, he often longed for more in his life. Though, despite this want for more than what he had, he was still grateful, and loved his small family dearly.

At some point, another Rick (not Prime) came to his home in an attempt to capture him for a reason which was never made clear, and it resulted in a fight. Library managed to fend off and kill the other Rick; however, not before Diane was badly injured in the attack. She later succumbs to her wounds, leaving Rick in a state of shock and confusion. Before then, he had no knowledge of other realities, let alone other versions of himself.

He becomes a bit distant from Beth, pouring his time into figuring out the gun which he saw the other Rick us to appear in his room. He knew it was portal travel, as he, like many other Ricks -unbeknownst to each before the first successful portal hop- had been trying to figure out. He wasn't sure where he was going to go with this gun, but he became so disgustingly obsessed with it in his grief, that it drove him into a crazed state. Perhaps he was trying to ignore his loss. Though, this shook the relationship with his daughter.

And in an action he will forever regret, he managed to get the gun working, and stepped through a portal without much thought. It happened to be on its last jump, so even if he wanted to come home right away, he couldn't... This sobered him up some, and he panicked, suddenly realizing that he had absolutely no idea how to get home.

Hectic space adventures ensue..

He went through questioning if anything mattered, given the infinity of possibilities and universes... Seeing the same wars fought for the same ridiculous reasons as they were being waged over in many realities following the same doomed paths. And he fought in a few. He even killed other versions of himself, not only to steal more portal fluid, but to see what he'd do if he were dying, or how other versions of himself reacted to being attacked by another Rick out of the blue. What did he himself look like that night.? Because to him, they didn't really exist.. They just were echoes of people he could've been, drifting through their lives in an infinite web of probabilities... And in time, he began to question if he also even existed at all...

And yet, in all this time he spent being lost, he had neglected the one thing that was still real to him: his daughter. Whom he left behind, and had long since gained the ability to get back to her. Maybe he was afraid their relationship was too damaged...

As his rambunctious time in space began to wind down, and before he finally made the jump home, he spent some time at Alcázar (Citadel-430) working in the archives. As he was growing tired of space shenanigans, and missed the complex simplicity of knowledge held between pages. Here is where he gained the moniker "Library". Even though he was an Archivist and not necessarily working in a library at the time...

When he finally does go back home, he never leaves for the infinity of possibilities again. His Beth sort of helped him ground himself in is own existence. Helped him realize that he was real, and if nothing else mattered, then at least this one thing does.

Back home, he is a librarian at the same local library he worked at while younger. Even living in the building in an upstairs home above the library. Often looking after his grandchildren when Beth and Jerry can't. Both he and Beth are trying to repair their relationship, though, Beth's feelings toward what happened are still a lot stronger and more sore, making it harder for her to forgive her father.

He is a kinder Rick, and cares about his grand babies. (Because I just need to see a Rick who actively cares for, and who isn't cruel to Morty and Summer...I'm starved for it...) And when they come to live with him on occasion, he uses the opportunity to tutor them in things they might not learn, or know yet in school. So they are somewhat ahead of the game.

He is more concerned for his grandson, however. As Morty struggles to comprehend information and retain it, often being exceeded by his sister. His speech impediment is more severe, and so he opts not to talk most of the time. And he just sort of goes along with his sister's antics. Though, he focuses easier on things that interest him, like animals and taking apart and putting together RC cars. And as for Summer, she is more outspoken than her brother, and very easily can become the lead in any group of peers, knowing how to sway the crowd. Library isn't concerned for her in any schooling environment. Rather, he is more concerned about the trouble her brain may get her in one day...

Anyway... that's it... It's midnight and I'm practically falling asleep... Thank you for reading if you did... Sorry it was so long...

#K-355 #rick and morty oc #rick oc #rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #summer smith #rambles #ramblings #oc rant #Library Rick

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svnscape · 1 month ago

Text

25 - happy games season!

a/n: long chapter ahead

slightly suggestive content

you smile to yourself putting your phone back in your handbag.

“oh my god oh my god lara he fucking replied to me? like straight up replied to ME” you can hear renjun’s freaked out voice on your left, next to lara, blending with the sound of announcements and cheering in the gymnasium.

“yeah jun you might want to calm down, jaemin is literally coming to sit with us” you tell him, throwing him a bottle of water that was given to you on your entry

“WHAT ? WHAT THE FUCK ? you’re telling me this now?! oh my god, girls how do i look” renjun frantically takes his phone out and fixes his hair, hands flying everywhere

lara laughs “renjun you look fine! calm down please” she then turns to you “i’m guessing haechan will be coming too”

“yeah he texted me asking me where we were sitting, they’re all coming” you reply, a nervous hand playing with the ends of your hair.

“guess i’m gonna third wheel tonight” she pouts making you grab her arm with a sad smile “no, jisung will be there, he’s cute no?”

“he is but he barely talks” she huffs out dramatically before bursting out in laughter “i’m just joking, don’t worry i’ll have to babysit renjun before he stress barfs on jaemin”

“ew no, yeah you have your hands full”

“i just hope i’m not gonna have to ask you to get a room with haechan” she punches your arm playfully

“lara! no, no i’m not here to do any… any weird shit, he’s just coming to watch the game with us since chenle’s on the team as well”

lara puts an arm around you “if you say so”

you were rummaging through your bag to touch up your makeup when you feel a rather cold hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

slightly taken by surprise, you tilted your head up, a smiley haechan, dangerously close to your face, was right behind you, brown hair falling on his forehead, but his familiar sparkly dark brown eyes were still visible, making your stomach churn in the best way possible.

“hello there” he says, rather loudly amidst all the amplified sounds in the gymnasium “where can i sit ?” he asks, handing an awkward jisung standing to his left some of the snacks he was holding

“uh you can sit here, next to me” you removed your water bottle that you had placed on the seat next to you, on your right, to make place for haechan.

he quickly nods, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, as he sits with a huff next to you, putting the pile of snacks he had bought right on his lap.

jisung follows haechan but stumbles right in front of you, earning a mocking snort form haechan, as he was walks past you to sit on your far left, where jaemin had taken place next to renjun.

“i didn’t expect you to come until i saw what you posted” haechan says between bites of popcorn that he of course had offered to you before speaking, earning a polite refusing shake of head from you.

“why wouldn’t i come ?”

“because of jeno ?” he quirks an eyebrow making his face look so comically amusing

you laugh at his overly expressive face and nod to him “you’re very invested in whatever’s happening with me and my friend. but no, i won’t miss it because i’m not that mean, and plus it’s games season, everybody comes”

“i already knew that, i was just teasing” he nods multiple times, sternly pointing his finger at you before he burst out in silent laughter

“you’re really something” you laugh along with him, playfully pushing his shoulder away from you.

“but you like it don’t you” he looks at you, the familiar mischievous face of his making a comeback, making you gulp nervously.

you didn’t have the chance to respond as loud cheers erupted from all around you as the two teams had finally made an entrance in the court, followed by multiple cheerleaders dressed in blue.

you quietly wince at the sound of feedback before the announcer starts speaking, introducing both teams and the sponsors for tonight’s game.

“we also have the honor of announcing and for the time ever, sigmaphi society as one of nctu’s eagles major sponsors. sit tight as they’ve prepared for you, fun and maybe even scandalous activities for you to engage with tonight.” the announcer enthusiastically cheers from his mic “happy games season!”

you peek at haechan curiously, watching him absolutely house the hotdog in his hand, completely oblivious to his surroundings

“what did your frat prepare?” you ask him mid bite

he slowly removes the hotdog from his mouth, a smile creeping up on his face before he quickly wipes his hands and turns to you, fully

“you’ll see, you won’t be disappointed”

———————————————————————

the first half time had finished with nctu eagles winning over the opposing team, having both lara and renjun screech when jeno had scored five of the many points nctu eagles had scored tonight.

haechan was rather quiet next to you, whistling whenever an interesting tactic peeks his interest or laughs when chenle scores and does his rather embarrassing winning ceremony.

you were about to spark a conversation with haechan who was too immersed in his phone when suddenly, the jumbotron goes brighter than it was before followed by an immensely loud announcement made by a voice you kind of recognized.

it was yangyang’s voice, though you couldn’t see him, ringing loudly in the gymnasium

“hey losers, this is liu yangyang from sigmaphi society speaking” you turn to look at haechan, who was still nonchalantly looking at his phone

“i know you’re probably bored of watching sweaty guys chase a ball and throw it around so here i come bearing sexy news to you” you faintly hear from your far left jisung groan “he’s so embarrassing oh my god”

“NCTU are you ready to smooch some sexy people? well you better be, because sigmaphi has prepared for you a very spicy and entertaining…. kiss cam! let’s eat each other’s faces y’all! and again, happy games season”

“oh my god that’s crazy” lara grabs your arm, a huge smile on her face

you smile at her, a bit too overwhelmed with how loud everybody was cheering when the two first pair had been shown on the jumbotron, surrounded by a pink background and a huge text spelling “kiss!” with a bunch of kissy lips and hearts around it

the cheers get even louder when the two people on the screen not just kiss, but make out, sheepishly smiling when yangyang’s voice erupts again to tell them to stop.

the jumbotron moves to the next couple of people in immense speed as everyone was seemingly enjoying this and kissing anyone like it didn’t matter.

“everyone is so eager tonight, like do you just kis- OH MY GOD Y/N” lara screams at your face making you put both hands over you ears

you were officially overstimulated

you turn to her, an aggravated expression on your face “what?! you almost ruptured my ear drum lara”

“Y/N SHUT THE FUCK UP, LOOK AT THE SCREEN” she turns your head towards the suspended jumbotron with such power you almost yanked her hand away

but all your anger and very overstimulated thoughts evaporate once you recognize yourself on that screen and especially the other face that was next to yours.

haechan was directly looking at the camera, a small smile on his face, hands going directly to his hair to push it away from his forehead.

“oooo very good looking couple right there, are you gonna kiss?”

you can feel yourself starting to sweat, your hair sticking to your shoulders as you feel everybody’s attention on you.

suddenly you feel something cold touch your hand, very softly you barely even register the sensation.

you turn to see haechan’s hand carefully placed on yours that was moving up and down with your bouncing leg. he grabs it even tighter when he sees that you’ve finally noticed him and his comforting gesture.

“hey… hey look at me” you barely hear his voice amidst the loud cheering and yangyang’s aggravating voice.

“y/n” he carefully puts a hand on your cheek, turning your head over to him “we don’t have to kiss on the lips you know, or at all for that matter”

“mhm yeah i know, just give me a minute” you say barely above a whisper, turning your hair away from your shoulders to let some air in.

“you’re so red y/n, are you sure you’re oka-”

you don’t really listen to what he was saying as you suddenly and maybe a bit too harshly, put your lips over his in a small peck, both your hands on his shoulders.

“here we go! another kiss for tonight” “oh my god y/n” “y/n! oh shit y/n let’s go!”

you abruptly pull away from haechan as you felt him deepen the kiss, his hand going to your shoulder to grab it gently.

“oh shit sorry, i-i’m sorry, excuse me” you stand up too quickly, almost getting whiplash as you maneuver your way through haechan’s legs and probably step on countless of toes, as you made your way outside the gymnasium in a hurry.

“fuck fuck FUCK!” you hiss, grabbing the hem of your jacket in panic, as you walk over and back in front of the gymnasium’s entrance like a crazy person.

“y/n you’re actually insane, you’re cra-” you whisper to yourself

“y/n?”

fuck ME!

“how the hell are you so fast” haechan breathes out, bending down to put both of his hands on his knees, head propped forward as he was catching his breath.

you don’t respond immediately and turn away from him in a loud sigh, then turn right back towards him, watching him slowly stand up, eyes still closed in exhaustion.

“sorry wow, i really need to start working out with jaemin” he laughs airily.

“i’m sorry haechan i-”

“sorry for what ?”

“for kissing you”

haechan looks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape which made you hold back a giggle at how cute he looked in that moment.

“are you- are you being for real right now?”

“hm?”

“y/n it was a kiss cam, well- sorry that’s not the point but” he pauses to take a few steps towards you “you think i didn’t want to kiss you too ? like it’s not the only thing on my mind every since we started getting closer?”

“haech-”

“i was trying to kiss you that other night after our date but sadly got interrupted… y/n i want to kiss you right now actually”

“can you stop saying kiss” you hold back another giggle

“kiss kiss KISS” he gets closer to you, an awfully cute expression on his face that makes you bend down to catch your breath as you’ve finally let out the laughs you’ve been holding.

you hear him cutely laugh with you, his heart shaped lips catching your attention for the second time tonight.

“y/n?”

“yes”

“can i kiss you ? properly this time?”

“i don’t know can you?” you squint your eyes at him, earning a playful eye roll

“stop teasing me, even though i kinda like it” he laughs again, heartily.

you guys both settle in silence that was soon interrupted by the cheers you were able to hear from inside the gymnasium.

but you decided it was time to interrupt that semi silence

“haechan?”

“yeah?”

“kiss me”

haechan’s eyes sparkle for a second with that familiar glint you’ve learned to like over these past few months before he makes his way to you, grabbing your hips in an instant.

“you’re not gonna run away this time are you?”

“i will if you don’t stop talking and get to it”

haechan quickly pins you against the cold wall of the entrance, a protective hand behind your head.

he slowly leans down, hot breath fanning your face as you instinctively close your eyes, a hand going to the nape of his neck to get him to close the distance faster.

a small faint gasp leaves him as your lips finally touch, the soft plush lips of his not loosing any second before diving straight into yours in a very hungry but gentle kiss that has your knees shaking in anticipation.

why is he so good at this ?

you grab the hem of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, earning a muffled whimper from him that had you opening your eyes for a millisecond before doing it again in hopes of hearing that sweet voice of his.

he reluctantly pulls away, breathless, lips red and glossy before nuzzling his face in your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, making you sigh in satisfaction.

you caught yourself getting louder and you immediately dug your nails in his back making him gasp out a sound that had you press both legs together.

“haechan- wait” you breathe out

“mhm”

“not here and preferably not now, we’re literally in public”

“i don’t mind”

you laugh, smacking his chest “of course you don’t but i kinda do… let’s just get back inside we-we’ll finish this later?”

“you’re keeping me on edge y/n… it’s hot as fuck if i’m being honest”

“control yourself channie” you test this nickname out to see his reaction and you weren’t disappointed, at all.

his face softly twists into a wide smile, hands going straight to yours

“you need to call me that more often”

“i will”

you grab his hand and give it a small kiss before you guide him back inside the gymnasium, hoping to god your friends don’t catch onto whatever happened outside.

but unfortunately you couldn’t see yourself right now; a huge smile decorating your obviously satisfied face as well as a rosy adorable color tinting your full cheeks as haechan walked behind you, hand still holding yours.

oh you were in so deep

prev — m.list — next

taglist: @bbykaixx @alwayswonbinning @weepingsweep @dudekiss3r @kukkurookkoo @hoeingthefuckup @gomdoleemyson @haeclips @luvvhaechan @mwrsi @heegyuwrld @lubunnii @firydst @daengiez @nahyuckers @httpsxnox @n0hyuck @hi00000234567 @scoobysnackszoo @minkyuncutie @yuthabitz @haechology @neogotmysam @sanniekook @kisseokiss @nqyzhuo @kooookie

a/n 2: well…. at least they have good chemistry ? 😭

still don’t know if i really like my writing but i hope you enjoyed this chapter… it’s kind of my favorite 🥺

haechan is cute as hell ngl i would’ve fallen for him in a heartbeat.

#nct dream au #nct dream smau #nct #nct au #nct smau #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #haechan fake texts #haechan fanfic #haechan fluff #haechan smau #haechan x reader #mark lee x reader #nct dream fake texts #nct dream

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puppetwoman17 · 1 year ago

Note

I wonder what the batfam's reactions would be if the joker escapes wherever they sent him to, finds Tim on patrol and was like "Long time no see JJ," and then going on about how he should come home with him back to arkham and he'll help him "recover" and are trying to get to Tim's location as fast as they can while listening in on comms?

This was actually a scenario I thought of the day I found out about JJ. I feel like after what happened, Tim would do the opposite of what Jason would and has done. Instead of going to find the Joker, he would stay as far away from him or even his goons as possible. It would be like the third Robin and the Joker had no history, nothing to tie them together(which probably made Jason angry at some point).

So when he breaks out of Arkham(AGAIN, jesus), Tim, Babs, and Bruce don’t waste a minute before bringing up that Tim has another case he has to work on that is of the “upmost importance”. It’s actually just a 12 year old homicide cold case that he solved a month ago but no one has to know that. Jim knows to sweep that under the rug when RR comes by with the same exact evidence he came with a month ago.

But Lady Luck has never been on Tim’s side. The rest of the bats quickly lose track of the Joker. Babs manages to find him, but by that point, it’s too late.

Joker finds him. And he recognizes him. Underneath the new name, costume, and styled hair, Joker finds his “son”.

As you can imagine, he’s over the moon. But he’s also just as angry.

“Junior! You don’t call, you don’t text, you don’t send out an email. What’s a pop got to do to get their son to notice them?”

“I’m not your son.”

“Not with that hair you’re not. Your skin’s not how I left it at all! And what happened to that beautiful smile of yours? Did the bat ruin that too?”

Tim doesn’t take jabs about his smile well. This is why. And it gets under his skin that even after using so much foundation and concealer, the Joker can still see the remnants of smile lines along his cheeks.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Junior. You know papa doesn’t like being ignored.“

“You’re not my dad.”

“Ha! Who is then? Certainly not the old bat. Anyhow, this isn’t about him. It’s been so long, kiddo. Why don’t we stop by the old warehouse and have a chat. Maybe even pick up Mama while we’re at it.”

“Harley would rather die than go with you, and I’m not following you anywhere. Batman already has your location.”

That brushes the smile off the freak’s face. The expression he has on now is sickly reminiscent of how he was when he, Tim, and Harley played family years ago. It’s not a look he gives to other people. No one else has seen it, so they might think Tim a liar. But he can’t deny the parental disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“I know they don’t know.”

Now that. That really gets to him.

“None of your business.”

“It it, but you’re welcome to deny it. I believe it’s just the old bat, the beat up cop, and Ms. Gordon, correct? Not even the first Robin! Ha! I wonder what the second bird would think. Not to mention the girls! Oh! And we can’t forget about little old Signal.”

Tim doesn’t need him to tell him. He’s gone over the scenario so many times it drives him mad. What each of them would say. What he could do to make them think differently. What he would have to do if they found out. Where he could run to. It never gets easier.

Joker is trying to scare him. That’s the only conclusion he definitively has. And aside from his general psychotic tendencies, he genuinely believes he and Tim are family.

By the time Batman arrives with the GCPD, the Joker is tied and ready for extraction. But the villain’s smile is no less fear-inducing.

“You know I’m right, my boy,” he says as he’s take into the back of a truck.

“They’ll never look at you the same way again.”

It’s only when everything is over that Tim takes the time to look over his gear that he finds his mistake. One that the Joker knew about. One that he exploited.

When he shut off the comms, he didn’t shut them off. In his delirium over his past, instead of closing them off, he muted them. While he couldn’t hear any of their chatter, they definitely heard his. And he didn’t send Babs his acceptance to shut his comms off, something she couldn’t do without express permission.

So when he unmuted the comms, you can only imagine what he heard.

#batman #dc #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake #red robin #joker #joker junior #Barbara #oracle #jim gordon #bruce wayne #nightwing #red hood #Robin #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas

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suzukiblu · 3 months ago

Text

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; “but it’s weird that it happened twice”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“The lab dangerous to use right now?” Tucker asks, because he seriously never knows when the Fentons have put in some new security systems or booby traps, though usually the answer is “always”. Which, welllll . . .

“The lab is literally always dangerous, man,” Danny says, so yeah, that’s still a thing. “Probably won’t kill us right now, though, so it’s our best option. C’mon, let’s get going, just in case Mom and Dad actually do find something. Like, it’s Amity, I’m not gonna assume they aren’t gonna actually find a ghost out there.”

“Yeah, point,” Tucker agrees with a grimace, tucking his PDA away again and pushing his glasses up his nose. Badly-timed ghosts are very much a recurring theme in their lives. Actually they’re a major recurring theme in their lives, even these days. Heck, for a while in there, they just were their lives.

Tucker is so, so glad they’re gotten genre-savvy in their own lives, but man was it a process.

Jazz leads the way down to the lab while Danny texts Sam and Val, and Tucker brings up the rear just in case Dani stumbles on the steps or anything. Superboy falls in step beside her, his posture lazy and his walk more a saunter than anything else, and Tucker suffers about it. It does not make it easy to concentrate on Dani, is all he’s gonna say. Like, he’s doing it, but it is frankly painful.

God, why is this dude so pretty. Why is that a thing? Tucker really did not realize he was into dudes, much less this into dudes.

Okay, well, technically so far it’s just been this one specific dude, and to be fair Superboy is a pretty impressive one specific dude, but seriously, he is this into the guy? Just–seriously?

Tucker is going to have to reexamine so many things about himself after this bullshit gets fixed. Like, just so, so many.

“So like what kinda lab we talkin’ here, am I gonna feel right at home or am I gonna feel like I’m there to punch a bad guy?” Superboy asks Dani, cocking an eyebrow curiously. “Which admittedly those lines are a little blurred for me personally, but just like the general vibes.”

“I dunno, it’s a lab?” Dani wrinkles her nose, then just shrugs. “Lotta chrome, never heard of OSHA, better-lit than Vlad’s.”

“Who’s Vlad?” Superboy asks.

“A very punchable dude,” Dani snorts, rolling her eyes, and Superboy laughs.

“Oh, you the punchin’ type, boo?” he asks, draping an arm across her shoulders and tugging down his glasses to shoot her a flirty leer over the top of them. “‘Cuz I could get behind that, personally, that’s right up my alley.”

Dani looks briefly bemused, then incredibly delighted, and cackles gleefully. Possibly over the promise of future punching or possibly over getting called “boo”; situation unclear there. Tucker has some maybe-weird feelings about the flirting thing despite being perfectly aware of both who Superboy very unsubtly is as a person and of Dani’s total disinterest in ever developing impulse control and both of their very loud and enthusiastic attention-seeking tendencies.

Maybe it’s just that it might be weird to solve a problem for Danny via bringing over a dude who’s gonna hit on his clone/daughter/sister/cousin while they’re trying to save her life? Because that would maybe be weird, Tucker can admit how that would maybe be weird.

Though he hasn’t really heard Dani laugh in a while, so . . . yeah, that could be worse, for sure.

“Like I’m gonna share the punching, please,” Dani scoffs, flipping her mussed ponytail over her shoulder. “Punching’s all mine, Superfly, I got dibs.”

“I dunno, how fast you get, boo?” Superboy teases, and she laughs again. “We can work it out the old-fashioned way if you wanna just race it.”

“You can try, if you think you can keep up,” Dani replies smugly, making a show of examining her nails. Superboy laughs too, and she grins up at him, and Tucker maybe feels like–

Then Dani’s mouth tightens, and her eyes flare, and she–flickers.

Crap, Tucker thinks, and Superboy’s arm sinks a few inches into Dani’s shoulders as her tangibility stutters, and he yanks it back, and her face goes dead-white and her eyes glow, and Tucker curses and Danny whips around and Jazz whips around a beat slower than him as her hand snaps reflexively to the pocket she’s been keeping the Ecto-Dejecto in and–

Dani makes a choking sound, and it’s probably just as reflexive when she reaches out with a fumbling, halfway phased-out hand, and she’s probably meaning to reach for Danny, but her legs and feet go just intangible enough to drop her into the stairs and she goes straight down. Danny lunges down for her, not even taking the instant it’d take him to transform but already phasing to try and match her tangibility.

And Superboy snaps out his own hand and catches hers, and it–doesn’t slip.

Tucker–blinks.

Wait. What–?

Then Dani’s intangibility phases Superboy, and they both fall straight down. Dani shrieks and Superboy yells, and they both disappear through the steps as Danny throws himself after them. Jazz is already whipping back around to barrel down the stairs, the epi-pen full of Ecto-Dejecto already clutched in her fist. Tucker runs after her so fast he nearly ends up falling down them face-first, his heart in his throat as he thinks–is Dani destabilizing again or was that just a flicker, is she already melting, is she already melted, is she–

And he thinks, in a more pragmatic and matter-of-fact and genre-savvy part of his brain: how the frick did Superboy catch Dani’s hand?

He also has some really complicated and unnecessary feelings about how Superboy didn’t let go of Dani’s hand when she phased him out and dragged him down with her. Like–that is standard superhero shit, Tucker reminds himself. Like–yeah. That’s standard. Fully normal and typical.

But he’s definitely still having some weird feelings about watching the guy go right through the stairs with Dani without knowing jack shit about what was happening and not even hesitating.

Okay, well . . . at least he picked a real ride-or-die type for this, Tucker guesses.

#dpxdc #data enkrypton #tucker foley #kon el #conner kent #superboy #wip: but it's weird that it happened twice #qwertynerd97

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saphronethaleph · 1 year ago

Text

Literary Illusions

“It’s ironic,” Palpatine said, shaking his head. “He could save others from death, but not himself.”

Anakin frowned.

“And this is something the Jedi wouldn’t have told me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Palpatine replied. “Is it a story you’ve heard?”

“Well, yes,” Anakin said. “Just now, from you. But not before then… and that surprises me, Chancellor.”

Palpatine shrugged. “I think you’ll find, Anakin, that the Jedi have not been telling you everything.”

“Maybe not, but… honestly, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing they’d tell me,” Anakin said.

Palpatine frowned.

“...what?” he asked.

“You know,” Anakin said. “Some Sith Lord works out how to bring people back to life from the dead, but his apprentice kills him and doesn’t bring him back to life because the Sith are inherently self destructive. If the two of them had worked together and been able to trust one another, they’d have been immortal.”

He shrugged. “It’s a good illustration of the inherently self destructive nature of the Dark Side, and it’s the dichotomy of how the Dark Side leads you to seek power in order to achieve goals that you then discard as irrelevant, because they’re not directly related to gaining power… hold on a second.”

Palpatine was a little distracted by trying to avoid mentally kicking himself, so it took him somewhat more than a second to notice what Anakin was doing.

“...Anakin?” he said. “Are you getting your comlink out?”

“Yeah,” Anakin replied. “Going to text Obi-Wan, ask him what he thinks of the story. Maybe there’s some kind of detail I missed which makes it less of a good illustration of the different worldviews and mindsets of the Jedi and the Sith.”

The Knight shrugged, his thumbs tapping away at his comlink. “He probably knows it, he knows all of the old stories.”

Palpatine blinked several times.

“...don’t,” he said, then very discreetly scrambled for a reason why. “It’s the middle of a performance. We don’t want to interrupt them.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on silent,” Anakin replied, with a shrug. “Or vibrate. Did I put it on vibrate… hang on, Chancellor, I’ll make sure it’s on silent…”

He turned the comlink over, then a loud bwing sounded.

“Oh, right, I forgot to set it to do not disturb mode,” Anakin said. “Hang on… uh… yeah, there we go, I forgot I added all these custom modes. I’ve been missing a lot of sleep lately.”

“Perhaps-” Palpatine began, but Anakin spoke over him.

“Huh,” he said. “He says he’s never heard of it either. Wants to know where I heard about it, it looks like he’s really interested… or maybe he’s trying to tell me about a death stick vendor, he’s terrible with multiglyphs and he thinks he’s good at them.”

Anakin glanced at the Chancellor, hoping for some solidarity, then visibly noticed that the Chancellor was several decades older than him and abandoned that.

“Is there a book I can get the whole story from?” he asked, instead. “Obi-Wan is better at nuances, like I say.”

“That is not the point,” Palpatine said, trying not to get visibly angry. “The point is that there is a way to save your loved ones!”

“Maybe there used to be, but not any more,” Anakin shrugged. “Like you said, this was a Sith thing and the Sith are all dead. Well, unless General Grievous is a Sith who knows how to heal people, but I doubt it given how much he got hurt, and I’m not sure Dooku knew it either… hey, if this story needs to be publicized more then maybe we could have them do a play of that instead?”

Palpatine blinked several times, as he tried to keep up with a Jedi with possible undiagnosed ADHD and found himself discovering a lack of talent for podracing.

“What?” he asked.

“You know, a play,” Anakin explained. “Dramatic betrayals, lost loved ones, it would probably do numbers. It’d be better than this, anyway.”

He waved his hand at the ongoing performance of Squid Lake.

“...what is wrong with Squid Lake?” Palpatine said, before reflecting that that had really been a stupid question for him to ask and that he should have asked a much better one.

“Well, uh,” Anakin began, looking a bit abashed. “Actually now I say it out loud this might be really culturally insensitive of me, but to me this play might as well be eighty minutes of people boasting about having enough water to swim in.”

“It’s a ballet,” Palpatine told him, now completely having lost control of the conversation.

“It’s just a less scary version of Sarlacc Pit,” Anakin went on. “Someone tried to drown me in a lake once, because they thought I couldn’t swim, but floating on sand is much harder, you barely have to do anything to escape a lake. You just float.”

Very belatedly, Anakin caught sight of Palpatine’s look of total befuddlement, and shrugged.

“Watto was a lot of things,” he said. “But he had culture.”

Palpatine’s hands twitched, as he very seriously considered the idea of abandoning literal centuries of Sith planning and decades of personal political advancement in favour of stabbing Anakin somewhere it would hurt.

It was extraordinarily tempting.

“...hold on,” Anakin said, slowly. “I guess… the thing I’d like most at the moment is for… and that means… this is literally one of those times when I could fall to the Dark Side because of it, like Darth Plagueis.”

He bestowed a grateful smile on Palpatine. “Thanks, Chancellor! I need to make a call, I guess the ballet won’t mind.”

Palpatine was so thrown by the swerve that he couldn’t think of a way to stop Anakin in the few seconds he had.

“Love?” Anakin said, into his commlink. “I… think we need to come clean, because otherwise I’ll fall to the Dark Side.”

Palpatine’s eye twitched.

#star wars #palpatine #anakin skywalker #Is sleep deprived #Too dumb to trick #revenge of the sith

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hivemuthur · 5 months ago

Text

Nothing's New - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut to come somewhere mid-way through

Ch.1. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,2K

tag: #nothings new

summary: More meetings, welcomed and unwelcomed + some foreshadowing. Nothing exactly smutty in this chapter, but I'm leaving it on explicit rating, for reasons of angst and generally adult emotions. Also, I should go to writer's jail for starting so many fics with dialogue.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Why the fuck are you only telling me this now?” You fume over the phone. A sloppy text message from Mel has made you stop in the middle of the street. Now. Now, when you are heading to act out your pretend chance meeting with Viktor. Now, when you are ten minutes away from the drop point and haven’t finished replaying all possible conversation starters in your head yet. Now, when your knuckles are white from clutching your coffee cup. Now, when you are bathed in the cold sweat of fear and the hot sweat of the temperature. Why now. Why now.

I feel you should know this. Viktor is seeing someone. Please don’t eat me.

You are going to fucking eat her and clean your teeth with her bones.

“Jayce spilled just recently. He was afraid I would tell you.” Oh, the irony. Mel is whispering on the phone, which indicates that Jayce is around, and her clock is ticking. “Apparently it’s been going on for about six weeks. It’s someone from work.”

“What?! Six weeks? What was that scene at your party then?!” To counter Mel’s whispering, you are screaming. White-hot anger surges through your veins, blinding fury. The audacity. The audacity to make you feel bad for doing something adjacent to moving on when he himself has moved on weeks ago. People scoff as they walk past you, and you glare daggers at them. Fuck off.

“I understand this is… hard, but… I thought you were happy with Paul? Maybe this is the way to fix this?” your friend offers carefully. Very carefully.

“I am happy. I am so fucking happy it makes me sick,” you spit into the speaker against Mel’s sigh. The thought of Paul makes you feel guilty. Your entire relationship has been built on guilt poisoning your reason. But the thought of Viktor. With someone else. That’s different.

“This is all I know. Jayce is leaving, I have to run!” Mel ignores your protests, puts the speaker an inch away from her mouth, and sends you three in-air kisses. You almost throw your phone into the trash bin. You almost slap a person walking past you who gives you a sodden look. You almost kick a beer can under your feet with the force of a rugby player.

This is so, so different. The thought of you and Paul suddenly makes you sad. The way he is a picture of kind insecurity, even though most of him is mouthwatering. There are ugly parts of him, yet invisible to the naked eye. He makes the thought of being touched by someone other than Viktor bearable.

Viktor touched you like he was keeping you. His claiming hands, a constant reminder of his yearning. Which is why, when he stopped, you forgot. You became unkept. A stray in a shelter, getting food, water, and blankets, but no carer. And you could’ve lived without all of those, but not without the belonging. For you, it decayed much sooner than for Viktor.

And then Paul found you. He stumbled upon the pieces of you, left to be picked up and put back together. And Paul touched you like he was asking for permission to be kept. So the two of you strays agreed to keep each other. With time, his touch became familiar; it had overridden the default touch of Viktor. It became comforting, consoling. You never long for it, but you always welcome it. And you no longer need a keeper.

And Paul is a man that everyone envies you for. He’s a man that steals glances and twists the necks of women who congratulate themselves for having a decadent taste in men. In fact, Paul just looks like he fucks well and would make a good dad in the future. He’s hot, but not intimidating, smart, but not a buffoon. Clingy and needy at times. He gets angry in traffic and then patronises you when you freak out about weak Wi-Fi. He has a sadness and kindness to him that makes him a whole human. And sometimes, a whole human is more than you can bear.

You wonder, who is this woman who found pieces of Viktor, and how has she put them back together? If she did. If he let her. If he is in pieces at all.

You feel yourself in fragments, appearing and disappearing, as you approach the shop. And oh God, he is there, and Jayce is running late. Viktor is... picking a bed.

Your shirt clings to you awfully, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the shop window—face red, remnants of foaming anger visible at the corners of your mouth twisted downwards, hair all messy from digging your hand into it, and two fucking sweat stains under your armpits. Great. Just great.

Why is he picking a bed? Is his bed soaked with you, and he wants a fresh one for the new woman? Is he ready for someone else’s scent so soon? You aren’t ready for him being ready.

You snort up three breaths in a row, no exhales. You hold them until one of your feet steps through the door, announced by a bell. Before your mind can throw you something—anything—you’ve prepared, you feel yourself walking up to him, and you hear yourself blurting out, “Why are you buying a bed?”

Viktor, who is standing by a frame much bigger than the one you two used to sleep in, looks up at you slowly, his lips disappearing into a thin line. “Because I need a bed. And hello.”

“What’s wrong with the old bed?” Unbelievably, you’ve lost all of your common sense. All that matters is why Viktor needs a new bed. His eyebrows raise, and he… smiles. With a horrible, smarmy curve of his lips.

“I don’t have a bed anymore,” he answers sweetly, acid dripping off his tongue.

He didn’t have the bed anymore. For months, he had slept on his tiny couch, which had significantly buggered his spine. But he couldn’t bear it—the bed had smelled of you, and whenever he came near it, it was as if you were still there, lying there, waiting for him. At first, he had wanted to burn it. He asked Jayce for help, and Jayce was frightened. He fidgeted around Viktor and asked him wary questions like, “Are you sure this is what you want?” or, “Isn’t it illegal?”

Viktor scoffed at the last one. He was convinced that if he had told the police why he was burning a bed, they would have helped him do it. But since he was in no shape to chop it with an axe while picturing your face or drive it out of town to build a pillar of hate to pay his respects to you in an eternal flame, he settled on a Craigslist deal. Some poor fucker wanted a bed in exchange for a book. It happened to be the first edition of Naked Lunch. The poor fucker had no idea.

You would have loved it. So he burned it instead.

He burned it on the balcony in the middle of the night, hoping it would make him feel better. Hoping you would feel the tickle of the flames around your soul as he purged it from his being. Hoping that this symbolic act of destroying a piece of literary history would also destroy his feeling of this—this thing he dared not name.

And now, he has just collected a shiny new set of keys to his apartment that he is going to give to Julia the next day. Not to live together, too early for that. But to come and go as she pleases. He will do things differently now. He will do them better this time.

And it is easier, because Jules isn’t so co-dependent. She is collected and pretty. She is alright with anything Viktor proposes. She never challenges him and manages to be funny on rare occasions. They have a lot in common, and it feels comfortable. Yes, Jules is an easy ride—one that he needs after his road through hell.

“What happened to the old bed?” you insist. You loved that bed. It was small and cozy and soft, and Viktor would always jokingly complain about it. And then he would really complain about it, because when he wanted to be far away from you, the softness of the mattress would suck you both into the middle by morning, like a black hole.

His vile smirk turns into a full, shit-eating grin. “It’s gone,” he says coldly. “I hated it. It was bad for my back. Why are you here?” He shoots you a look, and you feel a new wave of sweat pushing itself through your skin.

“I saw you in the window,” you blurt out idiotically, as if that would explain anything. You bite the inside of your cheek, your face contorting into a new expression every second. How utterly mortifying.

“And? You thought you could say hello?” He shifts his weight onto the cane, pinning you like a butterfly on one of those museum boards. Splayed flat, stretched and dried out, dust under anyone’s prying fingers. “Or… you thought it was proper to just come in and be disturbingly weird?”

“I— What? I am not being weird! I’m asking you a question, and you lie to my face,” you hiss, your tone defensive. Oh, he has caught you. His eyes glint, clearly pleased with your mind struggling to formulate a proper comeback.

“Disturbingly weird it is, then,” he deadpans, that fucking smirk still on his face.

Weird. He remembers it so well. He didn’t want to, yet the sensation burned itself into his brain. Even more now, as the act of burning history had the opposite effect of what he desired. After the last remnants of Naked Lunch lifted into the hot summer air and disappeared into glimmering dust, he felt himself stepping into the weird club. The way your weirdness was fascinating and hot. The way his was full of fear and remained unaccepted.

You were neurotic but refused to acknowledge it fully, even though you wore it as a verbal badge. The constant fidgeting, moving objects around, slow pacing across the room as you read your books, always with a soundtrack because your mind needed distractions to remain focused. You could sing a song and read a book simultaneously, and Viktor loved it. He lived to observe all those people encapsulated within you, every single one incomplete, as if you were made of a bunch of different personas.

The fidgeting became overwhelming when he asked you to move in with him. It had been fast, and he owned it—the recklessness of the decision. He left you a way out: keep your old place, just in case. The “just in case” came in handy three years later, when you returned to a dark cage shrouded in dust.

But back then, you had no idea what to do with yourself once your stuff travelled with you to Viktor’s. When you were a guest, the pressure was less. You could move things around, and he would put them back where they belonged after you left. Now, you debated heavily before touching anything. Your books splayed on the floor, your records in a box, while you moved from place to place trying to figure out the value of a random bundle of tomes that some poor soul had sold to your boss for a stupidly small sum.

Viktor was sitting at his desk, trying to work, but your groans made him wince, and your skittish movements lingered in the corner of his eye. He turned in his chair and sighed.

“Come here,” he beckoned, his arm opening in a welcoming gesture, inviting you to sit in his lap. You paused, a puzzled look on your face. Then, you dropped your computer onto the bed, walked up to him too fast to save yourself any dignity, and straddled his hips, hiding your face in his neck.

“Why are you being so jumpy?” Viktor asked, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from whatever answer you would have to come up with, signalling that whatever the reason was, it was alright.

“I am always jumpy,” you mumbled into his collar. No way to say this. Happy and sad at the same time. Excited and frightened. Bold and shy. Full of his love and hungry for more.

“Hmm, but this time more than usual,” he mused, placing a hot hand on the nape of your neck. A thought struck him.

“Miláčku, are you nervous about a new space?” His question was met with silence, only your nose pressing deeper into his neck. He chuckled, pleased to stumble upon the answer so quickly.

“Do you not feel like this is your home?” he asked, his tone warm and gentle as he propped your face against his palm and lifted it so you would look at him, the response painted on your face.

“Would you like to change something? Would you like to, say, paint a wall?” His peace offering made you wince at your own immaturity. Yes, you wanted to change something. Yes, you wanted to feel less like an invader. The comfort of being a guest was long forgotten, morphing into the feeling of being a stranger probing Viktor’s space, trying to squeeze yourself into it.

Seeing your eyes fixed on him expectantly, your mouth forming a pout, he continued. “Would you like a bookshelf?” A timid nod. He smiled. There we are.

“And maybe a record shelf?” An unhinged display of affection at this. You rubbed your face against his in thanks, nodding a few more times and purring. He chuckled, rolling your hips on his, warmth pooling low under his belly button.

“Hmm, and would you like to get all those things now?” Or would you rather seal the deal with a nice, afternoon fuck? He licked the lobe of your ear, breathing you in through his nose. Your hips pressed down on him, a sweet weight of your ass splayed on his lap making him warm. He ran his flat palms down your back to ground you further, his touch addictive.

“No. Now I want to do something else,” you said, picking up the ball, nipping at his lower lip. You kissed his beauty marks, and Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. So much fun to crack you open.

“Ah, distracted already?” he mumbled before kissing you deeply. His hands travelled to cup your ass cheeks, his palms filled with your flesh, just as things should be.

“You always distract me.” Spoken with embarrassment at the admission. Sweet civility, your decorum still intact at those tiny confessions. He swallowed all of them, kept them to himself, and grew stronger and better each time he was granted one.

“And… I’m sorry for being weird,” you said, pulling away an inch to rest your forehead against his.

“I like weird,” Viktor said with a smile, his tone closer to a love confession than a blunt statement. “I am weird,” he added, tracing the lines of your face with his fingers.

“No, you are not,” you chuckled, disarmed. “You are… peculiar,” you announced, poking his lips gently, affectionately.

“That’s just a fancy weird,” Viktor snorted. Peculiar. What a word. What a beautiful word to be given to him. He would wear it like a crown from that point forward. You had anointed him with your gift, and he would cherish it with pride.

“No,” you defended, your brows furrowed at this clear misunderstanding. “No. Weird has bad connotations.” Your finger rested on the tip of his nose, accentuating your point. “Peculiar is fascinating and curious,” you mused as your finger began tracing upward, all the way to the spot between his eyebrows, and then higher, to the line of his hair, brushing it away so you could cup his face. “Odd, in a good way.”

“Alright, word wizard. Did you just come up with this?” he relented with an embarrassed chuckle.

“No, I thought that on the first sight,” you announced proudly. You had. Peculiar was entirely Viktor’s. Wonderful, fascinating. Never fully uncovered, always something there lurking to surprise you. A wild landscape of his brilliant mind, of his raw body—so flawed, so beautiful, like an unfinished sculpture. Every time you remembered his angles, they would shift into something even more mesmerising. The complete lack of effort within him, the way he dressed like a man from a novel. The way he was always incomplete, always searching.

“Peculiar at first sight. Do you have a word for everyone?” he murmured. Seeing your timid nod, his eyebrows shot up. “Jayce?”

You laughed; this one was easy. “Big. Just big. Big everything—big hands, big teeth, big smile, big personality. There is enough of Jayce to literally hug the world,” you said, your tone warm and friendly, as all of this was true about Jayce.

Viktor chuckled, thought for a second. “Mel?”

“Rich.” The word came slightly too fast, and you grinned. Viktor laughed knowingly. “But it goes to everything about her, as I love her,” you clarified, your expression soft. Mel was rich through sharing it with other people. Her fortune came back to her, the more she gave it away. The fortune of her money, her personality, her beauty, spread across all the people she knew.

“Oh, I know. For yourself?” He cocked his eyebrows, his look probing. He had so many words for you. Beautiful. Unhinged. Skittish. Tender. Focused. Distracted. Vulgar. Weird. Hot. His.

“Uh… chaos,” you chuckled awkwardly. Yes, the chaos of your mind never tamed. Which was why your life landed in books. They had provided you with all the personalities you mended yourself from, making your chaotic being work. And Viktor seemed to like all of them.

Until he stopped, and there you were. The weird gained its disturbing friend, and it was no longer cute or fascinating. Now, it was gnawing at him, because he could see those parts of you that he once loved so dearly through a distorting layer of ice, burning his eyes.

“It is none of your concern how I furnish my apartment,” he says calmly. “I am seeing someone and would like your remaining stuff to be removed. Here.” His words stab at you as he pulls out a keychain from his back pocket.

“Next weekend, I’m out of town. Feel free to come and collect your things. Leave the keys in the post box,” he recites, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “If you don’t, I will dispose of them on my own.”

A rush of blood to your head—cold and vile—leaves icy spikes in your veins as it travels upward through your body. Your face drains of colour, your mouth agape. Thousands of “what”s push themselves to your tongue, and you let one slip through.

“W-what?”

“What is so surprising? The pragmatism, or the fact that I had the civility to tell you I’m moving forward on my own accord?” he asks, his tone so utterly cruel it makes your insides twist. “Take this as the last ounce of respect I have left for you.”

“Are you implying that I do not respect you?” you spit, the fury you felt while talking to Mel surging back with full force. What a wanker. “You blocked me. Everywhere. I had no way to let you know.”

“Just take the keys.”

“I… still have my set,” you offer weakly, instantly regretting it as Viktor’s lips curl into a smirk.

“These are new,” he says with feigned innocence. Of course. But you already know this, so why does it shoot straight through your chest? Why does it leave a steaming hole in it? Why do you want to take the keys and stab his eyes with them? Why do you want to scream at him—and yet you can’t.

You take them wordlessly, staring into the void. They burn your hand. “Okay. Alright,” you sigh, defeated, sliding the keychain into your pocket.

An automated smile glues itself to Viktor’s face. So why does he feel so rotten? Surely, this is a victory. Here you are, crumbled into a sad twat of a person, resigned from any further attempts to talk to him. Here you are, exactly where he wants you—hunched and shrunk under the weight of his boot stomping over your cruel heart. You lost, and he won.

So why does he feel so shitty?

He clears his throat and looks away.

“I will have you know that Jayce is desperate to piece the gang together. You and your new… partner will receive an invitation to dinner on Sunday. Jayce has informed me that we are expected to play nice.” The word “partner” is laced with so much venom, the radius could make all the kittens in the vicinity drop dead.

“W-what?” you ask dumbly again. What the fuck? Jayce has lost his mind.

Before you can ask again, the said madman appears by your side.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks wearily, but his embrace is warm.

“Can… can I talk to you for a second?” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. And the worst part is, there’s nobody to carry you home on the top of your shield.

Jayce glances over to Viktor nervously, but Viktor’s eyes are fixed on the mattress in front of him. Jayce sighs, nods, and pulls you a few steps away, pretending the reality isn’t as fucked up as it is.

“What’s up?” He keeps his tone light.

“Jayce, a dinner?”

“Uh, he told you already? I meant to… Yeh, I had an idea that maybe if we all meet and clear the air, things could move forward, at least a bit?”

When he sees your mouth opening and closing a couple of times, and your eyes not blinking even once, he adds, “Please. This is killing me. I feel exactly the same as I did when my parents were divorcing.”

You sigh, finally. Finally, a breath. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and you can feel Viktor’s secretive glances.

“Can I leave at any point?”

Jayce’s face lights up with relief. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, thank you for giving this a chance,” he blurts, so happy, wrapping you up in a hug.

You want to wince away at first, afraid that he might feel how restless your heart is or that he might smell how sweaty you are. But in the end, Jayce’s hug does what it had always done—it calms you, making your head give up. It is what it is.

“I’m gonna go,” you say weakly, pulling yourself away. Jayce shoots you a knowing look and nods, placing his hand on your shoulder before you disappear completely.

You don’t spare Viktor so much as a glance, his keys still burning a hole in your pocket.

***

You despair. The number of times Paul calmly tells you that you could still turn back makes you sick. This poor, kind bastard. He has agreed to this ridiculous idea in an instant, before even checking how you felt about it. Seeing that what you felt is utter peril, he does his best to calm you down and present you with around a thousand options for how this could go.

“We can just not go. We can pretend you’re sick. We can pretend I’m sick, and you can go alone. I can go alone and test the waters for you. We can stay for a drink. We can leave if you feel uncomfortable. Just remember this awesome thing called ‘free will,’ okay?” he says, sitting cross-legged, naked, on the bed.

You are pacing, also naked. Panic surges through your vascular system. It carries said panic to every tissue of your body, making it slowly decompose into a puddle of cries and sobs.

“Hey,” he says, getting up and rushing to hug you. “It’s alright. He’s just a guy.”

This very complacent lie makes you shoot him a look. He tries to be respectful of your old life, of your friendships. Unbidden, his love is too sweet on your tongue as you feel yourself becoming complacent as well.

And then you remember Jayce. His face when he was sad, and he was so, so fucking sad it ripped your heart out. And you feel this vast emptiness that is left after Viktor. With the absence of him, the absence of Jayce and Mel is unbearable. So you sigh.

“Alright. Okay. Let me just… try to do something to not look like a rat.”

Paul chuckles, assuring you that you never look like a rat. When you walk down to the restaurant, your feet stomp heavily on the pavement, and your hand squeezes Paul’s palm in an unrelenting grip. At the door, he says it again, “We can turn back.”

You shake your head and step inside, bravely hiding behind the mass of your boyfriend. Jayce spots you instantly. He gets up so fast, his cutlery clattering to the floor.

“I was afraid you were going to bail,” he whispers loudly into your ear when you finally make it across the room.

“I… thought about it,” you admit under his glare. “You have to thank this guru,” you add with a sigh, gesturing to Paul, who just shrugs, as if it were obvious that you would have bailed without him.

They exchange embraces. You smooch Mel’s face obscenely, actually quite happy to see her, before slumping into your chair, the question staring you in the face. Where is Viktor?

Noticing the question mark distorting your forehead, Mel quickly adds, “They’re on the way. Traffic.”

Bullshit. Viktor lives nearby, and there is no traffic on a Sunday evening. A small relief creeps into you—maybe the outer gods heard you, and it is Viktor who was going to bail. Maybe you have been pulling your hair out over nothing, and this will turn into just a nice evening with your two friends and your lovely boyfriend. Maybe—

“Apologies. Traffic,” comes a sharp tone, accompanied by a shrug and the familiar sight of a cane being hung over the chair’s armrest.

Something sinks in your chest. Peril has just taken relief’s head, ripped it off, and taken a huge shit into its neck. But this isn’t the worst. Introductions come next.

A girl comes running in after him. Pretty. Nerdy. Just… pretty. Nothing remarkable. Pliant and nice, with slightly shy body language. Potentially intelligent. Potentially nothing.

And suddenly, you feel odd having Paul at your side. It feels like you are trying to prove something. It eats at you—that Viktor has shown up with someone so unremarkable, while he himself oozes confidence about his champion. Your champion seems to be completely overblown—his massive frame, his charm that could sweep anyone off their feet.

Overachiever. Poser. Liar.

You feel a nasty fucking thing hatching in your chest. It envelopes your heart, fills your veins with ice, and you could swear the whites of your eyes have gone black. Your hand hesitates when she repeats your name with an oblivious voice, pulling her palm out for a handshake. Your own palm hovers as you muster every ounce of willpower not to slap that mediocre face.

“Hi, Julia. Nice to meet you,” you manage, swallowing the beast, which rakes its claws at your insides as it slides down to your stomach. Your throat burns as you down an entire whisky glass.

You realise it would feel less painful were she obscenely beautiful. Her absolutely average physique has meant that there was something within her soul that beckoned Viktor forth, and the thought makes your own soul wail.

You watch them all from your seat, exchanging names and glances. Jayce knows Julia from work. Paul knows both Jayce and Mel. Which leaves… oh.

“Right, sorry. I’m slow in this weather,” you chuckle a bit too loudly. “Paul. Julia. Viktor.” You gesture clumsily, presenting them to each other before scrambling back into your seat, craning your neck to eye the waiter back to your table.

You watch Paul charming Viktor’s new girlfriend with his smile. You watch Viktor’s slender hand disappear into Paul’s firm grip. You watch their eyes meet, cold and challenging.

You feel a sudden urge to slide under the table. To bury your head in your knees. To bite through the wooden floor to the basement. To dig your own grave and fall asleep in it forever.

“Thanks for the invite, Mel,” Julia beams at your friend, and you spot Mel’s unctuous smile gluing itself to her face. This one is one of her best—so oily and sleek that even Jayce notices. He presses a kiss on her cheek so deep that she has to relax her face.

“So… how did you guys all meet?” It falls on the table and it takes you a few seconds to pick it up.

Holy fucking shit in heaven. Of course. He hasn’t told her. He hasn’t told her that this innocent dinner with friends is actually a farce with the high potential of turning into a carnage. She is oblivious to you. She has no idea. Ignorance is bliss.

“Uh… well, me and Viktor know each other from university, but that you know. Mel I met at a business convention, and, well…” Jayce stammers, stumbling over his words as his forehead begins to glisten with sweat.

Poor soul. You feel so sorry for him, you throw him a lifeline.

“And I am Mel’s friend. Best bitches since business school,” you say, giving the best fake smile you have. Not as good as Mel’s, but it does the job. “And Paul and I met at my work. You can connect the dots,” you throw out nonchalantly. And Viktor was fucking me into heaven for three years. For two.

“Oh, so you’re in business too?” Julia really tries, but the tension is just too palpable. You blink, dumbfounded.

“Uh, no.” A forced chuckle, as if business were a vile way to live. “I sell books.”

“Alright, that’s just unfair,” Jayce intercepts, taken aback by your modesty. You are not trying to be modest; you are trying to give as little information about yourself as possible. You almost smack him, but he continues.

“She finds books like you wouldn’t imagine. Medieval texts, first editions, magic books—all the crazy shit people would write down and publish. Precious objects,” Jayce muses as you try to smooth a crease of panic from your forehead.

“And they trick people who have no idea of their value into selling them rare tomes for chunks of copper,” Viktor murmurs, twirling the wine in his glass.

“Knowledge comes at a price. Of all people, you should be the one to understand that,” you shoot back, your nails slicing through the skin of your palms. You feel Paul’s hand on yours. He doesn’t look at you; he just entwines your fingers together on your knee. The saviour.

“Anyway, it’s actually all incredibly bureaucratic and boring,” you offer weakly, finishing your second drink. “And what about you?”

And then Julia talks. How she is an assistant at the lab where Viktor and Jayce work. How she was always fascinated by their projects. How she thought Viktor distant and mysterious at the beginning, only to discover he was a sweet man. How she just couldn’t say no when he asked her out. Each sentence is a stab into your chest, each of your hard gulps making Viktor smile triumphantly. Until—

The first thing you see is his smirk dropping from his face. The second is Paul’s face as he pulls you in to whisper into your ear, disguising the act as a gesture of affection.

“Smile. And nod. Do you want me to punch him?” he murmurs, the question inaudible to anyone but you.

You smile lovingly, place your hand on his cheek, and shake your head. In fact, you smile so much that your face hurts, and you find yourself needing to physically relax your cheeks with your fingers.

The conversation carries on, all faces a tad sour save for Julia’s. She does most of the talking and asking questions. She focuses on Mel and Jayce, leaving you and Paul to exchange inside jokes. And he does such an exceptional job distracting you that some of your smiles are actually genuine.

You are on your third drink, and your body relaxes despite itself. The food arrives, finally bringing some silence, occasionally broken by hums of appreciation and Jayce’s voice, since he talks with his mouth full. For a moment, you forget Viktor is there—until Julia leaves for the bathroom and leans over to give Viktor a kiss.

His neck cranes to meet her mouth. His hand travels to her throat; the other squeezes her waist. Very briefly, his eyes meet yours. Before you can combust from the look, her hair falls, shielding them both, and all you can make out is the sound of lips smacking apart when she finally pulls away. You wonder what would happen if you stabbed your hand with a fork.

Viktor clears his throat and returns his attention to his plate. You watch him separating meat from the bone, chewing, and swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. And he feels your eyes on him, the smug curve of his lips betraying him.

Paul picks up the glove. He clumsily rolls a chunk of pasta onto his fork and asks innocently if you want to try his food. Absently, you nod, taking a sip of water first to flush your mouth. The bite is too big, and he smears sauce on your cheek and nose. You don’t worry about decorum; you chew as you always chew—jaw working heavily as you gulp down. You can swear Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your throat. Paul chuckles at how gross you are and leans in to kiss the sauce off your cheek, nose, and the corner of your mouth. He lingers and comments on how it tastes even better now. It’s all very sickening, and you feel dirty doing it. You can see Viktor eyeing his fork.

Julia returns and plops down next to Viktor with a happy sigh, as if she’s just had the most satisfying number two of her life. You cackle at the thought, but it dies in your throat when Viktor chirps, “I missed you,” to her and presses his lips to her temple.

You feel yourself simmering beneath the skin. It’s all too much.

“Excuse me for a second.” You offer another sweet smile, stand up, place a hand on Paul’s shoulder, and make your way toward the entrance. A gush of sticky air isn’t exactly a relief, but at least it’s not acidic.

“Sorry, can I bum one?” you ask a woman smoking outside. She gives you an understanding look and pulls the cigarette pack toward you.

“Sure, honey. Did you spot your ex in the crowd?”

“Uh, you have no idea. Thanks,” you exhale, letting her light your cigarette. You don’t smoke, but now it seems suitable.

You are expecting Paul to come out after you, ordering a regroup.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Viktor deadpans, giving you a scolding look.

“I don’t,” is all you manage to say without choking on the smoke. “Please, leave me alone,” you plead, seeing him move closer. You could rake that face with your nails. You could slap him and walk away. You could throw his keys back at him and tell him to eat shit. But no. Jayce needs you to play nice.

“Are you not having a nice time?” he asks innocently, just aiming to hurt. “I thought you wanted things back to normal.”

You sigh, looking at the cigarette lying oddly between your fingers. “I…” Your voice falters. And then, despite your efforts to hold the words back, they refuse to stay. They slice your throat open from the inside, bleeding straight into his ears. “I miss you.”

A slap. A slap straight through his heart, hooking his lungs out of his chest. Your beast gets him, instead of sweet Julia. It coils in, purring and eating him from the inside. It’s all he wanted to hear. He won, again. And he feels like shit about it, again.

Viktor’s cane wobbles under his weight, a sharp, uncomfortable cough forcing its way out of him. His face twists. He stands there, still as stone, except for the erratic rise and fall of his chest. His lips part, his tongue flicks to wet them, but no words come. He looks like he is suffocating under the weight of what you’ve just said.

“Fuck off.” The words come out jagged, like broken glass, his voice harsh and cracking. “You have no right.”

You deserve it. You have no right, indeed. Your chest tightens, your lungs pulling for air that isn’t there. He has gone for the kill, but his voice… His voice doesn’t match his words. It’s soft and trembling.

“I know.” Your voice cracks too, balancing on the edge of fury and despair. You step toward him, the cigarette still burning between your fingers, ash crumbling onto the pavement. “But I do.” It feels like scraping off a scab too fresh to be poked at.

Viktor’s eyes widen, just for a moment. It’s quick—too quick—but you catch it. A flash of something buried deep, a flicker of something that makes your knees want to buckle, to throw yourself at his feet. His jaw clenches hard, his lips twitching as if biting back every single thing he wants to say.

“This was supposed to be over,” he hisses finally, but his gaze betrays him, darting down to your mouth, lingering on the curve of your jaw.

“It… is, I just—” You step even closer, the words clawing their way out of you, half a plea, half a challenge. “This is different.” There is no logical explanation for how this is different, except for the absolute certainty, the gnawing truth in your heart of hearts. You are utterly convinced that Julia existed only to spite you, whereas Paul existed to save you, and in principle, the connection between him and Viktor was non-existent. You wonder, for a second, if you should tell him. And then you picture how he would react, and you decide not to.

His hand grips the handle of his cane tighter, his knuckles turning white. “Do not—” His voice wavers. “Do not do this to me.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and cruel even to your own ears. “What am I doing to you?” You gesture wildly, the cigarette burning low, its ember a heartbeat away from searing your skin. “I try to do right by you. All you do is block me and slap me around.”

“You left!” he snaps, his voice rising, sharp enough to cut through your already battered flesh. “You are the one who left, and now you stand here, saying—saying things you should have said before.” He looks completely crestfallen.

The silence that follows is deafening. Your shoulders slump as you stare at him, and for a moment, you don’t recognise the man in front of you. The Viktor you know wasn’t this—this wreckage, this storm barely holding itself together.

“I left because you made me,” you whisper, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “Because you pushed and pushed until I broke. And now I don’t even know if there’s enough of me left to stay mad at you.”

His head dips, his shoulders collapsing in defeat. His free hand runs through his hair, tugging at the roots like he wants to rip something out—anything, just to make the ache stop.

“You think it was easy for me?” he asks quietly, almost a whisper. “To let you go? To—” His voice cracks again, and he stops himself.

That is a first. You knew how hard it was—you had to crawl through your own shitty tunnel. You knew it was hard for him, but you’ve never heard him admit it before.

You both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick like tar. The cigarette finally burns out, the last ember dropping to the ground as you let it slip from your fingers.

“Then why didn’t you fight for me?” you ask, and your voice breaks. “Why didn’t you—”

“I did.” His words come fast, cutting you off, raw and painful. “I did, but you didn’t see it. You wouldn’t.” Viktor fights his hands to not reach out for you and wipe your tears away with his thumbs. He fights his body to not pull you flush against him, to kiss you deeply and whisper a secret into your mouth. He takes a step back, and it costs him everything. Then you both stare at the thing in front of you.

The truth. Ugly and jagged, sitting between you like a gaping wound neither of you knows how to heal. You had both fucked up, royally. And then you went ahead and jumped into something new, hoping that a tiny bit of duct tape would seal a hole in a massive, overflowing tank of feelings.

“Go back inside.” His voice is soft now, a whisper lost in the sticky night air. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything alright here?” Paul’s voice reaches you before you see him, and you wince. Viktor takes notice. Paul’s arms are crossed on his chest, lips pressed into a thin line.

You nod and drag yourself in obediently. A quick stop in the bathroom to fix your sorry face. A slump into the chair next to Paul, as he places a loving arm around your shoulders. Viktor comes back to the table with an unreadable smile on his face, his eyes wet, but only you can see it. A civil, nice evening, ending with exclamations of how you all should do this again. How it was fun.

“All good?” Paul asks you when you walk home. When you walk to his apartment, the one you silently refuse to move into.

“Yes, just… why did you come out after me?” you counter, puzzled. You pin him with your gaze until he relents into an embarrassed chuckle.

“I thought you needed saving, is all.”

“I don’t need to be saved from anyone, Paul. Don’t intervene again. I’m an adult,” you scoff, opening the door to his apartment.

For the first time, you flinch away from his touch when you are in bed. Tears choke up in your throat all night. But you hold them tight, not letting any slip out. And you realise it takes so long to get over losing someone. That no band-aid, no pretty and nice boyfriend, no amount of friends or sad music could make the process faster. And you realise it isn’t possible to get over Viktor so quickly. And then, you realise that your grief hasn’t moved an inch. It’s still in denial.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #nothings new

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darsynia · 4 months ago

Note

Saw the creativepromptsforwriting post...

I would like to place a order :)

Steve Rogers, MCU/reader is an avengers hero, #12 corner mouth kisses/maybe #57 trembling mouth kiss

I can't believe I let myself think I'd do UP TO 500 WORDS! Steve/Reader, fluffy AF coworker love declarations facilitated by one ginger cat named Kirk. 2,200 words <- OOPS.

Excerpt:

You powerwalk over to the door and pull it open right as you hear the repulsors make their ‘ready to fuck shit up’ noise. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Oh look, you’re alive!” Tony says, completely unphased by your vehemence. “As your friend and teammate, let me save you both some time here: you--” he points to Steve “--need to tell her you’ve been making secret drawings of this woman’s every possible facial expression and you--” he points to you “--ought to let him know you stay after sparring sessions to hand-sew the rips in his suit. I’m talking before it’s laundered. Now, go kiss or something. Note how I didn’t say ‘go play with the pussy?’ That’s camaraderie. Stark out.”

With his verbal grenades expended, Tony grabs the door handle from your nerveless fingers and pulls it firmly shut.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Steve says in a stunned voice.

The Trouble With...

When you woke up this morning, you had a ground floor apartment and a pet cat. When you got back from your day of team training an hour ago, there was no cat to be seen, and your front door was cracked open to the apartment lobby.

A frantic call to your landlord revealed that they’d sent maintenance workers to finally fix the leaking toilet in your unit (with zero notice. Pepper Potts said she’s ‘on it,’ and you suspect your landlord won’t enjoy that experience one bit).

The following sequence of events was where everything kind of fell apart.

You love your cat, and your first instinct was to call your teammate and training buddy, Steve Rogers. Your voice had been shaky during the call as you wandered the nearby alleys calling for Kirk and shaking his favorite earth-shaped cat toy. Steve asked twice as many questions as you even understood on the phone, until finally he said he would be right there to help out. You’d thanked him, bent over next to a dumpster, and sobbed.

Two minutes later, Tony Stark had flown in to use his HUD to search for small animal-shaped heat signatures. “Wow. That’s a lot of rats.”

Thor had sauntered up not long afterwards, Bifrost smoke still following his footsteps, but his ‘special cat whistle’ appeared to be inaudible to humans and cats. Not rats though, according to Tony.

Clint texted you a search grid diagram that had suspiciously blood-colored smudges on it, but before you could ask him about it, Nat sent the larger frame image of his lunch (BBQ wings) beside the printouts. “Don’t worry about him, I have some leads,” she’d told you.

By the time Steve showed up on his motorcycle in street clothes, you were completely overwhelmed, and you’d spent more time managing the feelings of your fellow Avengers than your own. As soon as you saw him approach on the bike, you let out a long sigh, pasted on a smile, and headed straight for your apartment building. You needed to feel safe and at home for the coming conversation.

As soon as you touched your own doorknob though, you realized something.

Was that maybe how Kirk felt too? Maybe for Kirk, the enemy of the week was the maintenance man who invaded the ‘ship’ of your apartment, and your cat wasn’t equipped with enough Dilithium Crystals, Phasers, or Tribbles to deal with it this time. When you had found the door open, you’d called out his name and rushed all over the place looking for him, but what if the sound of your voice just wasn’t enough for Kirk to trust that things were back to normal?

Steve’s arrival forgotten, you rushed into your apartment and tried to think of where Kirk’s ‘safe space’ would be. There was a damaged vent on the wall under the bed that he sometimes fiddled with--could he have finally broken it enough to go exploring? You were on your hands and knees setting one of his favorite treats on the floor next to the bed when Steve tapped gently on the door.

“When I heard how upset you were on the phone call, I--”

Without thinking about the exact words, you blurted out, “Rogers, I love you, but you need to get out, right now. I think I found Kirk, but if there’s someone else here--”

You were so worried about your cat that you didn’t hear what he said in response.

You wake up on your side a few hours later on the floor, head resting on your pillow, with Kirk sleeping peacefully on the rug beside you. The bag of treats you’d grabbed to lure him from the vent in the wall is lying on the floor nearby, completely empty.

“Are you serious right now? Ginger cats, I swear to God.”

A judicious application of duct tape patches up the vent hole, so you head into the kitchen to make yourself some coffee. As the machine whirs to life, you unlock your phone to find multiple messages from each Avenger, all demanding to know if you are okay, if Kirk is okay, if you and Kirk are okay, if your landlord is around for a ‘casual conversation,’ and so on.

“Nope,” you say aloud, popping the ‘p’ for Kirk’s benefit. Of course, that’s when there’s a knock at your door.

It’s Steve, and he’s hovering like something happened during the disproportionate Assemble. “Hey, can I-- Well, first things fir-- Safe to assume you found your cat?”

“Yes, thank goodness” you say, ushering him in. He’s holding back, shifting from foot to foot, which is strange. You’ve held game and movie nights here before, and once or twice you and Steve had stayed up late afterwards talking, but now he’s acting like he’s never been here before. “Kirk went adventuring in the ductwork. I lured him out with treats, but he took so long I fell asleep on the floor.”

A lot of Steve’s tension drains away at that, and he smiles sheepishly. “Oh! So not answering any messages was-- Not that you have to, of course, that’s not what I--”

“Left my phone in the kitchen!” you say briskly, settling onto the couch so that Steve will be forced to sit out of innate politeness. “I just didn’t want to spook Kirk any more than he already was-- which reminds me, I’m sorry I snapped at you, or whatever. I don’t really--”

“About that,” Steve interrupts, lurching a couple more steps into the living room.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask. He’d taken off his baseball cap when he walked in, and has been twisting it in his hands in an anxious way ever since. “Sit down?”

“Right, of course,” Steve says, sitting at the edge of the cushion at the far end of the same couch as you. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Kirk takes that moment to hop up onto your lap, and you let the moment stretch out as you smile politely, hoping Steve will explain what his deal is. It doesn’t work. He is giving off intense ‘waiting for bad news at the ER’ energy, and you can’t take it anymore. “All right, soldier. Spill it.”

Steve laughs weakly, and just like that, the odd suspense drains away. “That obvious, huh? Okay.” He swallows.

That comparison to the ER is starting to feel more and more plausible. “Is... someone hurt and you’re afraid to tell me?”

Steve answers in a headlong rush. “You said you loved me. When you told me to get out of your bedroo-- apartment.”

Suddenly all the obstacles to saying those words for real just melt away.

“That’s because I do!" you whisper, your voice becoming more and more confident as you continue. "I didn’t mean to tell you like that, of course. It slipped out, easy as breathing--because it is. Easy, that is. To love you.” Ironically, your chest feels like you’ve been holding your breath for a couple of months. Kirk’s still on your lap, but his ears show his annoyance at yet another disruption.

“I never-- I’ve dreamed about thi-- Right.” Steve stops himself, stands up, and takes two big steps closer to you before sitting down again, sending your heart into a rolling gallop and Kirk off to an away mission. “I’m falling in love with you. I want to be honest about that.” His eyes trace your face over and over as if determined to etch this moment into his memory. “I kept telling myself it wasn’t right to fall for a teammate--”

“Or, you know, the symbol of all that’s good and right with the world in superhero form,” you tease.

Steve takes your hand, looking at into your eyes with all the sincerity in the world and says, “What’s good and right with the world is this, us. If you’re okay with finding out what that’s like, that is?”

His phrasing is confusing, but the sentiment behind it has you even more in love with him than ever. Steve starts to lift your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it-- and a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Shoot!” he says, jumping to his feet. “I told Tony to come by if he didn’t hear from me. Because there might be something wrong, or--”

“Open up, one of your neighbors told me I bought a bad replica of the Iron Man suit and I’m feeling a powerful urge to prove them wrong!” Stark says, tapping on the door again.

You powerwalk over to the door and pull it open right as you hear the repulsors make their ‘ready to fuck shit up’ noise. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Oh look, you’re alive!” Tony says, completely unphased by your vehemence. “As your friend and teammate, let me save you both some time here: you--” he points to Steve “--need to tell her you’ve been making secret drawings of this woman’s every possible facial expression and you--” he points to you ��--ought to let him know you stay after sparring sessions to hand-sew the rips in his suit. I’m talking before it’s laundered. Now, go kiss or something. Note how I didn’t say ‘go play with the pussy?’ That’s camaraderie. Stark out.”

With his verbal grenades expended, Tony grabs the door handle from your nerveless fingers and pulls it firmly shut.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Steve says in a stunned voice.

Your body has forgotten how to multitask, so you alternate between taking delighted gasps of air and feeling your heart hammer halfway through your ribcage. “You've made sketches of me? I love your art. I was trying to work my way up to telling you that you haven’t been drawing enough.”

“I’m doing it all the time, it’s just you, so I couldn’t, you know. Let you see them.” Steve steps close, herding you against the door, one hand coming up to trace an incredulous caress along your hairline. “You’re insane. I smell terrible after those workouts.”

Bursting out laughing, you bury your head in his chest, feeling and hearing the joyful laughter he lets out along with you. Steve kisses your hair, then your temple, creating a pathway of small steps toward your lips, symbolic of the way your association with each other has grown. By the time he’s pressing a heated kiss at the corner of your mouth, you’re grasping at him with both fists, full of anticipation.

Steve abandons his earlier restraint and takes charge, as though the wait set him on fire and the only way to quench it is through tasting you. One hand grasps your hip firmly, pulling you close, and you tangle your hand into his hair, pouring all the daydreams and late nights of wanting him into this first moment of connection.

It’s many minutes later when he finally gentles the kiss and steps back, apologetically holding up his phone. “I don’t trust Tony to tell everyone he’s made contact,” Steve explains. He taps at the touchscreen keyboard, frowning at the times his large fingers hit two letters at once, while you try to gather all of your molecules into a cohesive version of yourself ala the Star Trek teleporter.

When he’s finally done, you drop a kiss on his bicep, grinning at the thrill that you can even do something like that, even in private. “Thank you. I’m all people’d out today, I should have answered some of the messages that I got, but I saw them and my brain turned off. I’m all out of spoons.”

He snaps his fingers and points at you. “I know this one. You wake up with 100 spoons or something, and you spend them on--”

“Hold on. You might wake up with 100 spoons, but we’re not all supersoldiers!”

“Fair enough. Speaking of which, I’m sensing you’ve nearly run out by now. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

He’s doing that thing with his eyes, the one where he’s warm and understanding and the perfect man for you and-- Steve clears his throat, and you realize you were staring. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get to draw those, you don’t,” he smiles, then chivalrously takes your hand to kiss the back of it. “Seven sound good?”

You nod. Two minutes later your sitting on your couch screaming into a pillow, and Kirk hops up to meow at you.

“I’m all out of treats, dude. You played yourself!” Another mrrow. “Yeah, okay, yes. You did play an integral part in my current state of delirious happiness. I’ll get another bag tomorrow, k, K?” Kirk rubs up against your elbow, and you take that as a ‘yes.’ “You know what? I think I’m going to refer to my spoons as Tribbles from now on, in your honor.”

Just like his namesake, Kirk the cat does not seem to like this idea, but you’re busy in your own mental holodeck, reliving the last half hour with a lovesick grin.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #romance #love declarations #recalcitrant ginger cat sighting #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #captain america imagine #steve rogers imagine #TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

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carmenized-onions · 1 year ago

Text

Doing Too Much. | House Call

logline; Appliances can reach their breaking point, when you push them too far. Same goes for people.

[!!!] series history, this is the sixth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth

[New Thing!!] Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin' added to.

portion; 4.8k

possible allergies; eatin' meat, besides that, we're pretty good actually. did somebody say calm before the storm....?

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns, but girl is said a couple times, i believe.)

After this chapter, I'm entering my era of couch hopping as I move to a new city n start a new job. I'm really excited for the chapter after this one, so hopefully I actually get time to write it-- But that's just my lil warning if you're left rereading for like two weeks </3 But I'll def be stalking my activity/inbox so please do yap to me

Monday morning. The next morning after everything. Well, closer to noon than morning, at this point. You’re supposed to have, what, a work ethic this week? After the most insane weekend of your life? No. You’re lazing around and doing fuck all. No matter who calls. Well… Not completely no matter, but like, most people.

When you check your phone, you’ve gotten a text at 6:43 A.M. Unknown number. Ah. Carmen. You put him in as Carmy, and put his nickname as ‘Mister New York’. Listen, old nicknames Mikey ingrained in your brain die hard.

It’s a simple text, deeply un-romantic.

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

Then, four lines of four perfect categories. Flawless. Purple first, even. The hardest category. And then,

‘Morning’

Stupid. Incredibly stupid, to be enamoured, by this. You reply,

‘Good morning!’

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

And then a failed jumble of coloured squares, you get one out of four categories. What the fuck is 'dogleg' and since when has it meant taking a sharp turn? You follow that up with,

‘Fuck you.’

Aside from Carmen, you’ve actually gotten texts from a couple people. Your boss at Eden’s asking if you’re alright. What the fuck did Cicero say? Oh well. You tell him you’ve ‘been better, been worse. Will be okay by next week.’ Perfectly vague, and you still get wired your cheque and tip out. Alright, maybe Uncle J does deserve your free labour.

Speaking of, the next text on your itinerary is from Uncle J, just info for the winter nuptials of Vinnie and Mira. Oh yeah. Three-hundred guests, you remember that part. You also remember him saying it’d be an ‘easy gig’… He did not mention you’d be the only bartender. This is going to be a nightmare. Oh well. You text back that despite it being an open bar you get to put out a tip jar. He just reacts to it, ‘haha’. That sounds like a yes to you.

And then, adorably, a selfie from Syd, wearing the collar and pins you’ve gifted her, under a green sweater. Cutie. You hype her up accordingly.

Besides some texting though, Monday is relatively unbusy. No calls. No emergencies. No businesses knocking down your door for your services. You’re thankful for a break, letting the inertia set in, finally being able to relax after fix after fix after—

Tuesday comes, you get sent another perfect round of New York Time’s Connections around half past six in the morning, along with a good morning text. And again, you fuck it up. You send him your Wordle results this time, as an act of rebellion. You then ask,

‘How’s reworking the menu going?’

‘Hard to say’

‘Ask me tomorrow’

God he’s an awful texter. Horrifically dry. You know you’re down bad beyond a belief when you find that endearing. You spend Tuesday drowning and pruning your plants after depriving them for so long.

Plus working on your art piece for Carmy. You’re pulling out old film photos, a canvas, and a load of bleach—It’s like high school art class all over again— Surprise surprise, the handyman who loves to up-cycle is a mixed media artist. Who could’ve guessed?

While trimming a photo, an exterior of The Beef, a picture frame on your wall falls down behind you, you tut, turning your head to it, chastising the air. “Mikey! It’s a copy, relax! I’ve still got the original print…”

There’s every chance you’re insane— No, you’re definitely insane. But you’re allowed to be, your best friend died, you’re allowed to talk to the air as if he’s still around. Sometimes the timing of doors swinging open for you and things falling down are just too uncanny to not be a ghost.

Wednesday arrives, and again, just after 6:40, Connections results. And the Wordle, this time; plus a ‘Good Morning’. It looks like this is simply just your thing, now. Every morning, the second both of you get up, you send each other puzzles and wish a good morning. You don’t mind that. It’s nice to have a ‘thing’, with someone. With Carmen.

Part way through the day, around two o’clock, you get another text. Two, actually. From Carmen, in quick succession.

‘Are you busy?’

‘Don’t worry if you’re busy. Can call Fak’

You’re quick to reply, frankly deeply offended.

‘Are you fucking firing me????’

‘I’m gonna get ready. Text me details’

While getting dressed, you watch three dots bubble, bubble, bubble… He’s taking forever, just don’t look at it, you’ll get anxious for no reason. No jumpsuit today, you’ve got to switch it up every now and again. Navy cargo pants with the perfect number of pockets and zippers, and an orange Chicago’s Kindest shirt, tucked in. Hm. Looking in the mirror, hickey is still there. Lighter, but there. Foundation? No. You’ll sweat it off and that’ll just bring up more questions. If Syd asks you’ll just tell her you fell down the stairs… On your neck. She's not the type to confront anything remotely sexual anyways.

Speaking of Syd, before Carmen can text you back, she calls you, which is fair— Don’t leave a Carmen to communicate. You stick your phone in the crux of your neck and answer while you pack your utility belt. This feels nearly nostalgic. “What’s fucked?”

Carmen is in the background; you can hear the tail end of a sentence, grumbling. “—Don’t call—”

“My life.” She responds without missing a beat. “And also, Carmy’s stove and oven.”

“Oh.” You squint. “What the fuck happened?”

“Overuse? I actually don’t fucking know, it just stopped working. We plugged it in and out— He even reset his apartment’s breakers. I dunno what’s wrong with it. It’s probably got something to do with him putting his fuckin’ jeans in there.”

“…He what?”

You can hear him in the background, again, clearer this time, grimacing, “What are you doing to me?”

Syd does not mind him at all, continuing, “I know! He’s fucking weird!”

“He’s extremely weird.” You like him a lot. “I’ll be over soon, were you guys like, mid-cooking?”

“Yessir.”

“Christ, alright… I think I have a dual burner hot plate laying around somewhere, you want me to bring it—”

They both speak clearly this time, together, “Please.”

You’ve got a pile of things to give to them anyways, and maybe you miss Carmy’s face. Just a little.

Instead of just buzzing you in, Carmy comes down for you. When he sees you through the door window, carrying a cardboard box, he almost breaks into a full run. He’s somehow opening the door, grabbing the box from your hands, and chastising you all at the same time. “You should’ve left it in the car, I would’ve—”

You step in through the entryway and kiss his cheek, cutting him short. You can’t help yourself, it’s the first time you’ve seen him since and you feel like a giddy teen. The teenage girl in your head is no longer just in your head, she’s fully manning the station. “You’re very sweet. But it’s also not heavy.”

When he continues to be frozen, the regret starts to mount, “Is—Sorry, is that okay to do—?”

“It’s very okay to do.” He manages to reply, with haste. Nodding to himself. “It’s good.” He nods again, then marches off, expecting you to follow to the elevator. You do.

“What floor?”

“Eighth.” He sniffs; you press the button. He stands next to you, looking you up and down. He astutely observes. “Orange.”

“Yeah.” You smirk, looking back at him, “Turns out, businesses can have two colours in their designs.”

What’s a little roasting of fellow small businesses between two not just friends?

“Oh yeah?” Coy, smirking. Oh no. You’ve gotta get the teen off the controls. He tilts his vision to stare at your jacket. Ah. You opted to wear your Carhartt instead of his jean jacket.

“Didn’t wanna give Syd more questions.” She already guessed you’re a sugar baby, you don’t want to wrap Carmen in on that too. Especially since ideally in a month or two he’ll be your boss. Hm. The Bear is going to need an HR.

He hums, nodding. “We’re not telling Syd?”

“What’s there to tell?” You grin, crossing your arms. “You suddenly have free time, Bear?”

He takes a beat, thinking, then just takes a deep frustrated yet amused exhale. “I’m gonna fuckin’…” He can’t think of a threat. “…Get you.”

You snort, “You’re gonna get me?”

“Fuck you—!” “You’re gonna fuckin’ get me, Bear?”

“I—” He tries to hold a straight face, it doesn’t work. “Yeah, I am.”

“Can’t wait.” You nod, grinning, turning back to the doors. “You told me to ask how menu’s going tomorrow.”

“I did.”

“It’s tomorrow.” The door dings, opening on the eighth floor; you step out together. He switches his grip to hold the box in one arm. Alright Biceps, we don’t need to brag here...

“It’s… We’re getting there.” He grimaces. “Syd’s recipes are always… Almost perfect.”

“Ah.” You nod, you know your friend well enough to know where this is going. “And she fucks up one thing hard?”

“Mhm.”

“And when you tell her it’s okay and give her a hand she just feels worse?”

He nods. A touch surprised you’re right on the dot so quickly. “Everything ends up perfect, but I think she’s finding the edits…”

“Demoralizing.” You walk down the hall together, he nods. “I know what she needs, I’ll find an in.”

“You always do.” He hums, you walk just a touch ahead of him, unknowingly walking past his door. He pulls you back by the back of your jacket, making you stumble back into him. This seems to be this villain’s intention; as when you turn around, he’s quick to grab your chin and kiss you.

“It’s very good.” He emphasizes, again, before opening his door and acting like everything’s totally normal and fine. Since when did he turn the tables and make you the desperate one? Son of a bitch.

Ah. Actually, subtract any attraction you had in this moment— He lives like this? Books on the floor, by the window. Jeans on the dinner table, because they were in the oven. The kitchen actually looks alright— You’re almost certain that’s purely for utilitarian purposes while they’re working on the menu. This motherfucker better have a bed frame or him asking you to sleep over would be downright offensive. God, he’s wonderful. God, you’re an idiot.

You find Syd at the table, moping, head in hands. Carmen sets the box down, sitting beside her. You pat the top of her head. She silently moves one of her hands to go over yours. You nod. The silent exchange of girls who know.

“Yeah?”

She nods, grumbling. “Yeah.”

Carmen has no fucking idea what’s happening and he’s never been more intrigued by a near wordless social interaction in his entire life. What? You’re not even making eye-contact. What the fuck is happening?

You fish through the box with your free hand, grabbing a pot. You place it in front of Syd. “Look.”

She peeks through her fingers. A tiny but flourishing nursery pot of basil sits before her. You speak. “You’re gonna hyper-fixate on this basil I’m gifting you, and then you’re gonna crack back into it with the dual burner until I’m done fixing the oven.”

She nods, putting her hands in her lap, “Yes, Chef.”

You pull out a second nursery pot, setting it down for Carmen. “For you.”

“What for?”

“Basil grows like a motherfucker and it’s getting unhinged. I need to start pawning off to people that’ll make good use of it. A-K-A, chefs.” You look at Syd, pointedly, “Talented chefs.”

You hand off the heating pad— Wrapped in brown paper with a card tied to it, to Carmen. “For Nat.” You add, when he looks confused, “Can’t imagine I’ll see her sooner than you will.”

He looks even more confused, when you hand him a spray bottle full of reddish water. It’s one of the good spray bottles, too. Continuous. Carmen wouldn’t know the difference, but you do. “Rosemary. —Water, that is.”

He squints; you clarify, gesturing to your own hair. “You mentioned, losing hair, so— Thought I’d make some, with the trimmings of rosemary I had. Got ginger and cloves in it, too.”

Why have you trapped him in hell? You’ve remembered such a specific off hand from days ago and acted on it? And he can’t express the grandiose level of affection he feels right now? Are you serious? You’re the devil. You’re absolutely the devil. He just coughs out a ‘thanks’.

“And, the pièce de résistance,” You pull out the old ass, boxed up double burner countertop stove. “A stovetop that ideally fuckin’ works. It was my single claim to fame in my college dormitory.”

Carmen’s already opening the box. Sydney smirks, curiosity peaked. “Was that legal?”

“You a fuckin’ RA?” You grin, poking her forehead. “It was not. And that’s exactly why everyone loved me— Didn’t serve them fuckin’ hot pockets.”

The configurations of Carmen’s apartment would be great for literally any occasion besides the current one. The kitchen is narrow, and so, when you pull out the stove to check the back, there’s an estimated no fucking room left for Carm and Syd, so they sit at the dinner table with your stove top. You’d think they’d look like they’re doing a cute hot pot. No. They look like two conflicted and confused twelve-year-olds working on a science project.

So do you, honestly. Wiring is definitely more your speed than plumbing, but if you’re being honest, this is the first oven you’ve worked on without your dad, and you’re having a hard time remembering everything. There’s a lot of embarrassed Googling on your phone, when you're sure they’re not looking. They can’t know you’re even slightly incompetent!

You’re pretty sure it’s just a couple damaged wires, fried from overwork— Easy fix, if you had wire. You don’t. Slightly harder fix. But soldering is your bitch really, you’re in your bag. You look stupid, wearing chunky goggles and a respirator, but you’re in your bag, baby! What’s that one saying? Skills make you hot? That’s not a saying.

But it is true. When Carmen’s able to peer into the kitchen, quickly looking over his shoulder when Syd takes a moment to write a measurement or direction down, you look stunning. Respirator and all. You just look correct there, in the kitchen. His kitchen. So stunning he feels guilty. Do you find it annoying? Constantly fixing errors behind him? Probably. You say it’s not a lot of work, but that can’t be true.

“How’s The Bear, ‘sides menu rework?” You ask, raising your voice in the kitchen.

“S’good.” Carmen. “I’m in hell.” Syd. Not hard to tell which statue is lying, here.

Syd stutters on, “Nat’s takin’ care of baby Michaela— Which is very good and—and cool, actually.”

“But?”

“But we’re back to handling the business side entirely ourselves, for like— The next month. Maybe two? Fuck, are we doing the wedding without her?” Sydney almost burns her sauce, Carmen’s quick to move it off the burner.

He mutters, “Don’t even start to think about it. It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“Oh yeah, wedding— Have you gotten your menu yet?” You call from the kitchen, muffled by your respirator.

“Oh my god!” Sydney exclaims, and Carmen is wincing. She can’t tell you things are going wrong; doesn’t she know that? You’ll fix it, if things are wrong. You always fix it. Fix him. You’re gonna put him in your phone as Carmy Bad News. If you haven’t already. Start a support group with Tif.

Syd continues, “They’re so fucking particular and somehow also vague—Like, ‘we want salmon and chicken’ for main course— What kind of preparation? ‘Surprise us!’ Okay, how about roasted chicken—? ‘Mmmm, no, not that’. I’ve been told ‘non quello’ at least ten times in the last four days.”

No, you’re witty. Bad News Bear. Fuck, that’s definitely his name in your phone, isn’t it?

“Fuckin’ nightmare. Y’know, I’m the only fucking bartender? For like three hundred guests? Thank God they’re not asking for a custom cocktail or anything, I’d lose my shit.”

Sydney laughs, and she steps back into her flow easily, reducing the sauce without burning it, now. She looks more serene than she has in days. What? How are you doing that? What are you doing? Are you casting a spell?

“Can you even fucking imagine what their couples’ cocktail would be?”

You groan from the kitchen, laughing in return, “Not you too, Syd! Must you make me work!?”

“C’mon maestro, make a cocktail!”

“Bleh. Uh… They give long island iced tea energy, but it’s a wedding so— Like a boozier negroni?”

“That sounds fucking disgusting.”

“I didn’t say it’d be good, I said it’d be their couples’ cocktail.” You’re both giggling, like school girls. It’s like you said— You become teens, together.

Despite the fact that Syd is making an incredibly complex dish, and you’re fixing an oven—His oven— Ridiculing the other impossible tasks set out for the both of you… Despite all of that, you’re laughing.

Carmen is, what, nearly thirty? A restaurant owner, with a full crew, who attends Al-Anon, and is only now truly registering the power of an unsolvable burden being shared. Not fixed, shared. Talking. Laughing. God, this all comes so easy to you, doesn’t it?

You finish soldering, test each burner, and the oven— All working, thank God. You quietly cheer in the kitchen, removing your respirator and goggles. “We’re good here! Fixed!”

“C’mere!” Syd calls out to you, and so you do. Eagerly. She hands you a fork. Unprompted, she does the thing. You’d missed the OG, really.

“Beef Oxtail, pressed in a Foie Gras casing, seared. Basted in a King Oyster mushroom sauce. Pureed greens on the side.”

“I never know what the fuck you’re saying.”

She pushes the side of your face with the palm of her hand. “Put it in your mouth and chew.”

You want to make some sort of kink joke, but you respect the already struggling man in the room and take a bite. Hm. Hm. You put a finger over your mouth, swallowing. “...Now it might just be my unrefined palate.”

“That’s why we have you try it.” Carmen pipes in. Syd nods, following. “It’s important to know the baseline.”

“…It’s got like,” You hand the fork to Syd so she can try it, while you think. “A bit of a bitter aftertaste? Which might be the… goal?”

Syd spits it out the second it touches her mouth, she shouts your name, your actual name— A rarity. She’s so terrified that she forgets the Walk-In bit she’s been in on all week. “I just fuckin’ poisoned you— Oh my god?! Are you good? That was— Fuck! You swallowed that?!”

She grabs your face like a concerned mother, also maybe to check if you have superpowers, you’re not sure. All you know is there’s a golden opportunity to make another sex joke and you have to hold back. Life is so unfair.

Carmen takes a quick taste, also spitting it out. “I’ve got it, Chef, don’t sweat.” Immediately looking to the drafted recipe card to see where they went wrong.

Syd almost squeezes your cheeks like a stress ball but thinks better of it, letting go, groaning, beyond frustrated at this point. “You shouldn’t have to fix it— I should fuckin’ have it, at this point.”

Carmen's trying to ignore how much he relates to the sentiment. He's not the focus, right now.

“We make mistakes, Chef—” “Syd.” You snap your fingers, pointing to her, interrupting Carmen. “Can you help me grab something, from my car? It’s kinda big.”

Carmen’s quick to chime in, already going to untie his apron, “I can—”

“No!” You look at him pointedly, trying to communicate through look alone. He kind of gets it? “It’s… Girl stuff.”

Syd squints. “You need me to help you carry a big girl thing?”

“…Are you fuckin’ helping or are you gonna poke holes?”

“What are you actually dragging me out for?”

“Technically I do actually need your help grabbing something, it’s just not a girl thing. And it's also not from my car.”

“Oh?”

You walk out of Carmen’s building with his keys, and gesture out to every apartment buildings treasure trove— The spot everyone throws their furniture when they move out and don’t know what else to do with it.

“Bookshelf!” There is actually one pristine looking bookshelf, a cheap one, definitely just something from IKEA. But it’s better than the fucking floor. “I spotted it on my way in, we’re gonna bring it up for Carm.”

She groans, hating the concept of manual labour, but still walks with you and grabs one end anyways. “Why didn’t you make Carmen carry his own bookshelf?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ pep-talk.” You pick the other end of the bookshelf up. It’s thankfully not that heavy. You walk backwards so you can keep facing Syd.

“…I don’t—” “Yes the fuck you do.”

She kisses her teeth, you frown. “What’s up, Adamu?”

“It’s just fucking annoying— I keep, I keep fucking it up. I keep—Keep—”

“Doing too much.”

She gives you a look, ‘are you serious?’, type look. You continue. “You’re doing too much. You’re not cooking like you.”

“I can cook like Michelin—”

“I never said you couldn’t. Watch your step.” You interrupt, walking over a bump in the sidewalk. “You can do star level shit, Syd. But that’s a grade, not a type.”

She kind of reels, at that. You continue, “You cook great complex dishes, you always have, I’ve tried them. But now, you’re all caught up trying to prove some shit, to Carmen, to—to— Who gives stars? The tires guy?”

She laughs, almost dropping the bookshelf. “Yeah, I’m trying to impress the tires guy.”

“Fuck you.” You snort, stepping up the stairs. “What I’m trying to say is, you should make what you want to eat, not what you think you should eat.”

She nods, you stop on top of the stairs, both taking a second to breathe. “…Thanks.”

You nod back, hands on your knees for a second before standing back up, opening the lobby door. “I’ll always be your cheerleader, Syd.”

“More like coach.”

“Can you let me have one hot girl career, please?”

When you get back up to Carmen’s, he’s already grimacing. You and Syd are split apart by the bookshelf standing between you in the hall. “Fuck is this?”

“It was free and I’ll clean it!” You press your hands together pleading. “C’mon, you can even put your jeans in it!”

“Jeans on a bookshelf?”

You turn to Syd. “Better than the oven.”

“I think he’s doing that to dry them.”

“I think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t own a dresser.”

“It’s both.” Carmen clicks his tongue, single-handedly picking up the bookshelf and carrying inside. Alright, does he need to show off this much? Whatever. It’s definitely not making you feel any type of way at all.

You squint, watching him walk further in his apartment, and then to Syd. You speak at the same time. “He stays doing too much.”

As promised, you wipe down the bookshelf, making sure it’s free of grime and roadside pests. Syd and Carmy work together in the kitchen, with a now functioning oven. You load the shelf up with the books on the floor— Thankfully they’re piled into categories already, so you don’t have to bother him about that.

You’re tempted to clean his living room, but that would probably be rude, right? Don’t want him to take it as you saying he’s a slob. But they are taking a while… Alright, you’ll just throw out trash. You won’t fold blankets or pick up dishes or anything. Just trash! No big! He can’t be mad at you for that.

You pile together the garbage, then sneakily throw it out in the kitchen trash can as fast as you can, before he looks. He’ll think he’s just sleep cleaning, or something. “How’s it goin’ in here?’

Carmen pipes up, eyes focused on the dish as Syd plates it. “Good.” Syd holds the plate in one hand, and silently corrals you with the other to sit at the table. You do. She sets it down the plate before you, handing you a fork and knife.

You look up at her expectantly. She shakes her head. “Eat first, this time.”

She looks serious, so you nod, cutting into the dish. It’s different from the last one. Instead of oxtail, it’s pastry. Or at least, a puff pastry exterior. You’re pretty sure it’s Pillsbury, you remember Carmen buying that, the other day, on your excursion.

Inside it, you believe is the beef oxtail, there’s other things, too. Some sort of sauce, some greens— Oh well, no time to bask in the cross section because Syd looks like she’s about to explode. You take a bite. You nod, chewing.

Syd starts, “Searing the duck caused the bitter taste— So instead of- Of searing the outside, I coated it in the mushroom sauce, the greens— Not pureed, this time, for texture. Your basil, too. There’s a crumble of feta, for a subtle tang. And then wrapped it all together in puff pastry, and baked. It’s sort of like, a varied take on a beef welling—”

“You made a fucking gourmet hot pocket?” You swallow, wheezing. The second you say this, Sydney’s focused face beams, laughing, like she’s just pulled off the most perfect prank of all time.

Carmen was so intrigued and focused on Sydney’s explanation, that you watering it down to hot pocket and being right makes his entire system reboot. He cannot stop smiling, aghast. He's been helping Syd make a hot pocket for the past hour?

“I told you to make what you want and—” wheeze “—you make a fucking hot pocket?!” You double down, laughing with her, she’s trying to defend herself but she can’t stop wheezing in tandem.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ stand you!” You snort, covering your face with your arm. “I hate your ass, oh my God, Syd.”

“Did—” snort “What did you think?” She recovers, slowly but surely.

You shake your head, handing her the fork. “It’s sick, Syd, obviously, it’s fucking perfect… Chef.” You tack on at the end, almost forgetting. “I’m not gonna be able to have an actual hot pocket, ever again. You’ve ruined my life.”

She takes a bite for herself, nodding. She does a small cheer, pumping her fist. “Let’s fucking go.” She points her fork at you— Purely on muscle memory, and you both instantly remember the days of her testing out recipes and you pairing them on first taste. She’d point her fork to you like a microphone. It was a fun game between two nerds.

It’s a reflex response for you, even now. “Barolo. Savory, dry, red. A young one, though. Light body. Could also do an Amarone, if you’re not buried in money.”

She hands the fork off to Carmy to try it, then writes the pairings down, mumbling, amusement still in her voice. “How the fuck do you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I have some wires crossed.”

“Fire, Chef.” Carmen swallows his bite. “We cannot call it a hot pocket on the menu.”

“Then what’s the point!?”

Leaving Carmen’s place is objectively the most awkward experience— But also the funniest. You offer to wait for Syd and drive her home— You’ll need a second to pack anyways while they make their business plans.

When you do offer, of course, Carmen stutters short, almost asking you again to sleep over or at the very least stay late, but saves it, realizing himself.

Syd accepts the ride offer. You pack up and wait for her to be done. When she is, Carmen offers to carry your things down with you both, in which Syd accuses him of thinking you’re both weaklings— He does not have a defense case for this, he has to let you go. You can tell he wants to kiss you at the door, and you do too. Sadly, you’re equally down bad, but he can’t know that…

You say your goodbyes, Syd helps you load your tools and hotplate in the trunk of your car. Your phone vibrates. Text from Mister New York.

‘Look up I’m on the balcony. 8 floors.’

You look up, sure as shit, he’s out there, cigarette in mouth. Unlit. He waves, you wave back. He texts again, in rapid succession.

‘Thank you’

‘For helping Syd’

‘And the oven and the hot plate and the bookshelf (not necessary)’

‘nbd + I think it’s v necessary’ Does Carmen understand acronyms? You’re risking it, here.

‘and cleaning my trash’ Sonofabitch.

‘ah fuck. I don’t think you’re messy!!! I just wanted to help!!!’

‘I know. You’re you. Be safe.’

Oh goddammit, stupid dry texter, saying something so gah. You jump as Syd taps the roof of your car behind you, getting your attention. Watching from a far distance, Carmen laughs, though you don’t notice it.

“Are we going?”

“Yes! Sorry!” You hurriedly pocket your phone, waving one last time as you get in your car. Syd sits beside you in shotgun, her pot of basil sat safely in her lap. You drive off.

You’re half way down the road, when Syd pipes up again. “So y’all are fucking, correct?”

You almost brake check the guy behind you.

“How do you fuckin’ do that!?”

the opening is dedicated to my dear friend and i who have sent our wordle results to each other everyday for the past like year and a half.

Things of note, one - people usually skip the shit up top-- I made a spotify playlist! Listen if you like, I'm not your dad.

Two, I know this is a self insert right, i know what I set myself up for-- Do you know the hell i am in as a syd x carmy girl writing scenes with both of them and it NOT being them? What have I done, to myself? The only coping mechanism I have is imagining in this universe Syd is a lesbian. And that is helping.

The hot pocket recipe-- Who fucking knows, if that would taste good? I think it would? In theory? I fucked with a dish from Daniel NYC, to make it into a bit. Would it work? ....Beef wellingtons do, I can't see why this can't???? Idk man.

Rosemary water w cloves and ginger does fucking work btw. I am part of the so stressed out i lost my hair brigade. Also basil does grow like a motherfucker.

We're seein' a little bit of that tenseness that comes with being in an 'almost relationship' both of them feel like they've got something they can fuck up now. Poor birds. They'll be okay. Probably.

I'm really excited for the next chapter, I don't wanna give shit away, but it's gonna be,,,,,, different. I haven't seen anyone try this kinda formatting on tumblr before, and I'm excited to see what you think. Between my moving and how complex the choreography of it is gonna be, it's gonna be a much longer minute between this chapter and the next, I fear. But listen, you already knew your ass was gettin' spoiled with a chapter every two days. Hehe.

As always, please come yap to me in the replies/inbox/dms/reblogs. I love to hear thoughts!! It sustains me, baby!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear fx #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x female reader

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wcnderlnds · 1 month ago

Text

to the moon [part four] ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: after being bit by the jealousy bug, you're certain seunghyun would want nothing to do with you but he proves you wrong. ・❥・word count: 1.5k ・❥・warnings: none, really. ・❥・ authors note: consider this a filler chapter before we get to the good stuff <3 i also did not proofread this because it's late and im tired so forgive me for any mistakes.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

The morning came with many regrets but that bitter, sinking feeling still lingered in your stomach. Memories of the night before plagued your mind. You kept replaying it in your head, trying to figure out if you had read the situation wrong but your mind and your heart were pulling you in two different directions. Your head was telling you that you’d acted irrational, Seunghyun and Rhiannon were nothing more than friends but your heart? Well, it was so emotionally attached to Seunghyun that it ached at the mere thought of him even liking someone else. You hated the way you’d acted, it was embarrassing and definitely not the impression you wanted to give Seunghyun or his friends but you couldn’t take it back now. All you could do was deal with the consequences.

Catching feelings for Seunghyun had never been part of the plan but you couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat every time you saw him now or how each time he looked at you, the butterflies in your stomach began to stir. There was no point denying it now. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to feel the same now you’d made a fool out of yourself.

With a sigh, you grabbed your phone, seeing a few texts from Seunghyun. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them yet so instead you decided to hop in the shower to clear your mind. Maybe it would bring you some sense of clarity, possibly the courage you needed to finally text him back.

Fresh out of the shower, you got changed opting for something casual – there was no need to make an effort, it was the weekend and you had no plans. Just as you were about to head into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, there was a knock on the door. You stopped in your tracks. You weren’t expecting anyone so who could it be? A little hesitantly, you made your way to the front door and opened it to see the last person you expected.

Seungyhun.

There he stood, a shy smile on his face, hands behind his back like he was hiding something. Your first thought was how the hell did he get your address but then you remembered you’d shared it with him in case he ever needed a place to crash. He looked you over as if he was making sure you were okay. Those big, beautiful eyes of his shining with concern. He didn’t let you have a chance to speak, opening his mouth before you could.

“You weren’t answering any of my texts and I was worried so I had to come and make sure you were okay,” his voice was gentle.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I… uh, just needed some time to breathe,” you wrapped your arms around yourself.

There was a beat of silence before Seunghyun spoke again, his voice soft. “She’s just a friend, you know?”

Oh. He’d figured it out.

“...yeah, I know. I just…” you trailed off, unable to find the words to say.

Seunghyun finally pulled his arms from behind his back to hold out a bear. The very same bear he’d been holding last night. “I won this for you. Rhiannon was making fun of me because I was asking her if you’d like it and was nervous about giving it to you.”

“Oh.” The corners of your lips twitched up in a smile, taking the bear from him. Your hand brushed against his, sparks coursing through your whole body. You hugged the bear to your chest. It was almost unbelievable how sweet he was and you’d gone and jumped to conclusions. “I’m sorry. For acting the way I did. I’m just… not good at this. People usually end up hurting me so my mind jumps to the worst.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured you. “I’m the same way but I promise you, I have no intentions of hurting you. I… uh, I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to come and get brunch with me. We had our time cut short last night and, well, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, thankful you had the bear to clutch onto at that moment. “...like, as a date or… am I jumping to conclusions again?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, a date. If you want. Doesn’t have to be but I’d like it to be.”

“I’d love to.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Seunghyun had chosen a beautiful, little cafe in a secluded part of town. It was the perfect place for a first date. You still couldn’t believe you were actually on a date with him. After last night you were sure he wouldn’t want anything to do with you, believing that you had been too dramatic for him but here you were. Seunghyun sat opposite you, telling you his latest training. You hung on to his every word, nodding when you needed to ask, asking questions at the right moment. It was like he’d never had anyone to really talk to about this and he hadn’t. Most people weren’t interested but you? Well, you were the complete opposite. It was nice to have someone so interested in what he had to say. He could tell it was genuine, too. A lot of people would pretend to talk to him just because of who he was but you didn’t care about any of that. It was one of the reasons he was so drawn to you.

You finished the last bite of your pancakes, pushing the plate to the side. Seunghyun had insisted on paying for the whole thing even though you’d offered to go half with him. He really was the sweetest, kindest person you’d ever met. He’d literally shown up on your door after you’d ignored him and had a jealous meltdown. Most guys wouldn’t look back after that but he wasn’t most guys.

“When do you actually go to the moon then?” You asked.

“Not for a while yet. Still got a lot of training to do and they need to work on the ship. Why? You worried you’re going to miss me when I go?” He teased.

“Well, duh. Once you get up there, you might not want to come back.”

“I think knowing you’re here is more than enough of a reason to come back.”

You blushed, shyly looking down at your empty plate. Your heart raced, cheeks heating up. Seunghyun only laughed, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“Shutup,” you said with no real bite. “It’s not cute turning into a human tomato.”

“I think you’d be a cute tomato.”

“Oh my god.”

He grinned at you, the dimples in his cheeks showing and it made you want to lean over the table and kiss him. Thoughts drifted back to that almost kiss from last night. Your eyes darted down to his lips for a brief second but he caught it. He must’ve been thinking the same thing because he leaned over the small table, cupping your cheek, his eyes scanning yours for any hesitation. When he saw none, he made the move, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours – you could feel his breath on your face, the ghost of his lips almost touching yours – then his phone began to ring.

“...you’ve got to be kidding me?” He mumbled under his breath. The disappointment in his tone didn’t go amiss. Yet another failed attempt at a kiss. Was this the universes’ way of telling you this wasn’t going to happen?

Seunghyun answered the call. You watched as he spoke, his eyebrows furrowing then he ended the call with a sigh. The apology was written all over his face and you knew what was coming next. As much as you didn’t want him to leave – you could spend all day sitting here talking with him, you knew that it was important. So, you weren’t going to stop him. You smiled warmly at him. “It’s okay. If you need to go, go.”

“I don’t want to,” he huffed like a child. “I want to stay with you but… I have to.”

“Space stuff?”

“Space stuff,” he confirmed with a nod. “You better text me back now. I don’t want to have to show up at your door again.”

“I will, I promise.” Then you hesitated for a moment, a little nervous to ask him the question running through your mind but if he could ask you out on a date, you could ask him this. “Me and my friends are heading out to a bar tonight for a few drinks. Would you like to come? You can bring your friends, if you like.”

Seunghyun’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to. Text me the details and I’ll see you there.”

Once he paid the bill, the two of you made your way out. The warm air of Texas hit you instantly, Seunghyun standing in front of you, barely any space between you. For a moment it seemed like he was going to try and go in for a kiss again but instead he placed a hand on your hip momentarily, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah… later.”

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @moontabi @loonybunny1

#choi seunghyun x reader #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #bigbang x reader #my fics

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