#but its like 1:17am | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pepsiconcoction · 1 year

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Discounted Cookies | Han Jisung x Reader

pairing: barista!han jisung x gn!reaer

tags: coffee shop au, a little bit of angst, minor language, jisung is a lil flirt, reader doesn't wanna put up with it, fluff, no smut

requested? yes! by anon xox

an: i actually don't know how i feel about this, but it's cute regardless, anon i hope i captured what u meant, i tried my best to get reader to be Annoyed but i love jisung too much, sorry ;-;

wc: 3,890

4 times Jisung flirted with you + 1 time you flirted with him.

The first time you see him.

It’s a few minutes past midnight and you think this might be your end. You’re going to pass out, for sure. You had been studying at the library for the past 7 hours straight for an exam worth 60% of your grade. Studying Law was definitely a choice. Specifically, it was the choice you made two and a half years ago, resulting in you, at this moment, halfway through your third year and on the brink of a breakdown. The breakdown? Partially caused by your ex-boyfriend, who had just broken up with you no more than five days ago. You’re fine. People keep asking. You really wish they would stop.

In the distance, you spot a flood of warm, yellow light flooding out of a shop window. As you get closer, you recognise it’s a coffee shop, you think it may even be the one your friend had told you about, saying it was her favourite place to study as it’s open 24 hours. It seems tonight is the night you’re finally going to check it out.

It’s kind of snowy at your feet, thanks to the early month of the year, but you wish it was more picturesque and not just the grey slush that you think you can feel leaking through your boots. At least it’ll be nice to get some warmth for a few minutes.

You push open the door, a small bell jingling above your head, and the warmth hits you like a wall, suffocating in its intensity. There’s only one other person in here: an old trucker-looking guy, face held over a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You hear a man shout from behind the counter, you guess he’s even further in the back than you can see. You hear a small commotion that sounds a bit like someone stamping on a cardboard box. A few seconds later, a guy appears, slightly dishevelled and running his hands through his hair as he exhales. His hair parts in the middle and brushes his eyebrows, slightly longer around the edges, as if gone uncut for a few months. A friendly face with round cheeks looks at you, a grin appearing on his face. He brushes down his apron and makes his way to the counter.

“Sorry about that, what can I get ya?” he asks.

“Just an Americano to go, please,” You smile back at him.

“Can I offer you any discounted sweet treats?” He gestures to an almost empty cake counter. “They’re discounted because it’s so late, not because they’re bad.” He quickly adds on. You spot a singular chocolate cookie looking very lonely.

“Sure, I’ll take the cookie,” you say, gesturing to it.

“Good choice, madam.” He nods his head, punching it into the register.

“Can I take a name?”

“Do you need it?” You ask, looking around at the empty store.

“Not really, but I’d like it.” He shrugs.

“Y/n,” you sigh. This isn’t what you were looking for at the moment, but you decide to just let it go.

“Not having a good day?” he asks, seemingly concerned.

“Not having a good week,” you say flatly, hoping to communicate your disinterest.

“Well, Y/n, feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you once it’s done.” He grins again and spins around, getting to work on the coffee machine. God, who even has this much energy this late at night? Crazy people, that’s who.

You sit down at one of the tables, taking out your phone and it reads 12:17am. It feels like it’s mocking you. You scroll through your socials, attempting to keep what small semblance of a social life you think you have together, but a few minutes later, a familiar barista comes into your view. You stand up, accepting the coffee from him and he hands you the cookie which is now in a brown, paper bag.

“One Americano, and one discounted cookie.” He hands you each and you stand up, thanking him.

“And maybe a little extra something, since you’re having a bad week and all,” he adds quietly, shuffling on his feet slightly. You peek inside the bag and notice a candy bar, something chocolatey.

“Thank you,” You stutter, not expecting the kind gesture.

“Come back again soon!” He says, already heading back to the counter where he starts to mess with something, in a clear attempt to look busy. You turn and

leave. Despite the cold air outside, there is an unfamiliar warmth in your body.

The second time you see him.

You wake up the next day, surprisingly on time despite the lack of alarm. It’s only 10am and you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead of you. The exam is in 5 days. Thankfully you’re studying at home today, not needing the library for today’s subjects. The state of your flat reflects your mind, it’s a mess, dishes in the sink, clothes piling up next to the dryer. After an hour or so of quick chores, it’s in a slightly better state, good enough to study in, you think.

And study, you do. Day turns to night and you find yourself closing the last page of a textbook, letting out a deep breath. You could feel your anxiety beginning to fizzle around your body, not fully convinced you’ve properly ingested all the revision you’ve done. You need some food. The second half of a pizza is sitting untouched from earlier and you kinda feel bad for it, poor thing. Your eyes flicker towards the candy bar sitting on your desk, where it was abandoned last night and you think about the guy from the coffee shop. You throw on a slightly warmer outfit and you definitely don’t spend the walk to the coffee shop thinking about whether he might be working. To your surprise, he is.

You can see him behind the counter from outside, he’s pouring frothed milk into a cup, presumably for the customer standing at the counter. It’s slightly busier at this time, you’re not surprised considering it’s only just coming up to 8pm. You push open the door and the bell jingles like it did the night before. He looks up, looking past the customer in front and his mouth quirks up into a smile, recognising you instantly. You look around him, at the large menu boards, you don’t want to give him an ego.

The customer in front pays for their drink and leaves, and the man’s smile finally points directly at you.

“Hello again, Y/n, what can I get you today?” He grins at you, eyes crinkling. You’re surprised he remembers your name.

“A latte, please,” you say, glancing up at the menu.

“To go, or sit in?” His eyebrow quirks.

“Oh, uh-”

“You’re sitting in,” he answers for you, already punching it into the register.

“Fine.” Your roll your eyes.

“Take a seat.” He gestures to the barstool-type seating a little further down the counter. You’re not really sure why you actually sit down.

“Is your week any better?” He looks over his shoulder as he makes your drink.

“Not really, no.” You respond. He pauses in his actions, looking at you expectingly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

“We don’t know each other,” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Okay, so my name is Jisung, Han Jisung, and today, I’m your barista. Tomorrow, maybe more!” He winks as he turns back to the machine which is spewing out your drink.

“Well, Han Jisung, if you must know, I’m stressed the fuck out for my exam next Monday, I’ve got a practical in two days, and my boyfriend broke up with me a few days ago because I was too much for him. He was just a pathetic, weak little man, I really don’t know how I lasted that long with him.” You found yourself ranting, releasing some of the pent-up frustration you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

“Well,” Jisung starts. “that’s very fair.” He goes quiet for the remainder of the time he is making the drink, leaving a slightly awkward air around you. You focus your eyes on the counter in front of you in an attempt to ignore the stress coming back to you. All of a sudden a drink is slid across the counter.

“Is that a… squirrel?” You look from the cute latte art to the man standing across the counter from you. He looks sheepishly up at you.

“Yeah, looks like me, doesn’t it?” His grin is back, and you can feel a smile creeping onto your face.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Your eyes linger on his for a few moments, until a group of people enter the small cafe and his attention is brought away from you. You discreetly watch him as he works, greeting the customers with a big smile, and using his charisma to get an extra cake sale. You think maybe you fell for the same charisma yesterday, but you don’t really mind because the cookie was pretty good. A few minutes pass, and you sip on your drink, trying to keep the art as intact as possible. Once the last customer had been served he side steps back towards you.

“How is it? Has it fixed your week yet?” He raises his eyebrows, smirking slightly.

“I’m not sure a drink can fix my week,” you respond, letting out a small sigh.

“Nonsense! Of course, it can. Take a sip.” he gestures to you to lift the mug to your lips. You reluctantly take a sip.

“See? It’s working, no?” he chuckles. You put the cup down and try your best not to laugh.

“There’s that pretty smile!” he grins, earning a roll of your eyes. Your phone buzzes with an incoming email from your university, it’s just a random send-to-all type of email but it does remind you of your looming academic responsibilities.

“Thank you, for the squirrel,” you tell him while standing up from the stool.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, round eyes looking suddenly lost.

“I’ve got work to do, I’ll see you around.”

“You better.” His grin is wide as he watches you leave, hoping you do come back soon.

The third time you see him.

“We crushed it!” You celebrate with your best friend, the two of you have just partaken in a mock legal trial as part of an assessment. Your Professor had wanted to challenge the class, setting up fake suspects and witnesses, and had even arranged for a court stenographer to be present. Your group had won the case, despite the opposing team putting up a pretty tough fight.

“Did you see the look on the judged face when you caught out the lying witness? I was trying so hard not to say something.” Your friend gushes, talking faster than you could keep up with.

“I know!” You laugh but break into a yawn as the previous nights studying catches up with you once the excitement is over.

“Coffee?” She asks.

“Absolutely.”

You’re so engrossed in the conversation as the two of you walk that you don’t even realise you’ve made it all the way to the familiar coffee shop. You stop in your tracks a few feet from the door.

“Not here,” you groan.

“Why not? This place does the best coffee on campus.” She looks confused as she turns back to you.

“I always see the same barista, and he always hits on me, I just can’t be bothered today.” You whine a little, trying to convince her.

“Well, is he working right now?”

You take a step further, enough to look through the window and see the counter. There is a man, but it’s not Jisung.

“I don’t see him.” You trail off, scanning the rest of the shop as much as you can see.

“Alright then, we’re getting coffee here.” Your friend grabs you by the hand and practically pulls you into the small cafe. There is a surprising queue, so you continue to just make conversation with her until you’re next at the counter. The barista who serves you has curly, black hair and biceps that honestly look like they’re about to burst his sleeves. He greets both of you with a smile and begins to punch your orders into the register.

“Changbin! Catch!” You hear a familiar voice. Your heart sinks to your ass. The barista serving you, Changbin, turns back and looks towards the door into the back. Peeking around the cake stand, you catch a glimpse of Jisung. He’s hanging onto the door with a container of what looks like soya milk. He throws it, and Changbin catches it.

“Sorry about that, our delivery was late this morning and only just arrived, so it’s a bit crazy right now,” Changbin explains, replacing an empty soya milk container.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” You shrug. He finishes taking your order and the two of you move to the side to wait.

“He’s kind of fit,” your friend leans into you to say, once you’re both out of earshot.

“In more ways than one.” you giggle.

Your attention is quickly averted towards the door to the backroom, particularly to Jisung who is rushing out of it and towards the counter, tying his apron at the same time.

“Sorry Bin, it’s a nightmare back there.” He says, getting to work on coffee orders.

“No worries, we’re not too busy anymore, the rush seems to be over.” You realise that you and your friend were the last in the queue and the cafe has died down a little since you first entered. Jisung also takes a quick glance around, and that’s when he spots you.

“Y/n,” he says. “Back to see me so soon?” His lips turn up into a small smirk.

“You wish.” You roll your eyes. He just laughs and turns back to the coffee machine. You look at your friend and give her a look, the look you get in return translates to 'message received'.

“He’s kinda cute,” she whispers to you, thankfully you were far away enough for her not to be heard. You sighed. He is kind of cute but that’s not what you’re looking for right now. You’re in a weird enough head space as it is with all the stress of law school and the breakup, not even two weeks ago! You can’t seriously be thinking about dating so soon. Right…?

You’re ripped from your thoughts by the very same man that caused them.

“A white hot chocolate?” Jisung announces to the two of you, but he’s looking at you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You step up to the counter and begin to take it.

“You’re looking very fancy today, big plans?” he asks, smiling.

“I had a mock trial this morning.” You say and he looks at you with wide eyes, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You know, like a court trial?” you ask.

“Law! That’s what you’re studying.” He finally realises.

“I didn’t say?” You’re now the one who’s confused.

“No, you never, I’ve been trying to figure it out, trying to guess.” he laughs. Changbin appears next to him and slides an espresso onto the counter, your friend stepping over to take it.

“Bin, they’re a lawyer! Isn’t that cool?” Jisung gushes a little, looking back at you with big eyes.

“They won their trial this morning.” Your friend interrupts before you can say anything. You shoot her a look.

“Really?” The big, sparkling doe eyes are back as he leans against the counter.

“I, uh, yeah,” you stutter a little.

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Sung, I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt with our customers.” Changbin walks back towards the coffee machine and he begins prepping another order.

“You don’t pay me at all, you’re not even a manager!” Jisung starts whining as he stands up properly. He turns back to you.

“Enjoy your drinks!” He says. You take this as your queue to leave and make a beeline out of the coffee shop, drink in hand. Your friend follows behind you, honestly a little confused.

Once you’re a safe distance from the shop, you finally feel able to breathe again.

The fourth time you see him.

Beep… beep… beep…

Your alarm. You reach over and turn it off, groaning as you roll back over, the feeling of dread already seeping into your bones. It’s the morning of the exam. The exam you’ve been dreading. The exam that is responsible for 60% of your grade. You groan again.

You feel heavy as you walk around your flat, attempting to get ready for the day ahead of you. It doesn’t help that you broke the fundamental exam rule of getting a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning until eventually passing out. So many textbooks have been haunting your thoughts that you barely noticed you’ve also been thinking about something else. Or rather someone else.

You can’t stop, he keeps popping up in your mind. His round face, and big smile. You feel yourself smiling just thinking about it. But fuck, it feels wrong. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. You don’t have time! You have a big exam, which conveniently starts in just over an hour.

You need a coffee.

You get to the familiar coffee shop at 11:31am. Your exam starts at noon. It takes 20 minutes to walk to the campus building it’s being held at. You probably don’t have time for this.

You see him. He’s behind the counter. You think your head hurts.

“Hey,” he greets you with that smile again. You feel sick. “What can I getcha?”

“Just a black coffee, to go.” Your voice croaks a little from its lack of use.

“You’re not staying with me?” He smirks, punching it into the register.

“No.”

You see him falter a little at your cold tone. His eyebrows quirk down a little.

“Are you alright?” he asks as you swipe your phone to pay.

“Stop it, Jisung. Can’t you just leave me alone today, God,” you say exasperated, and step away from the counter. You try to ignore the hurt look in his eye and you really try to ignore the way he shrunk in on himself. A different member of staff you’ve never seen before hands you the drink and you leave the coffee shop without looking back at him.

The exam goes terribly. At least it feels like it goes terribly. Your head is a mess, the guilt chewing at you the entire time. You do your best, writing everything you recall but by the end of it you have a decent headache and the pit in your gut has grown. You leave the exam and go home, collapsing in your bed and you fall asleep telling yourself you’ll feel better when you wake up.

The fifth time you see him.

You wake up in the afternoon the next day.

You don’t feel much better. Not after binging on a pizza and your favourite chocolate. Not after watching that movie that makes you cry every time. Not even after you’ve journaled about it. You think that particular journal entry is mostly scrambled nonsense. It probably is.

You decide to go for a walk to clear your head. Maybe the cold, winter air will freshen you up, and make you feel a bit better. With a big coat and a warm scarf wrapped around you, you walk into the evening air, it’s already past 11pm so you mostly see young people out drinking despite the weather. You have no destination but of course, you end up there.

The warm, yellow-toned light pours from the window as usual. The bell above the door is jarring to your fragile little heart.

He’s there.

He has his back to you, cleaning some sort of container in the sink.

“Two seconds!” he sing-songs. You don’t respond. A few seconds later he’s done and spins around to you. His eyes widen a little and then drop.

“Hi.” He steps towards the register.

“Hi,” you respond.

“Would you like something to drink?” his tone is passive, despite his words being polite.

“A hot chocolate, please, to sit in.” You try to smile at him, he focuses on the register. He nudges the card reader towards you as he steps away to get started on your drink. You move towards the bar-stool seating you sat on previously.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. He looks back to you.

“Go ahead,” he glances back at you. You take a seat and look around, and you realise for the first time that you’re the only person in here, apart from Jisung. You look back towards him just as he put the cup down in front of you.

“Thank you,” you smile again, he gives you a small one but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns away and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Jisung, can I talk to you?” you ask.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” He says without turning around.

“Please.”

That gets him to turn around at least, even if he is still looking at anything but you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. I was just a mess, and that’s not an excuse but I need you to know I didn’t mean it,” you trail off, picking up your drink and taking a sip, appreciating its sweetness.

“And to be honest, I kind of miss the flirty Jisung. I was beginning to like him.” You take another sip of your hot chocolate, smirking to yourself when you see his head shoot up toward you.

“You do?” His eyes soften a little when you nod.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay. But it’s okay. To be honest, I probably was coming on weirdly strong, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck while you chuckle.

There is a moment of silence as you look down at your hot chocolate. Until a thought sparks in your head.

“Why do you flirt with me?”

“What?” His eyes widen and the poor guy looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“Why do you flirt with me? Or do you just flirt with anyone?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No! I don’t, it’s really just you, and I don’t know why, I just kinda… liked you? I mean, you seemed cool and nice and definitely my type.” He catches himself rambling.

“I’m your type?” You ask, smirking.

“Well, yeah.” he chuckles. You laugh too.

“Han Jisung, I think we should go on a date.” You say, definitively.

“Really?!” He stands up from where he was leaning against the back counter and crosses towards you.

“Actually, never mind.” You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“Do not play with my heart like this, I’m sensitive!” he clutches at his chest dramatically, making you laugh louder.

“Fine, but I get to pick where we’re going.”

“Deal! Just tell me a time and I’ll be there.” His grin tells you that he will live up to that. You fall into another silence as you hold each other’s gaze, just smiling.

“Hey, Y/n, you want a discounted cookie?”

“I’d love one.”

taglist - @lethallyprotected

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids smut #han jisung #jisung #skz fluff #skz smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung smut #han jisung imagines #skz drabbles #skz fanfic #stray kids hard thoughts

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valaruakars · 1 year

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Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2 → Part 3 → Part 4 → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6 → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference.

Except maybe in your quadriceps.

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough.

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to.

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something.

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them.

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house.

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention.

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that.

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one.

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive.

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left?

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :)

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me?

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it.

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets.

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs.

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal.

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones.

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home.

Not until he’s standing above you.

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention.

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan.

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat.

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him.

You just can’t.

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him.

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot.

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize.

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down.

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not!

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor.

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter.

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you.

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser.

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.”

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.”

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin.

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught.

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity.

It doesn’t, of course.

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench.

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same.

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him.

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you.

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought.

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually.

Of stretches.

The familiarity sparks excitement.

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses.

“These are from the physical therapist?”

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie.

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?”

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?”

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never.

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit.

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry.

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready.

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree.

So you don’t.

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting.

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky.

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl.

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?”

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise.

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is.

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth.

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation.

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually.

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it?

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight.

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you.

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone.

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?”

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really.

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?”

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to.

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door.

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot.

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy.

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become.

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.”

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?”

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will?

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over.

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it.

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?”

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded.

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live?

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer.

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time.

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again.

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew.

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all.

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence.

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?”

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be.

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot.

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship.

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense.

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck.

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?”

“Nothing,” you squirm.

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?”

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...”

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus.

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.”

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.”

“He is.”

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right.

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.”

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask.

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.”

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.”

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.”

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.”

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night.

Is it any wonder that another slips?

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.”

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone.

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.”

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.”

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.”

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy.

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit.

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.”

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind.

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.”

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?”

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped.

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly.

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too.

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like.

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No.

“Is your mother alright?”

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?”

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask.

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger.

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him.

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it. “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have.

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days.

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel.

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce.

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?”

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit.

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried.

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee.

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers.

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

#arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane x reader #my writing #literally beating tumblr with a stick i've been formatting this for fOURTY FUCKING MINUTES #GOD.#negl crying like a little bitch from the relief of finally posting this #pour one out for heraldeez who has to listen to me #just like jayce fr fr

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elliefictions · 1 year

Text

A MET OF THEIR OWN (PART 2)

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Original Female Character

Summary: Pedro gets back from the Met Gala and is welcomed by Lizzie, his longtime girlfriend, who watched his red carpet from home and prepared a surprise for him...

Takes Pedro’s POV.

warnings: fluff and some smut

Word count: 2,5k words

PART 1

---------

It was 1am. Usually, Pedro would already be in bed, like the old man he was. But he was only on his way home from the MET GALA afterparty, his head still buzzing, his mind still racing from the anxiety he felt in waves throughout the night. The crowd, the photographers, the people he got to mingle with. It was nerve-wracking but also so gratifying. Some personal heroes of his came to him and complimented him, mentioning his recent works. Those were pinch-me moments that he’ll never forget.

He was relieved to go straight home, and not make a detour to the hotel to revert back to his civilian clothes. Those were in a duffel bag placed at his feet on the car back to his apartment building.

He looked at his phone and found a text from Lizzie, begging him for another additional picture. This was before his red carpet. He chuckled. She’s probably been served thousands of pictures by the Internet and did not feel the need nor wanted to bother to add more to the pile. And she was going to see the outfit with her own eyes anyway.

P - 1:13am

“Hey, going back home, I’ll be here in a few mins.”

He almost thought she was already asleep but he received a reply a few minutes later.

L. - 1:17am

“Still awake! I’m waiting for you…😘”

Ten minutes later, he was at his doorstep, searching his bag for the house key. His hand finally grasped the keychain but he also felt something else. He retrieved his findings and found the fake lip ring he was supposed to wear on the carpet. But he decided against it as it made him feel a little too self-conscious. And he was afraid of swallowing it during dinner. Looking at this piece of jewelry reminded him of Lizzie’s earlier text. He placed it back on his lip, rearranged his hair and opened the front door.

Once entering the lobby, he stopped dead in his tracks. The lights were dimmed. And he didn’t know he could actually do that, he didn’t even remember having bought a dimmer switch. The furniture had not moved though, which indicated that he was indeed in their apartment.

He slowly set down his keys on the counter while observing his surroundings. He was digging the atmosphere. And then he heard footsteps approaching from the living area. Lizzie appeared and Pedro’s brain froze and his hands slipped, dropping his duffel bag.

He thought she would just wear her nightgown and she actually was wearing one. But this was not the usual lavender satin robe he got her for her birthday.

A luxurious burgundy tulle fabric was covering her whole body, tightly hugging her bust, and then flowing from her waist down the floor, its endings and sleeves made of feathers. She wore a red collar with three laces attached to it. But the different red shade and the fabric indicated that it was not belonging to the robe, but to the garment underneath it. He couldn’t see the full outfit underneath, yet he tried to figure it out through the tulle.

He took all of this in, looking her up and down, then up to her face. She has always focused her makeup on the eyes, and this was no exception, with burgundy-mauve eyeshadow, black liner and fake lashes, giving her a piercing gaze. Her lips were in brown shade, not far from her natural color. Her long jet black hair, usually straightened, was more wavy. Her burgundy-painted nails were holding two glasses of wine, and she was sipping one of them.

She looked like a doll coming straight from a gothic novel, or these old Hollywood movies. She was definitely sexy, but not in her usual badass, rockstar looks. It was like meeting another version of her from an alternate universe.

Lizzie slowly approached him, not breaking her soft gaze. She was displaying a smug smile. She then stopped a few feet from him, as she stared at his face, first in the eye, and then slightly lower, at his lower lip, where the ring was. Despite the dimmer lights, he could see her pupils dilate and she couldn’t suppress biting her lower lip.

“New York is an amazing city. I can’t believe all the things you can buy at 10pm just two blocks from here.”

Pedro was puzzled by this sudden change of tone and couldn’t help but giggle.

“Let me guess…the dimmer switch?”

“Well, yes. But also this robe. And what’s underneath it” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you know there’s a sex shop selling boudoir lingerie in our neighborhood? Very useful for women planning to seduce their partner at the very last minute.”

“Sounds quite like a specific niche. Did people recognize you?”

“I don’t think so, I was actually in and out in ten minutes. I knew exactly what I wanted…”, Lizzie was now very close to him, looking up at him expectantly, her eyes inviting him to touch her.

With just his fingertips, he grazed her waist through the robe and he could feel a harder fabric underneath it. He felt her tremble at his touch which made his lower body twitch in anticipation. His hands then traveled up her body and landed on her cheeks as he approached his face and kissed her, her tongue immediately touching his lip ring. This made both of them shiver.

He didn’t know how much time passed but they were both panting and gasping for air when Lizzie broke the kiss. She handed one of the wine glasses she was still holding. He took it, sipped it, and was surprised at the taste. She must have opened one of the finest bottles in their cellar.

He followed her to the living room, whose lights were also dimmed. He wondered how the fuck she has changed all the lights and pampered herself in a such a short amount of time.

Lizzie was standing up, facing him from the opposite side of the room, looking at him quizzically.

“So what’s the occasion?” He finally asked, drinking the wine.

“To congratulate you on being now the most fashionable human being.” she exclaimed, raising her glass. “Knowing you for as long as I do, you’ve actually come a long way”

He couldn't help but spit his wine and cackle. He’s always found her quite funny, yet he always got surprised by her occasional deadpan humor. Lizzie giggled softly and hid her smile behind one of her large sleeves, happy of the effect of her delivery.

“Thank you…I guess?” he said in between giggles. His laughing fit mixed with the side effects of the alcohol he drank earlier and him actually wearing a wool coat indoors actually made him sweat. He tried to cool down by fanning himself.

“You know you can take off your coat, right?” Lizzie said as he set her drink aside, got closer to him and held both lapels. She held a serious stare and he looked back at her amused. He could see she was cooking something in her head as he placed his own glass on the coffee table. She then suddenly broke into a grin.

“It’s gettin’ hoooot in heeeere, so take off all your clooothes” She started singing as she removed his coat from him.

He didn’t know what she drank or ate to actually think of Nelly’s song but she was chaotic tonight. And he was usually the chaotic one in the couple. But he loved every bit of that and felt like he had no other choice to match her energy.

“I am gettin' so hot, I wanna take my clooooothes off', he tried to sing the high notes, helping her remove the coat and then loosening his tie. But sure enough, as expected: he was off-key pretty much the whole time, making them both wheeze and laugh so hard that Lizzie had to hold on to him to gain back her composure.

“Just sit down, honey, I’ll just put the coat in the closet. I’ll be right back.” she said, her eyes teary and her voice strained.

She quickly retreated back into the lobby as he sat on the couch waiting for her, wondering what was actually going on in her mind. The whole set up made the intention of a sexy time obvious but the sudden switches of tone and the jokes were definitely sexy time killers. But above all, these were a little bit unusual.

He did not have more time to think about it more that she was already back and sat right next to him. He held her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“My love, I appreciate this celebration of me being finally fashionable in your eyes but this does not really explain…” he enquired, gesturing to her outfit.

“Well…” Lizzie started, looking down, with a shy tone he hasn't heard in a while. “A few hours ago, I was actually wearing your Lakers shirt. And I looked like I didn’t see the sun for years.”

The fact that she wore his shirt made him smile fondly. But he could also imagine the rat’s nest that must have been her hair and how disheveled she must have looked by focusing solely on her work. He just hoped she hadn’t forgotten to eat something.

“Usually, I wouldn’t care that much. But knowing that you would come back here looking like this” She gestured at his outfit. “and that you kind of arranged this for just me…I felt like it was unfair to welcome you back looking like a mess. And I wanted to match your color. So, there you go”.

She looked up at him sheepishly, her demeanor so different from her usual confident self. And deep down, he knew this was the real her, within her always composed face. Or at least this was a side of her that he was privileged to witness.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course, I love it. You can’t see I’m hard right now?” he snickered. “It’s just that…it’s very different. You look different.”

She turned away, blushing and sighed. He immediately cupped her chin, and made her look back at him.

“But just so you know. I love when you wear your combat boots, your leather jacket and bra and your gothic jewelry and play the most insane guitar riff. Do you remember when you performed in Santiago last year?”

“Yes? What about that show?”

“You were the sexiest when you were working on the crowd, making them jump, scream and sing. Like the rock goddess that you are. This is when…I knew I fell madly in love with you.”

She looked at him and he felt like his admission was making her teary. He couldn't help but feel that this emotion was also tinted with an underlying sadness.

He let go of her chin to give her some space to breathe.

“Just so you know.” Her voice was veiled. “I love you with your band and basketball shirts. And your Henley shirts. I grew fond of those. Please never get rid of them. It’s just that…you really looked so handsome and…”

She became hesitant, her eyes trying to find his’, and seemed to be struggling to find words. He waited for her, stroking her shoulder reassuringly through the tulle. He was already beaming with pride at her compliment. It meant a lot coming from her.

“You look like my teenage self’s wet dream fantasy, ok?” she finally admitted.

“Wh..what?!” he said, incredulous.

“Yes. The red shirt, the slim tie, the rings on your fingers and that. Fucking. Lip. Ring. Oh, and the slicked back hair?! The slutty little knee?? Come on! I don’t know the concept you were aiming at. Punk demon? Vampire Godfather? Anyway, this literally ticks all of the boxes for what I fantasized about when I was sixteen. And as a matter of fact, you make me feel like I’m sixteen again. And I don’t know what to do. I’m horny but I’m also intimidated. You make me blush and wet at the same time. This is so embarrassing!!”

As she hid her face in her hands, Pedro took some time to process the sudden outburst, which was pretty rare coming from her. And he came to the simple conclusion that he was living for it. He managed to stifle a laugh but couldn’t contain a sly grin. Since he was her fantasy right now, better lean into it.

He gazed at her sweetheart, trying to make the most lustful expression and got really close to her on the couch so that she had no choice but to lie down. He was towering her and cupped her cheek with one hand.

“So, you like what you see? Am I making your "teenage self" horny right now?” he asked softly in a lower tone, almost like a purr.

It was hard for him to contain his amusement, but she didn’t seem to take notice. She couldn’t avert her gaze from him and just nodded. He squeezed her cheeks with one hand.

“With your words” he commanded in a stern voice.

“Yes. You’re making her wet at the moment.” she replied softly, almost like a whisper.

“Good”. His tongue licked her lips. “But what I am more interested in…” he kissed her, deliberately grazing his lip ring on her chin. “Is what your adult self is thinking of right now”.

Lizzie took a few seconds to ponder his question, averting his gaze. She smiled shyly and finally responded.

“The teenage and adult selves are the same person. But the adult self is also so proud of you.”

Pedro broke character at this new change of mood.

“You looked so badass on the carpet. Like the king I’ve always thought you were. I’ve always felt that your red carpet clothes were wearing you and not the opposite. You and Julia have done a great fashion work lately but this…this is different. This is an eye-turner, it is edgy yet elegant and…it’s so different from your usual red carpet style yet it is so you at the same time. And also, you looked so happy and confident there. Maybe a little anxious at times but definitely confident. And confidence is sexy.”

She looked him straight in the eyes. The lust was still there but he could also sense a deep, indescribable fondness.

“I’m probably going to repeat myself and what everyone has told you lately. But I’m so happy for you. I know how much you wanted this and how hard you worked for it. I can’t wait for the day when I’ll be able to stand next to you and proudly hold your hand for the world to see. I’m so happy I can call you my partner.”

She stroked his cheek and he melted at her touch. This wasn’t just about the MET GALA anymore. It was about everything else. He felt her love in waves, washing away any trace of the anxiety he had felt. There was just raw, pure emotion and love and tenderness.

“Don’t do that” Lizzie suddenly scolded.

“Do what?”

“The puppy eyes. Stop it. How dare you.”

“But you’re making me cry!” Pedro shouted as he kissed every inch of her face, avoiding her lips, saving those for last.

“I love you, Lizzie”, he whispered to her, like it was a secret.

“I love you, Pedro. Always”. She whispered back as she grazed his upper lip with hers.

Pedro leant into the kiss, deepening it, wanting to convey how desirable she was and how much he wanted all of her. Pedro lifted her up, placed her on his lap and he kissed her, caressing her in all places, making her sigh and moan loudly as she removed his tie and started working on his shirt. He thought for a second that the neighbors must have heard it but then opted out of that thought: he actually couldn’t care less. He just wanted to worship her.

The robe looked regal but it was definitely beginning to bother him. There were too many clothes on her. Also, he was getting curious as to what was underneath it. He untied the knot at her waist while kissing her neck.

“Off off off off off off”. He ordered as he easily removed the robe.

And he had to stop and stare at the bright red leather-like bra with straps connected to her collar. The red garter belt was hugging her waist while a red-laced thong completed her look, turning her from a gothic character to a bondage pinup doll. Which hardened him. That was her girl.

“Now that, I like very much…”

He placed his hands on her ass and lifted her up as he got up from the couch, which made her squeal in surprise. She immediately strapped herself to his waist. He saw her wanting to say something but he shushed her immediately. He wanted to avoid another mood switch.

“I don’t want to talk anymore. Bedroom?” He asked, getting rid of all courtesy.

This seemed to have taken her breath away.

“Bedroom” she only managed to utter before kissing him hard, this time biting his lower lip.

He couldn’t suppress a growl as he carried her to their bedroom, closing the door with one foot.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal ofc #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal met gala #met gala 2023

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Text

Average Weekly Screentime - Chap 1: Let's Make a Bet

pairing: Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago

word count: 2472

warnings/tags: college au, texting, drunk texting, text fic (mostly, there's prose a few chaps in), bets, bisexual!jake peralta, jake peralta has adhd, parties, drinking and alcohol, sexual references, implied sexual content (nothing explicit, just suggested its going to happen/has happened), friends to lovers, swearing, mentions of cannibalism, lighthearted threats of violence (typical rosa stuff yk), fluff

read on ao3

Average Weekly Screentime masterlist

Story Summary: texting fic college AU with the squad! It's the beginning of the school year and while everyone else thinks it'll be the same as the previous year, Gina has a feeling things are going to be different and wagers a bet with Rosa and Charles. Told through all the various group chats everyone is in.

authors note: So I attempted writing a text fic for another fandom i used to write for buuut abandonded it when i left the fandom. But i wanted to give it another go!! I think it helps me be a bit more creative, and I had some content that I hated going unused. I've tried to make everyones nicknames and stuff in group chats obvious so you don't get too confused who is who but I do have a "key" written out in my notes I can include if you need, just comment and lmk!!

Jimmy Jabbers

[9:05am, Monday]

Four Eyes: Jake has fallen asleep in class, bets on how long until he wakes up?

Queen G: The whole class

Mr Grapes: 30 minutes

RoRo: Professor?

Four Eyes: Wunch

RoRo: She’s gonna wake him up in 12 mins

Four Eyes: Will keep you updated

[9:17am, Monday]

Four Eyes: Rosa you terrify me

RoRo: I know RoRo: what do I get for winning?

Four Eyes: I’ll make Jake give you $10

Vic Kovac: not happening

RoRo: you say that now RoRo: but you will give me my money

Vic Kovac: is anyone else feeling threatened

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[11:37pm, Wednesday]

Ferris: hey santiago Ferris: i have a super important question Ferris: how did fountains work way back in time Ferris: or did they not have fountains and fountains r a recent thing Ferris: has media ruined my perception of fountains

Cameron: You do know that google exists?

Ferris: i wanted to ask u first bc ur smart

Cameron: Jake, I’m working on our essay that’s due in two weeks, google it yourself please

Ferris: ur so boring

[11:59pm, Wednesday]

Ferris: it was gravity Ferris: gravity made the fountains Ferris: fountains are like SUPER old

Cameron: Yeah that makes sense Cameron: Now please let me go to sleep

Ferris: goodnight!!!!!!!!!

Jimmy Jabbers

[8:43pm, Thursday]

Queen G: okay losers gather around Queen G: we are partying this weekend, no arguments Queen G: its happening and EVERYONE will be participating

Vic Kovac: YES G LETS GO Vic Kovac: whats the plan?

Queen G: one of terrys housemates was thinking of having a party and terry said he can persuade him to have one

Mr Grapes: oohh a party! I’ve been wanting to take my new slacks for a test run

RoRo: @vic kovac how bad are the slacks?

Vic Kovac: so awful

Mr Grapes: you guys hate my style! Its not fair :(

Queen G: because Charles the clothes you wear make you look like a background extra of a movie set in an office but not a new york office more like a used car salesman office in ohio

Mr Grapes: message received loud and clear :(

Four Eyes: Count me in for the party!

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[8:47pm, Thursday]

Ferris: YOU are gonna go to the party?

Cameron: You’re acting like I never go to parties

Ferris: just surprised is all

Cameron: You’re weird

Dance Squad

[9:02pm, Thursday]

G-Hive: okay we need to start a bet NOW

Charlese: what are we betting about??

G-Hive: it’s the beginning of the school year, the two of them seem different this year G-Hive: i think this might be the year! G-Hive: rosa, u in?

Scary: of course I am, dumb bets are my specialty

Charlese: I’m in!!!

G-Hive: ok, start date is today, place ur bets now and u can change them until the clock strikes midnight tonight G-Hive: after that they are locked in

Bi Besties

[9:06pm, Thursday]

Dagger: what r ur feelings towards amy?

El Baboso: she’s my friend El Baboso: why r u asking??

Dagger: dont worry about it

Dance Squad

[9:07pm, Thursday]

Scary: three and a half weeks after we get back from winter break

G-Hive: weirdly specific i like it

Charlese: in three months

G-Hive: awful guess but sure G-Hive: im gonna go with a month before the school year ends

Scary: fair enough

G-Hive: okay im writing all the dates down in my notes G-Hive: remember u have until midnight to change G-Hive: how much is everyone putting in the pool?

Charlese: $50 – feeling confident

Scary: you shouldn’t beScary: I can match that

G-Hive: same G-Hive: its gonna be an interesting school year babes

Jimmy Jabbers

[4:36pm, Friday]

Queen G: party at terry’s tomorrow is ON! Queen G: he said “BYO booze, I’m not made of money” Queen G: hes my fave

Vic Kovac: as ur childhood best friend i resent that statement

Queen G: i said what i said

Vic Kovac: ill find a new bestie

Queen G: you do that pineapples

Four Eyes: HA pineapples

RoRo: pineapples lol

*Jake Peralta has left the group chat*

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[4:38pm, Friday]

Ferris: amy add me back pls

Cameron: I’ll think about it

Ferris: pllllleeeeeaaaaassssseeeeeee

Jimmy Jabbers

[4:39pm, Friday]

*Four Eyes added Jake Peralta to the group chat*

*Four Eyes changed Jake Peralta’s nickname to Pineapples*

Pineapples: im gonna find better friends

Queens, Legends, Icons

[3:13pm, Saturday]

Ginaa: babe what r u wearing tonite????

Rosie: what i usually wear

Ginaa: so real of u

Jimmy Jabbers

[9:27pm, Saturday]

Pineapples: charles and i on our way!!!!!

Four Eyes: Rosa, Gina, and I will be leaving as soon as Gina is satisfied with her hair

[10:46pm, Saturday]

Four Eyes: LOUNG ROM NOOW Four Eyes: JAKE ON TABLE

[11:22pm, Saturday]

Queen G: i can’t find rosie Queen G: has anyone seen rosa

RoRo: in the bathroom RoRo: DONT COME FIND ME

[12:34am, Sunday]

Pineapples: me and charle takin amyyy home

Four Eyes: one more daaance

RoRo: freaks

Pineapples: NOT LIKE THAT ROSA

[10:04am, Sunday]

Four Eyes: I want to die

Mr Grapes: seconded

Pineapples: thirded

RoRo: gina and i are getting brunch in 20

Pineapples: count me in

Four Eyes: Me too

Mr Grapes: me three

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[3:15pm, Sunday]

Ferris: ik ur embarrassed but drunk amy was kinda fun ngl

Cameron: As bad as I feel today I will admit that I did have fun

Ferris: in a few weeks when u forget how bad u felt we shall do it again!

Cameron: Whatever you say haha

Jimmy Jabbers

[1:37pm, Wednesday]

Queen G: this class is KILLING me Queen G: someone entertain me pls

Pineapples: ok so if human skin is like pig skin would u be able to make pork crackling but like with human

RoRo: probably if u prepared it properly

Four Eyes: You most probably could. Part of me would want to say that human skin would react to being in an oven differently, but I think if you just used a part of the body most similar to a pork roast it would be fine. Pat dry, oil and salt, all good to cook. The only issue would be knowing how long to cook it for and what temperature so that it does crackle

Pineapples: jesus christ amy…

Queen G: amy i think i just gained a bit of respect for u

RoRo: me too

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[2:55pm, Thursday]

Ferris: im SO bored rn

Cameron: Focusing on the class is usually a good way to cure boredom

Ferris: i tried Ferris: its not happening

Cameron: You’re distracting me

Ferris: come ooonnn we both know u already know the lesson plan

Cameron: That’s not the point

Ferris: stop replying to me then

Cameron: If I don’t reply you’ll just continue to bug me

Ferris: i believe that is what they call a rock and a hard place Ferris: check mate to me Ferris: always get what i want Ferris: do u think holt will get mad if he sees me texting Ferris: probs will Ferris: worth it tbh Ferris: im hungrryyy

Cameron: I’m going to kill you

Ferris: amy pls, get in line behind rosa

Jimmy Jabbers

[7:23pm, Saturday]

Four Eyes: Need movie suggestions, please

Pineapples: mamma mia

Queen G: the mummy Queen G: Brendan Frasier is way too fine to pass up

RoRo: Somethings Gotta Give

Mr Grapes: Dirty Dancing

Four Eyes: Hm okay Four Eyes: No documentaries?

Queen G: NO

Pineapples: n o

RoRo: no

Mr Grapes: Blackfish?

Four Eyes: That’s a bummer Charles…

Mr Grapes: YOU WANTED A DOCUMENTARY!!

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[7:30pm, Saturday]

Cameron: I decided on Mamma Mia, thought you’d like to know

Ferris: i knew u were smart

Bi Besties

[6:45pm, Tuesday]

El Baboso: do u have the notes from yesterdays lecture?

Dagger: yeah, why?

El Baboso: can i borrow them? El Baboso: i lost mine

Dagger: no, u never returned the last notes i let u “borrow”

El Baboso: :(

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[6:47pm, Tuesday]

Ferris: amy Ferris: ameesss Ferris: ur my bestie right

Cameron: What do you want, Jake?

Ferris: can i borrow ur notes from holts class yesterday Ferris: PLEASE

Cameron: Yes you can

Ferris: THANK U SM AMY I’LL GIVE THEM BACK ASAP

Cameron: Don’t worry about it, I made an extra copy of mine after class when I noticed you hadn’t taken any notes

Ferris: this is why we r friends

Cameron: So you can steal my notes?

Ferris: uuhhhh

Sleuth Sisters

[6:50pm, Tuesday]

Rosa: cant believe u gave jake ur notes

Amy: I keep hoping that if he has all the material then he might try and study more

Rosa: optimistic

Amy: I know..

Jimmy Jabbers

[9:32pm, Wednesday]

Queen G: a girl in my class just text me that theres a party happening this Friday at her friends place Queen G: which one of u bitches is in

Pineapples: obviously im in!

RoRo: feel like even if i said no i’d be forced to go

Mr Grapes: who’s gonna be there?

Queen G: definitely NOT the professor you have a weird crush on Queen G: just say yes

Mr Grapes: i don’t have a crush on her…

Four Eyes: I can’t do Friday, sorry. Have fun though!

Pineapples: amy pls just forget your study schedule for ONE night

Four Eyes: I’ll think about it, but no promises

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[10:03pm, Friday]

Ferris: i knew u would come

Cameron: Shut up and bring me a drink, if I’m going to miss studying then I at least want to make it worth it

Ferris: 3 drink amy coming right up!

[10:42pm, Friday]

Cameron: rosa just gave me SHOTS

Ferris: GET IT GIRL

Cameron: you’re weird lol

[11:14pm, Friday]

Cameron: JAKE COME DANCE WITH US

Ferris: COMING

Jimmy Jabbers

[01:11am, Saturday]

RoRo: anyone seen amy?

Mr Grapes: ive lost jake too

[01:20am, Saturday]

Pineapples: amy threw up in the garden Pineapples: taking her back home in an uber

RoRo: k

[11:24am, Saturday]

Four Eyes: Can’t begin to explain how terrible I feel right now..

Pineapples: im not surprised based on how u were when i took u home

RoRo: drink some coffee and you’ll be fine

Four Eyes: Don’t even talk to me about food or drinks unless its water or plain toast

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[11:27am, Saturday]

Ferris: sorry u feel crap today

Cameron: I knew what I was signing up for when Rosa handed me the tequila shots

Ferris: if its any consolation i just remembered i have an essay due on monday that i havent done yet

Cameron: If you need help let me know

Ferris: dont make promises u will regret santiago

DDC

[01:07pm, Saturday]

G: what was with u taking amy home last night???

Jacob: nothing was with it Jacob: shes my friend and i helped her Jacob: id do the same for u or charles or rosa

G: hmm okay G: ill accept that G: for now

Jacob: despite being friends with everyone im friends with ur still at the top of the weird list

G: thank you sm <3

Jimmy Jabbers

[08:27pm, Wednesday]

Pineapples: guys im so booorreeddd Pineapples: someone talk to meeee

Queen G: we could play a game?

Pineapples: like what???

Queen G: ive been saving this screenshot for a rainy day Queen G: what movie is this, wrong answers only Queen G: 1 image attachment – screenshot of movie review which says “These two fuck like they’re gremlins in a rainstorm”

Pineapples: Home Alone surely

Four Eyes: Point Break

Mr Grapes: Dumb and Dumber

Queen G: @four eyes point break isn’t a documentary, you know that right?

Four Eyes: I don’t just watch documentaries, Gina

RoRo: Saw

Pineapples: do i wanna know who in saw ur talking about

RoRo: no you don’t

[10:07pm, Wednesday]

Pineapples: how long has the concept of whiteness been around

Four Eyes: For the love of God…

Mr Grapes: this feels like a conversation I should stay out of

RoRo: take a guess or google dumbass

Pineapples: b* idk like 12 AD

RoRo: don’t hide it under your little asterisks Peralta, call me a bitch like a man so I can slap you like a woman

Pineapples: if my dead body is found tomorrow use this gc as evidence

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[05:03pm, Friday]

Ferris: dark academia has been done to death

Cameron: Yeah?

Ferris: its time for stripper academia

Cameron: Is this you trying to tell me you want to open up a strip club cross with a library?

Ferris: amy ur a genius!!!

Cameron: Oh god no…

Bi Besties

[02:42pm, Tuesday]

El Baboso: would u rather meet a ghost or a vampire??

Dagger: why??

El Baboso: im curious El Baboso: also ur a deeply unreasonable and angry person so i wanna know ur answer

Dagger: that checks out Dagger: now go away

DDC

[02:45pm, Tuesday]

Jacob: would u rather meet a ghost or a vampire?

G: vampire obvs

Jacob: good answer

G: i know

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[02:46pm, Tuesday]

Ferris: would u rather meet a ghost or a vampire?

Cameron: I’m not sure, I’ve never thought about it

Ferris: well nows the time

Cameron: Maybe a ghost, they couldn’t really do anything to hurt me unlike a vampire

Ferris: what if the vampire is very sexy

Cameron: That does change things

The Night Boys

[02:50pm, Tuesday]

Deathblade: charles Deathblade: would u rather meet a ghost or a vampire??

Sidewinder: ghost

Deathblade: what if the vampire was sexy?

Sidewinder: if I get bitten by a vampire then I can’t eat food ever again, only blood Sidewinder: no vampire is sexy enough to make me give up food

Deathblade: fair enough buddy

Jimmy Jabbers

[02:53pm, Tuesday]

Four Eyes: Who else has been asked about ghosts and vampires by Jake today?

RoRo: me

Queen G: me

Mr Grapes: me

Pineapples: you weren’t supposed to talk to each other about it!! Pineapples: you have ruined my important data collection

Four Eyes: What data??

Pineapples: … Pineapples: which of you could be swayed by a vampire

Jimmy Jabbers

[11:12pm, Saturday]

Pineapples: just thinking about if the hudson flooded

RoRo: what would you do about it?

Pineapples: get a big straw

Queen G: girl what

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[11:14pm, Saturday]

Cameron: You alright, Jake?

Ferris: yeah Ferris: why?

Cameron: You’ve just seemed a little all over the place this week

Ferris: ah right Ferris: yeah idk just been a bad brain week i guess

Cameron: Fair enough. If you need anything I’m here :)

Ferris: thanks amy

authors note: Thanks for reading, i love u <3

#alice writes #jake peralta x amy santiago #jake peralta #amy santiago #gina linetti #rosa diaz #charles boyle #fluff #college!au #bisexual!jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #multi chap #average weekly screentime

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starlemonbunki · 8 months

Text

| It Hurts | TodoBaku /DekuBaku |

TW: Self harm

Katsuki's bad habits start creeping back up again after Izuku leaves UA. Luckily, Shoto is here to lend a hand.

9:28pm, Thursday

Recovery Girl had an expected, yet, unwanted visitor.

Weakly stepping into her clinic was Class 1-A's homeroom teacher Shota Aizawa with a young boy named Katsuki by his side.

To say the boy was disheveled would be an understatement. Almost every inch of his skin was littered with cuts and scars, even some had burns of them from what looked like small, concentrated explosions. He looked like a child had covered him in deep red stickers.

The nurse let out a sigh of worry. She didn't need to say anything as a simple exchange of knowing nods from the teacher to her accomplished more than necessary. Mr. Aizawa carefully led his student to an all-so-familiar bed and sat on the chair next to him. They had been in here so many times the chair was already sitting there, morbidly waiting for their return.

Recovery Girl took Katsuki's hands and examined his wrists. The cuts were not as deep as before, but there were far more of them, implying a rapid, repetitive motion instead of deep, long, slow ones. She rolled up his pant leg which revealed a set of bruises littered all over each of them, no visible pattern, though it seemed similar to the ones he had when he "fell" down the stairs a couple times that one day.

Now for the part she was looking forward to the least. She couldn't bare it, the way her heart broke each time she did it. Slowly raising her head, the nurse met the boy eye-to-eye. Yet, his pupils weren't facing her. They were facing forward, but they weren't particularly looking at anything. Its like a vast hole had opened up and sucked out all the life from his eyes. Aside from that, there were cuts on his lips, bruises on his cheek, his nose was bleeding, and a deep gash had appeared under his eye. Yet his expression remained the same, empty, lifeless, stoic, despite the deep physical pain.

"As usual," the old woman started, trying her best to break the silence and replace it with something more...wholesome. Yet the news was going to be rather far from it. "The sheer amount of injuries will take a while to heal completely, which I'm guessing is what you want," she tried to meet the boy's gaze again, but he still stared into nothing. "Even with my Quirk I can only do so much. Anyway, I suggest you stay the night. There's nothing much I can do, but at least I can ensure you won't be alone, if that's okay with you." She turned to face Aizawa, whose head was in his hand as he slouched forwards in his chair. His long black hair was tied into a messy ponytail with a couple strands in the way of his face. He looked up from where he had leaned his weight on his hand to reply to her, letting her know he'd be okay with staying to watch over his student. With that she went to gather some tools she would need for the procedure. With her gone, Aizawa took the chance to speak.

"You said you weren't gonna do this anymore." He said.

"I know. Sorry." Came Katsuki's rarely monotone voice. He didn't even bother to look his teacher in the eye, not that he could anyway.

"You're worrying me, you know that? And if your friends and family knew they'd be worried sick as well, you do know that, right?"

"I know. Sorry." Katsuki repeated.

"You could've gotten seriously hurt."

"I know. Sorry."

"Hurting yourself won't bring him back."

"....".

Katsuki's lips moved as if he was about to say something, but after a second of thought he shut it again. He didn't answer him after that.

Recovery Girl activated her Quirk but as it could take a couple hours, she needed to cover the wounds to ensure that they wouldn't get infected during the wait. After that she left the clinic and went home, leaving a sleeping Aizawa next to a, to use a more accurate term, passed out Katsuki.

12:17am, Friday

Katsuki's eyes opened. The whole room was dark as the lights were off but he could still make out what it looked like. To his right was a curtain hiding away another bed. To his left, a bedside table, on it a phone, wallet, and set of keys, as well as a sleeping Aizawa sitting next to it. Seated upright, he took a look at his arm. The cuts that had just been made hours before were almost entirely healed. All that remained were thin red lines that stretched across his wrist. With his other hand he traced a finger on them in a perpendicular motion, feeling the ridges of the scars paint patterns on his sense of touch. Looking around he realized no one else was there, and that it was already past 12. With nothing better to do, but not without a rather unstable mental condition, he quietly got off the bed and snuck out of the room.

The halls of UA were darker than he expected. He reached out a hand and felt around the walls to know where he was going. Once he got to the stairs he heard a set of footsteps coming closer, forcing him to race up the steps in case it was Aizawa ready to give him another lecture. He didn't count how many steps or staircases he went up until he was face-to-face with a door. It was the only thing on that floor which proved he was on the school rooftop. He was about to climb back down when he noticed the door was slightly ajar, not locked like he had thought it was. Hesitantly he walked out and was met with the cool breeze of the early morning city. The cement was cold under his feet and the wind hit his skin like it knew something. He hadn't felt so tranquil in such a long time.

The breeze swept his messy, spiky hair out of the way, enabling him to get a clear view of the sky above him. He finally understood why the sky was always associated with heaven or with gods. What he saw was ethereal. The clouds were of a light blue and swayed across the canvas as little bright stars littered the deep blue ocean. The moon was nonexistant that night.

"Bakugou," came a voice.

Katsuki turned his head to meet his eyes with his classmate. Red and white strands of messy bedhead swayed around his face, grounded by his scalp. Shoto's eyes were wide in what wasn't exactly shock, but of something more tranquil. He had seen something far more beautiful than the ethereal night sky right then and there.

The boys were silent for a second.

"Hey." Katsuki greeted. He didn't know exactly what to say.

"I, uh..." Shoto started. "I heard that something happened to you, so I went to the clinic to check and, uh, you weren't there, so...." the awkwardness in his voice interrupted his speech.

They were quiet again. It was like the only sound in the world was of the wind howling in the distance.

Suddenly, a soft burst of laughter erupted from their mouths.

"What was that?" Katsuki asked, a hand loosely covering his awkward smile. "You sounded so nervous!"

"I dunno! It just happened!" Shoto laughed so hard he snorted, causing Katsuki to pause yet laugh some more. As soon as they quieted down, the two boys sat side by side on the floor with their eyes gazing up at the stars.

"I heard what happened." Shoto started. "What's been happening...Bakugou, I'm so-"

"Save it." Katsuki cut him off. Yet there was a slight lack of venom in his voice, as if he was genuinely upset but...not angry.

"I'm not here to hear some bullshit about how you care about me, and how you love me, and how you're there for me, I just..." He looked down in what seemed like...shame? Grief? Disappointment? "I just want you to stay. That's it. No talking necessary."

Silence. Then,

"We don't have to talk." Shoto spoke up.

"But to be fair, I don't like what he did either." Katsuki's eyes widened as he swiftly turned to look at Shoto.

"What?"

"He left. Instead of trusting in us that we would help him, he went off to deal with it on his own. He didn't think about or care what it would do to us, he was only thinking about himself." He said.

"It was stupid."

"Yeah, it was really stupid." Katsuki smirked and looked away.

"He shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah."

"I honestly don't know who's hurting from that decision more, him or you."

There was silence again.

"He doesn't deserve you, Bakugou." Shoto said, yet his eyes were focused on a cricket that had made its way to the rooftop in front of them.

"After everything you've been through together, he doesn't get to just leave. He doesn't get to do that to you."

Katsuki's eyes softened, and he looked away again, focusing instead on his criss-crossed legs.

"You don't have to say that."

"I want to."

"Okay."

"I think it's true."

"Yeah."

Katsuki looked up at the sky again. There they were, the light blue clouds, the shining distant stars, the deep blue ocean above and yet, this time, the moon was present. Rising and shining like it had been there all along. But for some reason, Katsuki only noticed it was there now.

Maybe it was there the whole time, and he didn't even realize it.

He leaned his head onto his friend's shoulder.

"I think it is, too."

_______________________

WOOO BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE FED YALL HUH

sorry if it isn't that good I'm tired and just wanted to get this idea out of my head

BKG BBY HE DOESNT DESERVE YOUUUUU

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is-on-its-way · 7 months

Text

Epiphany No 12 - 2 - After

Episode: s06e08 The Rain King

Part 1, Part 2

And then a switch flicked, and she saw something more than she did the night before.

He’d used her first name. Only when he was trying to be gentle with her did he do that. She appreciated the gesture but her chest felt hollow despite his attempts to quell her fears.

---

She woke and kept her eyes closed. She could hear his deep slow breathing first, and his scent filled her nose, a clean musky smell that she loved. It was stronger now that he was in her bed. She took comfort in the sound of his rhythmic breathing as she faded in and out of sleep, savouring the warm comfort she felt.

When she was more awake she opened her eyes. His back was to her and she took in his broad shoulders, moving up and down with his breath. She found she was cozy in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while. His leg was splayed in her direction, touching her, she didn’t move away. She stayed in bed when she’d usually get right up.

She remembered the talk they’d had last night when she was deliriously tired. She knew she should be self conscious she’d told Mulder she felt, how had she put it? “comfortably familiar”. But she found she wasn’t. She found there was a level of comfort with him that didn’t engender feelings of insecurity or questioning. It just was. She liked this feeling.

Much better than the feeling of seeking the thrill of an older man worshiping her for how brilliant or intelligent or accomplished or sexy she knew she was. That was a hollow facsimile of how deeply she felt now. She was impressed with how deeply she felt for him. He liked her because she was brave. Competent. Things she’d never say about herself. Things she’d never even thought about herself. He saw her in a way she couldn’t see herself and the feeling of that was indescribable. She smiled to herself as she watched the back of him. Soaking in this moment.

She turned to check the clock it read 8:17am. She reached out and touched his back and he stirred “Mulder?”

He turned onto his back and yawned smiling at her “Morning Scully”

“Its 8:17 and our flights at 10, if you want to meet Holman…”

He rubbed his face and sighed. “Okay” he rose and went into the bathroom she heard the shower turn on.

He came out at 8:30 a towel wrapped around his waist, picking out clothing from his hanging garment bag. Scully went into the bathroom to get ready bringing her already picked out clothing with her.

When she came out Mulder was dressed and pouring an instant coffee packet into a mug. He went to the bathroom and came out with a steaming cup.

Scully looked at him eyebrows raised “Mulder don’t tell me you put hot tap water in there.”

Mulder sipped it “Tastes just like the FBI swill.”

She shook her head and grimaced “Ill pack up and check out, if you want to go now.” She looked at the clock.

“Okay thanks” he said chugging his tap water coffee.

“Ill come pick you up from the station at 9:30?”

He glanced at the clock it read 9:00. “9:45?”

She looked at him.

“Don’t worry Scully the air field is five minutes from the station, and the station is a 5 minute walk from here.”

She tilted her head down and looked up at him as he gave her a smile and opened the door.

When he had gone she sat down on the bed put her feet up on the bed frame and hugged arms across her chest. Lost in thought. “Hoo boy” she said to herself as she fell back onto the bed. A knot twisted in her stomach. Something in the back of her mind came crashing into the fore, ruining her newfound squirming optimism.

She was broken. Peices of her, the most important pieces of her stolen from her. She couldn't give him a family. Family was the one thing he was missing, something he deserved with parents like his. Missing his sister like he did. He should have a chance to name a daughter after her. She tried to ignore the pang of otherness she felt. It was more severe than before. Before it could have been any amorphous version of a man, although Mulder had factored in perhaps, she hadn’t felt the need to feel self conscious. Now, it was only him. The thought of a future was tangible. That constant feeling of being victimised flashed red across her psyche. Anger flooded her and she let it, as her therapist had taught her during these moments. She took a few deep breaths and waited hands on her face.

Suddenly she felt foolish. Did he even want children? Why was she thinking like this anyway?. They weren’t even together, they couldn’t be together if the FBI had any say in the matter. Their one slip had ended in disaster. She sighed heavily and got up to pack up their things.

---

MUSIC: ...Somewhere over the rainbow Skies are blue And the dreams that you dare to dream ready to come true... (All the couples are dancing and kissing. MULDER and SCULLY look around.) MULDER : I didn't know reunions could be so... SCULLY : Wet? (HOLMAN and SHEILA walk up to MULDER and SCULLY.) MULDER : Well, how'd it go? HOLMAN: You should try it sometime. Shelia? (MULDER and SCULLY watch them leave.) MUSIC: ...Away up on the chimney tops That's where you'll find me…

Scully looked up at Mulder. He was standing with a genuine smile on his face, giddily watching Sheila and Holman’s retreating backs.

He looked down at her, she was looking at him with affection “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

“Me? A romantic?” Mulder looked up at the ceiling smile still on his lips. He slipped his fingerers under the hand she had folded across her chest. She let him take it and he swivelled her into him and placed a hand on the small of her back.

“I don’t know Scully, I just like when cases have happy endings” He said looking down at her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone” she said giggling as he twirled her around.”

“You know Scully I think you might be a romantic too.”

She tilted her head

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugged “I have my reasons”.

They danced slowly to ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’. He was smiling down at her and she smiled back, getting lost in his mossy green eyes, one pupil bigger than the other, more green.

“We shouldn’t be doing this Mulder, what if it gets back to the FBI?” She looked around at everyone around them, worried.

“You think someone will phone up Kersh to say two agents were dancing at a high school reunion?”

She smiled at this “Maybe”

“What could they do to us they haven’t already done?”

“Actually make us clean toilets?” She said sarcastically.

Mulder laughed at this.

“Split us up.” She said biting her lip.

Mulder looked down at her sympathetic to her worry. “They could try” He hugged her to him and she leaned her head into his chest.

He stood back and made to walk with her to the exit, allowing her her worry, but she held onto his arm “A minute more.” She said meeting his eyes. He smiled at her if possible with more affection than before. They watched each others faces, suddenly more serious than before, swaying together until the end of the song.

They made their way to the exit.

Scully said “Mulder I should call the airport and see if they’re running a flight tonight.”

“Okay” he said.

Scully pulled out her phone and handed Mulder the key to the rental car. He walked to it and adjusted the seat back before he sat down. He turned it on to warm it up and put the radio on to one of the only stations with music playing. It was an oldies station, into each life some rain must fall was playing, he laughed at the irony or was it serendipity?

Scully opened the door and sat down. She looked at him a smile on her face and said “They’re running two flights tonight, they said they’d get us on the first one if we hurry. And they got us a connecting flight in Wheeler. We’ll be home by early morning.”

“Perfect” he said as he pulled out and drove in the direction of the airport.

Something was different. He could feel it in the air. It was thick like a blanket draped over them. He didn’t know what it was and he was feeling more anxious with every passing moment.

“I’m sorry about that kiss Scully” he offered

“You don’t have anything to apologize to me about that Mulder” Scully said she sounded far away lost in thought.

He turned to look at her, she wasn’t looking at him but out the window. “It wasn’t my intention, she uh kinda grabbed me and just did what she wanted…”

“Oh” she turned to look at him slight concern on her face “Im sorry Mulder”

“Now you’re apologizing?”

“I thought… it looked like… women like that, that wasn’t very nice to do to you.”

“I think I’ll be okay.” He said smirking as he glanced at her.

“You did look like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” She chortled.

“I was trying to hold onto what little dignity I had left.” Mulder said smiling. He was relieved she wasn’t mad. Confused she wasn’t mad. Wondering at the fact these thoughts were running through his mind. Appreciation for her flooded through him.

‘I don’t want to set the world on fire’ started playing. Someone was having a lot of fun choosing these songs in the wake of the meteorological events.

Scully turned back to look out the window at what little she could see in the night. She smiled to herself against her will. Why were they talking like this? Like they owed something to each other. Like he owed her explanations of anything other than work related issues. Her stomach fluttered.

They parked the rental car in the return spot and left the key in the return box on the building, where the front desk woman had said to leave it. They took their bags headed inside the airfield to find the same small plane waiting for them to take them to Wheeler in Kansas city.

They were loaded up in no time and sitting together on the vinyl bench seat at the back of the Cessna 172. Scully buckled herself in and though she was usually a nervous flyer, her mind was preoccupied enough she hardly noticed the takeoff until the lights of the world were specks beneath her. The ride was as smooth as butter in the calm still night air.

It was always easier to say your deepest thoughts out loud to strangers, than to anyone else.

As she’d said the words to sheila, she’d realized how true they were. She couldn’t see herself with anyone else but him. That had been true for her for a very long time. But realization had hit her like a soggy freight train in that flooded bathroom.

Mulder shifted in his seat and his leg touched hers. She looked over at him. He was also looking out his window. She left her leg where it was appreciating his warmth against her in the cool cabin.

She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She felt giddy with this epiphany but pangs of grief and apprehension coursed through her. Those unwanted thoughts and feelings ate at her against her will. Could he be happy with just her? Would it be selfish to take the option away from him? He behaved like he was content to have his work and her by his side. Did he even want what she wanted? Did he want more? She remembered how he’d retreated from her after Antarctica, after their kiss. Almost kiss. That he seemed to regret it. That he'd said he loved her. That she loved him. Where they the same love?

Her swirling thoughts become too overwhelming. She put the them out of her mind and tried to sleep.

---

Wheeler Airport, Kansas City, Missouri

They’d been sitting in the terminal waiting for their flight to Dulles for 40 minutes before either of them spoke. Scully was reading her book shed brought with her for just this purpose ‘The Alchemist’.

Mulder was leaning back in his seat, tapping his feet absentminded two books in his hand, ‘Ribofunk’ a book of short stories about bioengineering and ‘Benjamin's Crossing’ the retelling of a jewish philosopher who escaped over the Pyrenees mountains to Spain from Nazi occupied France. Scully knew he had one more book. She’d found it while packing buried under his pants as she’d re-folded them, so his toiletries and papers fit. ‘Dancing After Hours’, also short stories but about love and loss and the fear of being loved. She’d tucked it back under his pants, and filed this new information about him away.

He’d read a short story from ‘Ribofunk’ and was either too preoccupied to continue or thinking about what he’d read. He stared off out the window watching planes rolling by.

She had just gotten to the part where Fatima turns down Santiago’s proposal of marriage because she didn’t want his love for her to take him away from his journey, his destiny. She’d had to put the book down at this point to, wondering at how this mirrored her experience with Mulder. She’d been ready to give up before Antarctica. He’d been ready to give up after. They’d both convinced the other to continue their work. Their journey.

She looked up and scanned the airport staring into the distance of the mostly empty terminal. The stores had long since closed and only a couple of people were waiting for flights a ways away.

Mulder nudged her side with the back of his hand. She looked at him he was the same height as her slumped in his chair as he was.

“Hey Scully, what’d you tell Sheila to convince her to get with Holman?”

“Get with?” She made a face.

Mulder said “Take a chance on.” instead.

“Um… I didn’t need to convince her really, she already knew I think, she just needed to go through it out loud with someone .”

Mulder looked at her suspicious she wasn’t being completely truthful.

She saw and added “Something about friendship being the basis of any strong relationship.”

He nodded

“What did you say to Holman?” She asked

“I just said to tell her how you feel.”

“Oh” she said disappointedly.

He sat up “Among other things…” he said defensive, “Women always need more convincing than a man anyway.”

Scully cocked her head “Do they?” She said a smirk on her lips. Thinking again about Santiago and Fatima.

“Well whatever you said worked like a charm.”

“She just needed to realize how she felt.” Maybe it was what she’d just read, maybe it was her own feelings that had been weighing on her since that morning, but Scully teared up at this. It was too overwhelming to think about, when she knew she couldn’t do anything about it. She looked away from him straight ahead and said absently “Im sure they’ll be very happy together, have lots of chubby little weather controlling babies.

Mulder smiled at her sudden belief in his theory. Then saw her face. He put a finger to her cheek and wiped a tear. An announcement was made that boarding was now open for the flight to DC.

“Is this the romantic in you Scully?” He asked gently

“Maybe.” She choked out, trying to laugh through her tears looking at him again, no point trying to hide tears he’d seen. “We should get going…” she stood up suitcase in her hand and made to head towards the gate.

He caught her hand and straightened in his chair. She turned to stand in front of him looking down. “There are plenty of people who would be with you even if you can’t have children Scully.” He said quietly, earnestly, his eyes searching hers.

Her face showed surprise then sadness.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter if I feel like I don’t deserve him.” She wondered if her face betrayed that she was talking about him.

“You deserve the world Dana.” He said sincerely.

He’d used her first name. Only when he was trying to be gentle with her did he do that. She appreciated the gesture but her chest felt hollow despite his attempts to quell her fears. She forced herself to smile down at him. A tear fell from her cheek to his hand. He rose and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the gate.

End.

#xfiles #mulder and scully #msr fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #the rainking #when a dead cow is for the ship

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