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pascals-doll · 1 year ago

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candy

ellie williams x reader

🫧 happy valentines day to all my beautiful followers | enjoy this vday special 🩷 am i uploading this ar midnight because a bitch had classes and work yes but its valentines (was technically) IM GGONNA WRITE AN ELLIE FIC 🧘‍♀️

🫧 inspired by the song candy by doja cat | bed of roses PT2

🫧 description: fluffy, cute surprises, reader knows how to know paint a bit, just fluff, cute fluff,ellie sings to you (i took the scene from the game because i cherish it sm) smut, SLUT SMUT💋, power dynamic, dom!ellie, sub!reader, you and ellie live together, reader is PUSSYHUNGRY (mmm im so- i would do anything for that tsunami), reader eats out ellie on stairs (you’re welcome), fingering, praises, no use of y/n, use of petnames like doll, mama, and good girl, very little degradation, hair pulling, clit sucking, face grinding, cum eating, just ellie getting eaten so good! enjoy

She's just like candy, she's so sweet

but you know that it ain't real cherry

know that it ain't real cherry

🫧

it was valetines day today which meant ellie got to spoil you rotten; it is very well- deserved.

you would always be very thoughtful with your gifts.

this valentines day, you sneakily woke up around 1 AM and worked until dawn on customizing a wooden workstation that you got her for her artwork.

you knew you had work in the morning but you would do anything for the woman who’s protected you, provided for you, and pleased you.

you painted the workstation very carefully a dark earth-green. you let each coat of paint dry before beginning to carefully paint details on it.

you were going to paint symbols for each of her favorite memories onto it. you took references from her own beautiful drawings.

one of the details you painted were the beginning of Joel’s; now her guitar, painting even the moth.

one of the guitar strings then ran around the whole work-station, dragging the brush till the end.

you began to draw small moths and different flowers with herbs carefully placing them along the string line.

lastly, finishing it up by drawing a silhouette of the both of your bodies intertwined, then painting an outline of ellie’s knife and joel’s gun side by side on the side of her workbench.

once you were done, you carved both of your initials into the side of the workbench.

you transfered all of her essentials from the small broken down drawers; that could barely hold up to her made with so much love customized workstation.

you made your way back into your shared warm bed, careful not to wake up ellie.

sunrise made its way into the sky, ellie waking up now as you now slept.

ellie noticed you got up in the middle of the night, searching for your warmth but she shrugged it off before knocking into slumber again.

ellie got up very quietly, planting a kiss on your head before heading into her work room to get her guitar.

she walked into her art room, stepping as she scans the room. she immediately stopped in her steps, her eyes falling onto your beautiful workstation.

ellie’s heart pounds outside of her chest, tears wanting to form in her hazel eyes as a rush of emotions take over her.

she walks around the small wooden dark-green station, her handing brushing it softly as she takes in your designs.

she couldnt help but think about although you had work sadly on valetines day, you still did this for her.

this was bigger than the world to ellie.

you were the most perfect girl and if one thing was for certain, ellie would be spending an eternity of valetine’s day with you.

🫧

I can be your sugar when you're fiendin' for that sweet spot

Put me in your mouth, baby, and eat it 'til your teeth rot

I can be your cherry, apple, pecan,

or your key lime

Baby, I got everything and so much more than she's got

you were now currently at work, you hated how you got called in today.

you asked ellie if she was going to be good with you going to work today, in which she responded by pulling down your panties.

lets just say, you had a very pleasant morning before going into work.

while you were away at work, ellie got to work on her surprise because eating your cum for breakfast wasn’t enough.

she went to almost all the floral shops she could, selling them out of their pink and red roses.

ellie covered the entryway with petals, even the staircase that leads upstairs, and leading all the way up into your room.

the living room, she had a fairy lights hung along with pink lit candles on the ground.

ellie had a huge case of flowers waiting for you, wrapped in the arrangement of your inital.

that was only the downstairs, your room was filled with more surprises.

your shared bed was covered in rose petals, a couple small gifts waiting for you while your surprise gift was tucked away by ellie.

ellie finished up any last miniute preparations before you came home from work.

she changed from her pj shirt and boyshorts from this morning to a flannel with a black-tee and some baggy shorts that exposed her Calvin Klein lining.

She's just like candy, she's so sweet

But you know that it ain't real cherry, know that it ain't real cherry

She's just like candy, she's so sweet (She's so sweet)

But you know that it ain't real, know that it ain't real

🫧

you came home a bit exhausted but excited because you picked up a teddy bear that held a heart with the writing “i love u” on it from a street vendor, leaving your job.

once you made it home, beginning to turn the keys to step through your front door.

you open the door to see your beautiful auburn-hair girlfriend.

she was sitting there on your shared loveseat, her beautiful fingers strumming her guitar.

the melodious tone from the strums of her guitar strumming the song your love for each other shares.

she began to sing softly “talking away” your hand cant help but go ovee your mouth as you felt tears begin to form.

the sound of her silky voice singing through your ears, making your heart pound and face hot.

“today’s another day to find you”

you could listen to ellie sing for the rest of your life, tears were already streaming down your face. ellie couldn’t look you in the eyes while she sang because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to finish.

you made her heart go a million miles per minute like a schoolgirl crush.

you made her stomach flutter like she was born with a butterfly nest inside her.

you made her soul shine like the sun after never-ending rain.

ellie finished serenating you, putting her guitar down

she finally looked up at you, clutching a teddy bear with tears streaming down your face.

before ellie could say anything, you ran into her arms; immediately taking you in to her embrace.

this was a feeling words couldn’t express, but only actions.

your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest with the clash of ellie’s lips onto yours.

you weren’t alone with ellie barely being able to catch her breath but so desperate for you.

the way your lips moved with such hasty movement but yet still passionately and amorously.

you began to walk towards the staircase, lips not leaving a moment. your eyes slightly opening time to time to make sure you were guiding you and ellie correctly.

“all i wanted-“ you began but were interrupted by her lips again.

“all day was to” ellie pulled away momentarily to let you continue.

“come home to this” you whined out against her lips, your tongue slightly licking over them.

🫧

Sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper

It's addictive, you know this, but you still lick the wrapper

Sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper

It's addictive, you know this, but you still lick the wrapper

you were fillied with arousal and need to please as you dropped to your knees…on the staircase. you could careless at this given moment.

your hands ran through her back, feeling each crevess of each toned muscle, then coming back around to her arms.

you gave her strong-toned arms a soft squeeze before having them go up to her chest. you needed to have her.

“doll i got a surprise in the room, lets-” ellie begins but you didn’t care.

“no” you said, looking her in the eyes as you unzip and unbutton her shorts “right here, right now” you whine out, pulling down ellie shorts completely.

ellie would be lying if she said you dying to eat her out on each other’s staircase wasn’t the hottest thing, especially on fucking valentine’s day.

it was you, how could she deny you.

“that desperate, mama?” she teases you as you peck her toned abdomen. you gave her a slight whimper as you nod.

she brings herself down to sit on the stairs, grabbing you by your jaw to pull you in for a kiss.

your lips meet again, your hand traveling down into her boxers immediately feeling seeping slick cunt “you drive me insane” you moan out, your mind was so drunk by her.

she had you high on her scent, taste, look, and touch. anything ellie did could have you on your knees, just like this.

your fingers begin to rub her clit in circular motion causing her breathing to hitch and soft moans of content escape her mouth as your lips travel down to her neck.

you begin to suck on the skin as your fingers massaged her clit, slightly putting pressure here and there causing ellie to let out gentle-yet-loud groan.

ellie’s hips began to rise to meet your hand “my beautiful doll-s’good f’me” she mumbled under her breathy moans.

you were sure you left her a purpletrail from her neck leading into her shoulder before going down a couple more steps.

you waste no time in pulling off her boxers, meeting with her wet pussy “s’pretty els, i love you.” you were just completely dazed by ellie at this point, wanting to please her and have her taste on you for days.

“you gonna drool or eat up, doll?” ellie smirks, she knew the effect she had on you and it made you fiend to please her even more.

your hands go to spread her thighs open a bit more before diving your head in between her legs. you met face to face with her juiced pussy, her slick coating your tongue as you lick a stripe.

“ah fuck, doll!” ellie moans out, her hips slightly bucking against your face as her hand had a grip on your hair.

the way you were on your knees on these steps buried into ellie’s pussy, your tongue collects her juices as you begin to swirl your tongue around her clit sucking softly.

she tasted just like candy, you grab her one of her thighs, hooking it up to balance on your shoulder.

the wider angle made her throw her head back “s’fuck doll! just like that. eat it just like that.” her vile voice praising the way you took the way she slopped her pussy against your tongue.

ellie began to work herself towards her orgasm on your tongue, her hand following the movement of your head.

you ate her out like this was your last meal, not wanting to let a single drop “god fuck-y-you’re insane!” she whined out as you worked you fucked her with yout tongue.

ellies stomach stomach flexes, her toned abdomen becoming more prominent as her breathy moans turn into pants and loud gutteral moans as you took your free hand; licking her asshole all the way up to her clit.

“fuck fuck fuck, doll! s’such a good girl” ellie’s hand swore she could’ve pulled your hair our by now but you could careless, the only thing on your mind was making this woman cum.

she deserved the way you ate her with delight, completely letting her use your face for her orgasm.

your nails dig into her thigh as you feel yourself slowly loosing your breath; but you were not leaving till she had came all over your face.

“s’close god! youre such a fuckin’ slut f’me.” her orgasm finally riding out.

“atta girl, lick it all up again.” she praises, pulling you back up from her pussy to her lips, tasting herself momentarily before her hand finds the back of your head guiding you to the white cum-beed that seaped out of her now fucked-out hole.

you licked her from asshole up, completely picking up her cum onto the tip on tongue causing you moan out as your lips were wrapped around her.

once you pulled away meeting her eyes, her cum covering your lips causing your face to glisten lightly.

“you’re a demon” ellie brings you into her embrace on the stairs.

“its not my fault you’re my favorite candy”

🫧

She's just like candy, she's so sweet

But you know that it ain't real cherry, know that it ain't real cherry

She's just like candy, she's so sweet

a/n > part 2 ??? 😇

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breelandwalker · 1 year ago

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Life Hack - Office Worker Self Care Kit

Here's a little life hack I've developed as a person who's worked in some kind of office environment for most of their adult life. If you have a personal workstation with the capacity for a small storage bin and the security to leave personal items on a longterm basis (i.e. in a locked drawer), make yourself a self-care kit. It's a lifesaver on the days when you've run late or just aren't feeling your best.

All it takes is a shoebox-sized storage bin with a secure lid. You can use inexpensive items and travel-sized containers to save space, and personalize the contents to your own needs. Don't worry about keeping a huge supply of anything - just a few emergency backups. And don't leave anything in the kit that would get you in trouble with the bosses or that you'd regret losing, just in case.

Here's what I keep in mine:

Travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste

Travel-sized deodorant

Mini bottle of dry shampoo

Folding hairbrush with mirror and spare scrunchie

Tweezers, nail clippers, and emery board

Travel-sized facial cleanser and small silicon scrub pad

Small tins of moisturizer and hand cream

Small bottle of hand sanitizer

Small bottle of medicine for aches and pains

Packets of medicine for stomach trouble

Period supplies (pads, tampons, and one of those warming packs for cramp relief)

A few bandaids and alcohol wipes

Bottle of clear nail polish (trust me)

Laundry pen for removing stains

Travel-sized bottle of fabric refresher spray

Spare bottle of energy drink

Spare earbuds

Spare charge cable

A couple of disposable face masks

Emergency breath-freshening gum

Emergency granola bar (replace often)

Emergency bundle of liquid concealer, mascara, brow pencil, and tinted chapstick (this covers MANY sins)

And yes, this all fits into the bin with room to spare. Some of it the smaller items are stowed together in cheap pencil cases, just to make it easier to find things quickly.

This is something you can also keep in your car or have ready to toss into your luggage if you travel often. It's also great for keeping in your locker (if you're able to do so) just for those OH NO moments during the school day. And you can customize the contents to your personal needs.

(Pro-tip: Makeup and skin care are for EVERYONE.)

#life hacks #self care

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kenzidaydreams · 2 months ago

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The Space Between (part 3)

Jayvik x female!reader

Content: Touch Aversion, Use of Y/N, Mutual Pining, Slow-Burn (kinda), Polyamory, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, me making up science stuff, mutual care

Summary: Y/N learns that touch can mean safety, especially when she’s in Viktor and Jayce’s arms.

Word Count: 900

Author's Note: Hi! This is the final part of The Space Between. I hope y’all enjoyed reading it, idk how to open up my requests but I’m gonna figure it out and if anyone has one, please send it in!!! Also, I’ve just been writing fanfic for myself in my notes app for a while now, so I got more shit to post if y’all want it lmao.

Part 1 Part 2

ーーー

Jayce started leaving notes on her workstation. Nothing dramatic—just scribbled observations or half-jokes in the margins of her schematics. “You’re the only one who noticed the voltage echo. I’m stealing your brain.” Sometimes he added little sketches: a spark crystal with a happy face, a tiny doodle of her with safety goggles too big for her face.

She kept every one in a drawer in her desk.

Viktor showed affection differently. With precision. Deliberation. When her hand ached from holding a soldering wand too long, he gently took it in his and rubbed the muscles loose. When her hair tangled during late-night experiments, he combed through it with a patience that made her want to cry.

In the weeks that followed, it became routine.

Not just the experiments or the long hours or the notes passed between hands—but them. Something built not on urgency, but on trust. On choosing softness again and again, even when the world outside demanded steel.

No one spoke the word relationship aloud. It didn’t feel necessary. What they had was lived, not labeled.

It was the quiet nights, the shared meals, the shared cot. Y/N would nestle next to or between them now without hesitation, fitting perfectly like a missing piece finally found.

Touch had become safe. Familiar. Craved.

And when her thoughts spiraled—when the past crept in like smoke under the door—she never had to speak it.

Jayce would reach for her hand, anchoring. Viktor would draw her close, resting his forehead gently against hers. They didn’t ask her to explain. They just stayed.

That next night, they didn’t sleep in the cot.

Jayce, bold as always, suggested they go back to his quarters. “The cot is fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’d rather not wake up with Viktor’s elbow in my ribs again.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “That was your knee in my spine.”

Y/N snorted. “I vote for beds. Plural or otherwise.”

Jayce’s smile faltered for just a second—unsure.

Then she reached out, took both of their hands, and gave a small nod.

“Let’s go home.”

Jayce’s bed was large enough for all three, barely. She lay in the middle, Viktor’s arm tucked under her head, Jayce’s hand resting lightly at her waist.

“Is this alright?” Jayce whispered, his voice softer than she’d ever heard.

She turned toward him, nose brushing his.

“More than alright,” she said, and kissed him.

Not with fire, with certainty. Slow, deep, and sweet.

Jayce froze, then melted. His hands tighten on her waist, grounding himself in her touch like it was more important than air.

When she pulled away, Viktor was watching—eyes dark and tender. She turned toward him, heart pounding, and cupped his jaw gently. He leaned into her palm like it was a vow.

He kissed her with warmth and reverence, lips brushing hers like he couldn’t quite believe it was allowed. She leaned into it without hesitation.

After, she laid between them in stunned silence, heart almost bursting.

They didn’t speak again that night. Words were unnecessary. She fell asleep with Viktor’s heartbeat under her hand and Jayce’s breath at the back of her neck.

The next day thunder rolled across Piltover and the lab hummed with soft light. Jayce stood at the window, watching the lightning dance. Viktor sat beside her, working one-handed on a schematic with his other hand entwined with hers.

She watched them both and felt her chest swell. “I love you,” she said. It slipped out, quiet. Unintentional. True.

Jayce turned immediately, eyes wide, and Viktor stilled, lips parting slightly in surprise.

But neither hesitated.

Jayce crossed the room in two strides, kneeling to kiss her hand. “I love you, too.”

Viktor turned her palm in his, brushing a kiss to its center. “Without question.”

The physical affection grew—not in urgency, but in presence.

They kissed her cheeks, her temple, her shoulders. Not always with passion—sometimes just in greeting. Sometimes just because they could.

They never rushed her.

Not even when her hands trembled with want and fear all tangled together. Not when she whispered, “I don’t know how far I can go,” voice barely there, eyes filled with uncertainty.

Jayce kissed her fingers and murmured, “Wherever you stop, we’ll be right there with you.”

Viktor rested his forehead to hers. “Love is not a threshold to cross. It’s a path. And we’ll walk it at your pace.”

She hadn’t expected her tears.

But they didn’t recoil. They just held her as she cried, whispering sweet nothings.

Do love continued to bloom like ivy—persistent, winding its way around everything.

The relationship wasn’t perfect. There were days when Viktor’s work consumed him, when Jayce got snappy under pressure, when Y/N doubted her place between them.

But they talked. They listened.

They made space for each other. For her.

And in time, the ache that had once lived beneath her skin—tight and coiled and defensive—unwound.

It didn’t disappear. But it softened.

They were all still learning. Still growing. But Jayce and Viktor? They were her home.

And she no longer flinched.

She reached.

#arcane x reader #arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #jayvik x reader #jayvik x you #jayvik fanfic #jayvik #arcane fandom #arcane fanfic #viktor x reader #jayce talis x reader #fluff #mutual pining #use of y/n #touch starved #touch aversion #jayvik x fem!reader

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mybworlds · 5 months ago

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Chapter 8

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… First let me thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I really appreciate it ☺️ Second, sorry guys, but it took me a while to write, I had neither the calm nor the time, but now here it is. I hope it's decent. If you want let me know. ❤️

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624; @missladym1981; @harriedandharassed if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider. Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

The next day you wake up with a pounding headache. You've slept for maybe a couple of hours, your head full of thoughts jumbled together. You did nothing but think about your brother, then about Javier, about the outing he told you about... who knows if he'll talk about it today too!

You get up and immediately jump into the shower, the hot water hits you immediately pleasantly making you moan and soothe your nerves after almost a completely sleepless night.

The coffee at least helps you not to stagger to the bus stop, where you are allowed to sit in one of the last seats on a half-broken and discolored seat at least until your stop.

When you reach the offices you immediately notice two strange things, Javi who looks up as if worried in seeing you already there and closes a file putting it in a drawer of the desk and the other is the evidence board. Why is that name and face there again?

The hard, sharp features of El Diablo are there again. You frown in perplexity and, without taking your eyes off that face that has given you more than a few nightmares, you approach Javier with a perplexed and suspicious expression.

“What’s going on? Why is that photo there again?” you ask him when you’re already in front of his workstation.

Javier turns towards the board and then slowly back towards you almost as if he had forgotten that object behind him.

“Diáz asked me for a new report on… him and… to do so I once again brought out the evidence we had at the time.”

You nod, “Why did you hide a file then?” you ask him, crossing your arms.

“I didn’t need it anymore,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders in a casual gesture.

You look down, “Is that the truth?”

You see him lower his gaze for a second and then bite the inside of his cheek as if he were looking for the right words to answer you with because at this point it is highly probable that he didn't tell you the truth.

“Yes.” is the only response he gives you before he gets up and walks away. You mutter a fuck you before sighing sadly and walking to your workspace.

You settle in as best you can, tucking your hair behind your ear before turning on your old computer which makes a loud noise as soon as it turns on that makes you snort every time. If you could, you would throw it away, but it's not yours and there's nothing you can do other than report it.

“Coffee?” Mark asks, handing you a plastic cup of coffee.

“Yes, please.” You reply with a half smile, grabbing the glass that he offers you, smiling back.

“It’s definitely none of my business, but what is it?” he asks, looking at your frowning face.

Javier...

“This computer! I mean, it makes a lot of noise,” you blurt out, telling him the first thing that comes to mind.

Mark smiles, “Well you have some company!” you roll your eyes “Jokes aside, it’s definitely the fan!”

“Are you handy?” you ask him, hoping to at least find a solution to this.

“I’m a computer enthusiast, but I definitely still have a lot to learn.” He answers, leaning on the desk. “Do you want me to take a look?”

“Maybe during lunchtime, now despite the noise I have to transcribe this other report.” you answer him taking another packet to type on the computer.

“Okay, then I’ll let you work.” he says, turning his back to you as you sit behind the desk. “Oh, um, do you mind if I ask you another question?”

You look up, “Tell me.”

“Diáz, he described you as a great agent. He said that you and Agent Peña managed to capture El Diablo.” you let your gaze wander from the computer screen to the young man's face. “How did you end up there?”

You take a deep breath, the violent images of that man touching you and tearing your skirt, the image of the microphone slipping out of your pocket and the slaps you received appear before your eyes.

“It was my choice,” you answer him using a vague tone.

He nods, his lips tightening as if he doesn't quite believe what you're saying, but luckily he doesn't probe further. So, he leaves the room leaving you alone with your less than rosy thoughts.

You swivel your chair around with your back to the desk, fiddling with a faded bracelet, but it's the only thing you have of your brother and when you feel really, really down it's the only thing that makes you feel less alone or sad. And right now you don't know if you're sadder or feel more alone because of the thousand regrets that grip your heart and head.

Someone knocks on your door, “Knock, knock,” you hear someone calling your attention, you turn your chair, it's Javier who looks at you with his eyebrows raised and a questioning expression on his face “are you already on break?”

You shake your head slowly, “No, I… um, nothing, forget it. Tell me.”

He lingers for a long moment on what he has to tell you, you see him clutching yet another folder in his hands, it has a teal cover and on it there’s the name of one of the last victims of that monster.

“Diáz, he asked me if you can start digitizing our old cases like that of Garcia, Lopez and Sanchez.” you're about to reply that you don't feel like looking through old cases from more than ten years ago, but then you remember that you were the one who chose all of this and it would be foolish to refuse.

You sigh then nod, “Okay.”

Peña lingers for a moment in the doorway, “You look tired.”

You roll your eyes, “I preferred when you couldn’t stand me or when you made jokes.” you say, opening yet another file to copy and looking at the dusty papers inside.

“We are still ex-husband and wife!” he exclaims making you look up at him again “I'm worried, though.” he adds in a bitter tone of voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, mind your own business!” you blurt out, only to regret saying it immediately after using that tone of voice. You don't want his understanding, you don't want anyone's understanding, you just want to be left alone. Maybe just by staying like this you can feel better, you don't want to involve anyone in your personal hell.

Javier lowers his gaze for a moment and then puts on an expression of indifference again, “As you wish, good luck,” he says before closing the door behind him and leaving you alone with that infernal contraption.

You were rude and inappropriate, you huff, holding your head in your hands, your eyes almost stinging with tears.

You feel like a mess and a failure. Again.

You work, you work, you don't stop for a second. You do everything you can to keep your mind busy and your guilt at bay.

You regret having answered him that way, but your nerves are on edge. You know you'll have to look for him to apologize.

You never thought you'd feel guilty one day for treating Javier badly. You, who have never tolerated him because of his tombeur de femme ways, feel bad for him. Before you and him left for France, your relationship was clear and precise: you couldn't stand each other. You and him never missed an opportunity to back down and even call each other unpleasant names, but today?

Now you no longer know what nature your relationship is, you only know that you can no longer be rude to him without regretting it.

Maybe because you fucked him, now you're no longer objective. Maybe because you were very close and that barrier that once divided you is no longer there.

When you get up from that uncomfortable chair, you open the door and look towards his workstation, but he's not there. Lunch time is almost always deserted, today is no exception.

You look around furtively and seeing or hearing no one, you approach Javier's desk. You look for the same folder you had previously seen in his hands. You know what you're doing isn't right, but you need to know.

You open all the drawers of the desk until you find it hidden under other folders. You take it in shaking hands, you feel that what you are doing is wrong and incorrect, but you want to see what Javier is doing so secretly.

When you open it, you realize that Javier wasn't reporting on El Diablo, but on you. You frown as you read what he wrote about you. You can't believe it, but why?

You feel dazed and confused. It takes you a while to regain control of yourself, the first thing you do is put things back in order and walk away from there.

You promised Mark that you would have lunch together, but you're no longer hungry.

You reach the terrace certain of finding him there smoking, you want to ask him why he was making that report, but he's not there.

The air is cold and so you shrug your shoulders, chilled. You reach the railing and at that moment you see him in the company of Andrea. She smiles. She has a beautiful smile, teased hair and he smiles too. You wonder what they are saying to each other!

They are about to approach the building, when Andrea takes his hand and he stops as if surprised, then she kisses him.

You find yourself resting your hands on the railing, your head spinning, time almost standing still. You know you have no right to feel this way, and yet...

He doesn't stop her. In fact, he brings her even closer to him, he holds her tight. You think about when he held you so tightly, how he made you feel protected and wanted in those moments. But now it's all over. All of this is in the past. There's no room for you anymore.

“Here you are!” you hear a voice behind you, it’s Mark. He’s holding two sandwiches, “I didn’t know if you liked ham, so I got one with and one without.”

“Anything’s fine, thanks,” you reply, grabbing the toast.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you.

You quickly look into his eyes and then turn them towards Javier and Andrea who puts both arms around his neck. You find yourself swallowing and then smiling bitterly, “Yeah, it’s okay. I just needed a break for a bit.”

He nods smiling at you, “If you still need help with the computer, let me know and I’ll bring all the supplies!” he exclaims, winking at you.

You grimace a little, “Maybe tomorrow, what do you think?” you suggest and he gently caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

He stops his hand in midair and then withdraws it with an embarrassed expression, “Sorry, that was too intimate and confidential.”

“A little.” You admit, lowering your eyes for just a moment before raising them to his face, taking a moment to observe his soft, sweet features. “It's okay, don't think about it. Um, then enjoy your meal!” you try to ease the embarrassment that has arisen after his gesture.

Mark tries to step back as your relationship is still extremely formal and limited to the workplace. He tells you about his work shift, asks you for some advice and clarifications and you are more than happy to let him know about your experience, then he looks for a confrontation with you.

“I know you had some intense field experience a few months ago,” he begins, wiping his lips and tossing the paper in the trash “it must have been great and exciting to hunt down a real criminal!” he exclaims ecstatically “I wonder if I’ll ever have this opportunity!”

You smile, but it only lasts a few moments “Yes, erm.. it's definitely an opportunity to show who you are!” you wrap up the last piece of bread and squeeze it tightly in your fist, you think back to how self-satisfied you were, how stupid you were to think you could face a monster like that, how superficial you were in your relationship with Javier “Surely your opportunity will come!” you add.

“Can I ask you one more question?” he asks, drumming his fingers on his knees. “Maybe it’s a little personal...”

You frown, “Tell me.” You hope what he’s about to ask you isn’t anything illicit.

“What is it like working with Agent Peña?” he asks you “He's a bit of an eccentric guy, sometimes he looks down on you, think that a couple of days ago he called me with a snap of his fingers and he also called me with a name... let's say, not very nice,” you frown “My question is, is it always like this? I mean, when you and him left for France, wasn't it easy for you either?”

The image of you and Javier in that warm, intimate embrace, one moaning in the other's ear and whispering sweet words makes you press your lips together and to look down for a moment. For a while your words struggle to come out, you force yourself to regain a modicum of control so you don't look weird around Mark too.

“Not at first. We could barely stand each other. We called each other not very nice names,” a bitter smile curves your lips upwards “one never missed an opportunity to annoy the other.” you look down remembering those days “Then Diáz entrusted us with that mission and, you know, going on a dangerous mission like that… even the people you can’t stand become precious.” you sigh, you look at Mark “Peña has a particular character and until you get to know him and he gets to know you, it will be like this.”

Mark sighs discouraged, "Let's hope! You did it..." he doesn't finish the sentence, thankfully. You don't really know if the change between you is because you did what you did or if he really saw something in you and you in him.

“Shall we go back?” you suggest, rubbing your arms. “It’s a little cold. And then I still have two reports to digitize.” you add, rolling your eyes with a sigh.

When you come back, as if it were a cruel twist of fate, the first eyes you meet are Javier's who almost seem to want to scan you from head to toe and at that moment the words he wrote in that report come to mind with such violence that you almost feel angry towards him, then you see him scrutinizing the poor guy behind you too.

You should be superior and completely ignore that tight feeling in your stomach that gnaws at the sight of him. As you almost pass him, you half-shake your head and whisper a barely audible Peña before walking straight toward your office. You wave absentmindedly at Mike and then resume your work until your eyes are almost watering and your fingers are hurting.

When you open the door, the office lights are on dimly and make an annoying buzzing sound, you are about to go out and close it when you hear a faint whistle coming from the open terrace, a light breeze makes you shiver and so you move closer to close it, when Javier emerges from the darkness.

You jump, “Fuck, Javi!” you exclaim, taking a step back and putting a hand on your chest. Your heart is beating furiously.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He says, reaching you and placing his cold hands on your forearms as if to support you and help you recover from the fright he’s caused you. “Are you okay?”

You look at him and his huge brown eyes are watching you as if wanting to check on your condition.

Think, damn, think. Think of his cold hands on your skin, think of what he wrote about you!

No, you are not okay. But not because of the fright you suffered.

“Totally fine,” you reply, stepping back and then walking past Javier to close the French window. You lean against it, “What the hell are you still doing here?”

He looks down, “Um, I... um, I was finishing a report on the computer and... well, I saw that you're still here too so I thought I'd walk you home." he replies leaning on the desk with the tone of someone who is used to giving lifts left and right. Which might even be true!

You want, you really do. But there's more than one thing holding you back.

Andrea, first.

How can he behave like this with you and at the same time kiss her? You have your own dignity and you don't want to be treated like that. At the same time, you tell yourself that after all, you were the first to treat him badly. Is it his revenge?

You're sorry, you're so sorry. A part of you was starting to care about him, despite everything. But now it's too late. You don't want to be the backup girlfriend, the fuck buddy, the person he secretly sees while he's with someone else. You could never stand that.

The report, second.

Diáz asked for a report on you and what happened in France as if you had done something serious and he was trying to understand the reasons. What's worse is that Peña also wrote it down. He told what happened in detail. Well, apart of course from what happened between you or the intense intimacy that was created.

It wasn't so much that he wrote about you that bothered you, but that he kept it from you. Is that why he brought out those folders? Or is there more to it? Or are you being paranoid?

Javier himself, third.

Javier is one of the strangest creatures you've ever had to deal with. You can never quite figure him out and just when it seems like it's clear who he is, he muddies the waters again and he escapes you.

You couldn't stand him and did everything to avoid him, now it seems like you can't help but cross paths with him.

“So?" Javier gets your attention.

"Uh? Um... um, no. I dunno.” You respond by avoiding his gaze and moving to walk past him, but he brushes your hand and that's enough to make you shiver. You find yourself swallowing and feeling your heart pounding in your rib cage. You would like to be indifferent to him, but your heart prevails over your reason. And you make the mistake of looking him in the eye.

His hazel eyes seem to want to swallow you and envelop you. You feel as if kidnapped by his sweet and intense gaze. This time his hand intentionally seeks yours and the distance between you is completely eliminated.

You’d have so much to say to him, so much to complain about, but your mind struggles to connect with all the reasons that keep you away from him, including your personal reason.

His arms surround you in an iron grip that makes you feel totally safe and, even if it hurts to admit it, in the right place at the right time. You missed him. You almost needed him. His lips are demanding and yet the sweetest.

“No.” this small but powerful word emerges from your mind clouded by him and the magnetism that only Javier Peña knows how to emanate.

“Why?” Javier asks you, moving away from your face just a little. He moves your hair with absolute sweetness, yet your questions break the moment.

“Is it because of that Marley guy?”

“What about Andrea?” you ask him at the same time.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom

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httpvomitello · 7 months ago

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In the Glow of the Lab Light *⁠.⁠✧

donnie x male!reader

The lair was quiet, save for the soft hum of Donnie’s lab equipment. Earlier, it had been alive with energy, laughter bouncing off the walls as you, April, Casey, and the turtles played games and ate way too much pizza. But now, everyone had retreated to their respective corners to sleep.

Everyone except you.

The fire was everywhere, roaring and relentless. You could feel its heat, hear its crackle as it devoured everything in its path. The smoke burned your lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Voices screamed your name, but you couldn’t reach them—couldn’t save them.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, sitting bolt upright. The air in the lair was cool, but it felt suffocating against the sheen of sweat on your skin. Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears you barely noticed the tears streaming down your face.

You rubbed your hands over your face, fingers brushing against the scars that marked your skin. The burns—visible reminders of a night you could never forget. A night that had taken everything from you.

You didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching until a voice, gentle and laced with concern, broke through the silence.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Donnie standing in the doorway, his bo staff in one hand and a frown creasing his brow.

“I heard you,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice shaky and unconvincing. “Just a bad dream. Go back to bed, Donnie.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he set his bo staff aside and crouched down next to your bed. “That didn’t sound like just a bad dream,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, your hands clenching the blanket tightly. You’d never told him the full story. You’d never told anyone, really. The scars on your body were explanation enough for most people. But Donnie wasn’t most people. Or turtle...

“It’s just… memories,” you finally admitted. “Of the fire.”

His eyes flickered to your scars for just a moment before meeting yours again. “The fire that…?”

You nodded. “That took my family. I couldn’t save them.”

Donnie’s gaze softened further, and he sat down beside you. “Y/N, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” you said quickly, though the words felt hollow. “It’s just… it always feels so real. Like I’m back there again.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then, without a word, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. The gesture was small, but it grounded you.

“I can’t pretend to understand what you went through,” Donnie said, his voice steady. “But I can promise you this: you’re not alone now. If you ever feel like the memories are too much, I’m here. You're my boyfriend, and I don't want to see you suffering because of this, thinking you can't tell me anything. I'm here for you.”

You looked at him, the glow from his lab casting soft purple light across his face. “Thanks, babe.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “It’s what I do. Emotional support genius, at your service.”

Despite everything, you chuckled. “Is that an official title?”

“It is now,” he said, standing up. “Come on. Let’s go to the lab. I have some projects I could use your input on. Distractions are an underrated coping mechanism, you know.”

You followed him, grateful for the excuse to leave your nightmare behind.

You followed him to his workstation, where he rummaged through a drawer before pulling out a sleek, circular device. “This,” he began, holding it up, “is a prototype I’ve been working on. It’s designed to help regulate stress responses.”

“How does it work?” you asked, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety.

He smiled faintly, the excitement of explaining his invention clear in his tone. “It uses biometric feedback to monitor your heart rate and breathing patterns. When it detects elevated levels of stress, it emits a calming frequency.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s a stress-busting gadget?”

“Essentially,” he said, handing it to you. “I haven’t tested it much yet, but… I thought it might help you. Especially on nights like this.”

Your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. “You made this for me?”

“Well, I made it for anyone who might need it,” he said, his voice dropping into his usual awkward ramble. “But yes, I had you in mind specifically. Your well-being is—uh—important to me. Very important.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small smile after kissing his cheek “Thank you, Donnie. Really.”

He cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “It’s what I do. Genius inventor and, apparently, boyfriend extraordinaire.”

You chuckled softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You’re definitely both.”

Donnie squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your scarred skin without hesitation. “Y/N, I can’t erase what happened, but I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier for you.”

“I know,” you said, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. “And i love you for that.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the steady hum of the lab filling the silence.

#reader #x reader #y/n #tmnt #tmnt x reader #x male reader #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader

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katakosmos · 3 months ago

Text

Age gap rosekiller microfic

for @vanitatum-vanitass ; explicit; word count: 1215

When Evan notices the handle on his office door moving, he knows it's Barty before he sees him. He's the only one allowed in now.

It's evening, the office has closed. Barty is sweaty and tired and, during the day, his clothes have lost their neat appearance. He slides into the office with a disgusted face and looks at Evan, communicating a thousand emotions to him in a single glance.

Evan laughs. “What is it?”

Barty shudders. He grabs the folder under his arm and walks from door to the desk in a few strides. As always, he slides it towards Evan, nudging it with one finger, keeping an unnecessary-but-always-delightful eye contact.

Evan takes it, slumping in his chair. “So?”

Barty snorts. “Michelle”. The other secretary. “She hates me, and makes my life hell.”

Evan opens the folder, looks at it quickly and puts it back in his desk drawer. Barty waits, looking bored.

“Michelle?” Evan asks in the end, starting to arrange the pens and papers scattered on his workstation, “It seems impossible to me, she's an angel of a girl.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “With you, maybe. But not with me, because she started to notice.”

Evan tilts his head slightly. “Notice what?”

It's an imperceptible movement, but Barty freezes for a second. He loses some of the indifference on his face, but he quickly regains his composure.

“That you don't fuck her anymore. That you only let me in here.”

It's a little thing Evan does. When he wants to let the young, new assistants know that he wants them—and the old ones that will soon be fired—he elevates them in position. From simple assistants to personal assistants. Barty noticed, he's a smart guy.

Evan granted him that privilege, but…

Barty rests his hands on the desk and leans forward slightly, looking down at Evan.

“She asked me if I like taking it, bent over the desk. What should I tell her?”

But Evan still hasn't fucked him.

Not because he doesn't like Barty. God, no. Evan is now past that denial phase. He probably likes cock. He sure likes Barty's.

The truth is, he's discovered, it turns him on much more to provoke Barty. Prolong the flirting. Seeing him blush, vibrate with anger, find the most absurd ways to bend over, show his ass, touch Evan, whisper in his ear. He never wants it to end.

Barty raises an eyebrow, daring him to answer.

Evan can only smile. “I have no idea. I shouldn't even be aware of the arguments between my employees.”

“You know,” Barty ignores him, “I'm almost offended that she assumed you weren't the one taking it.”

Evan keeps the eye contact for a few more seconds, just long enough to take a deep breath. But he's forced to give up.

He licks his lips. “I remember you said something about choking on it…”

He sees Barty's moment of realization in his eyes: they light up. In the end, even though he promised himself he wouldn't, he let him win.

Barty pushes back, getting back to his feet. He looks at the time—it's very late, they should have been home for a while—and then at the small security camera on the corner between the wall and the ceiling. It's programmed to turn on at closing time, and it's filming them.

Evan observes Barty with curiosity: what is he going to do?

He runs a hand through his hair and goes back to the desk.

“Oops” he says, dropping the empty coffee cup in front of him to the floor.

Evan raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, look! It fell,” Barty continues, kicking it under the desk, “I should really pick it up.”

Confused, Evan is about to laugh in his face, but suddenly Barty kneels down and slides under the table, disappearing from his sight.

A few seconds later Evan feels hands unzipping his pants.

He opens his eyes wide. “What-”

“I swear, I can't find it… Get your ass up for a second.”

Evan obeys, his ears ringing. Barty, hastily, grabs his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear, just enough for his cock to be free.

Evan groans, embarrassed, hiding his face in his hands while Barty waits with watchful eyes for him to get fully hard. Then he wastes no time, immediately wrapping a hand around Evan's cock and starts stroking it.

“Found it” he says.

Evan leans back, peering underneath him. Barty is kneeling between his legs, distracted, grabbing the cup with his free hand. He raises his gaze and meets Evan's with a smile, continuing to jerk him off listlessly, as if that were normal for him.

“Ready?” he then asks Evan.

He doesn't give him time to respond, he licks his lips and takes Evan into his mouth.

It's a messy blowjob. For Evan. Not for Barty, who knows exactly what he's doing. He pushes his cock down his throat, deeper and deeper, stopping every time he gags and then starting again. His mouth is warm, he hollows his cheeks, and then also tight. He caresses Evan's cock with his tongue and his piercing touches all the places he likes best.

Evan really has to hold back so he doesn't come. He has a hand in Barty's hair and moves his head, even though Barty's in control.

“Ba–”

He throws his head back, stifling a moan, when suddenly he hears a noise coming from outside his office.

His gaze snaps to the door, attentive.

“What was that?” he asks, loosening his grip on Barty's hair.

He lets go of Evan's cock with a pop.

“I don't care,” he says, digging his nails into Evan's thighs, “Look at me.”

In the next thirty seconds—in which Barty jerks Evan's cock one last time, brings it back to his lips, and takes it into his mouth while looking at Evan—he comes.

Completely slumped in the chair and moaning without restraint. His cum fills Barty's mouth, who waits for his orgasm to end before pulling away.

“Oh.”

His heart beats so fast that Evan fears it might explode. As the post-orgasm confusion leaves him, making him only slightly dizzy, Barty stands up, clutching the cup.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stunning, oh, truly stunning. All the anger and desire, finally satisfied, softened his face. His tired eyes are clouded with fog, but, together with his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, they give him a jaunty look.

The only thing Evan can say, when faced with him, is: “I'm thirsty.”

Barty staggers over to the desk with a crooked smile, and puts the cup down. “I'm such a good assistant, I always think of your needs. You can drink this.”

Evan doesn't need to look to know what he'll find inside the cup. His breath catches in his throat.

Barty chuckles, fixing his hair as he approaches the door. Before leaving, he turns around. There's a wet stain on his pants.

Evan grips the chair to keep from jumping up and running towards him.

He smiles. “Do you need anything else?”

Evan shakes his head.

“Good,” Barty replies, satisfied, “Remember to pay me overtime.”

Then he leaves, like every day, while Evan puts himself back in his pants.

#I'm really spoiling yall #there's at least one more microfic that i absolutely have to write #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #rosekiller #age gap rosekiller #irene writes

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tenderwatches · 4 months ago

Text

summary: Viktor refuses to trust the people of Piltover—and that includes Jayce Talis. (someone hug that boy; he is doing his best!!)

Though Viktor sleeps well, perhaps better than he has in months, he’s still weary when he wakes. Golden light creeps into his new room, and reality sets in like a paradox in an otherwise mundane dream; the sensation is at once ordinary and disarming.

He is back in Piltover.

The council wants him working on Hextech again.

He’s argued with Jayce Talis.

Now, he’s making his way slowly around his former partner’s lab, taking everything in as if he’s on a tour. This lab is bigger than the one they’d previously shared (it has a second story with enclosed rooms and a loft, which Viktor finds excessive even without considering the below-ground forge). Along the far wall, boxes bearing various mercantile clan insignia line the shelves—evidence of funding that extends well beyond the Kirammans’ patronage.

Jayce seems to have forgotten altogether that Viktor had arrived yesterday and has taken to staring at him, as if trying to determine why he’s here. Sky Young (he recalls writing her a letter of recommendation and is pleased to see Jayce has taken her on) and a young man she introduces as ‘Thomas’ (clearly of Piltovan stock, by the way he stares at Viktor like a wide-eyed doe) have set about in a valiant crusade to carve out a space for Viktor amongst the chaos of papers and instruments.

The flurry of movement finally breaks Jayce’s stupor. He retreats to his workstation, where he begins cramming papers into a drawer. A key appears from his sleeve just long enough to turn the lock before vanishing back beneath his cuff.

Of course, Jayce would have lab assistants fretting over the mess Viktor knows damn well he made. He only just contains the urge to roll his eyes, especially when Jayce has the audacity to lean against the back of his chair in a poor attempt to look casual. “What, uh. What are you doing here?”

Maybe Jayce really has forgotten all of yesterday. “I wanted to talk to you about your work.”

Jayce’s honeyed irises glimmer with something like expectation, or even hope. The fact that this man thinks that they can reconcile so easily after everything he’d done to oust Viktor from the city that, much to his chagrin, kept him alive, indicates to Viktor just how much Jayce has always gotten his way. He’s always known this; he’s fallen into his own traps of wanting to please, to give, to see that almost boyish smile alight upon the other man’s lips.

But that grace, he reminds himself, is not to be trusted—just like any other member of Piltover’s upper caste, no matter how much Jayce likes to paint himself as the paragon of the common man.

Jayce laughs in a way that sounds a bit delirious, and Viktor has to look away. Jayce’s cravat lies on the desk, surely discarded the second he was able to remove it. The leather bracelet he typically wears sits beside it, half folded over itself, and Viktor knows Jayce must have been deep in thought, turning its length over and over, like a circle of prayer beads. These little signs of how his former partner hasn’t changed much in the time they’ve been apart begin to tug at his resolve, attempting to find frayed edges to pull apart. Viktor will not bend to this man again, just because he wears his emotions so openly.

“I can’t believe you’re using that line on me again,” Jayce mumbles, and as he does, Viktor notices his mouth fluttering through a fleeting smile.

“What line?” He sits at the newly cleared workstation that Sky indicates to him in gestures, making her way through a series of pantomimes that he interprets as her going to get breakfast. She practically shoves Thomas out of the room once he returns from ferrying a box of half-finished prototypes and tools upstairs. The doors shut firmly behind them; it can’t be any more obvious how awkward they’ve made this environment for the two young lab assistants. Well, he’s not doing anything more or less than he’s been asked, and he’s not going to let Jayce’s inability to hold a normal conversation keep him from carrying on with the work.

He has every right to be here, after all. He doesn’t need to justify himself. This thought gets forced to the back of his mind, where he refuses to give it any further attention. He has always had to make his own space, and just because this is Jayce doesn’t mean it’s any different.

Jayce turns on the spot, his erratic movements betraying his discomfort. Viktor finds himself looking first at Jayce’s rumpled clothes, then the shadow of overnight growth on his face, his tousled hair, and finally, his sleep-heavy eyes. He lingers there for a moment before clearing his throat, causing Jayce to jolt into awareness. “About yesterday—”

Viktor scoffs. “We’ve clearly said enough about how we feel.”

Jayce makes a noise that tells Viktor he’s pouting. “Look, I’m not trying to bring it all up again—”

“Obviously, you are.”

He feels as exasperated as Jayce sounds. His focus is on the tabletop, watching Jayce flatten his fingers against the surface in an attempt to keep his composure. “It’s just—that… That wasn’t how I intended it to go.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Intended what to go?”

“You know—seeing—seeing each other. Again.” Jayce pauses to wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, and Viktor’s hands clench around the crutch he still has not let go of in spite of having sat down. “So, uh. I’m sorry.”

Viktor doesn’t respond beyond lifting his gaze to meet Jayce’s, maintaining careful indifference. They hold this moment in silence, then, Jayce releases a strained huff. A small, petty part of Viktor is satisfied.

“I’m… going to make tea.” Jayce stands, sliding his chair back with a loud scrape. “Do you… want any?” His makes his offer with hesitation, and that alone makes Viktor respond with almost a sneer.

“No. I’m fine.”

Once he’s moved across the room, Viktor finally allows himself to track the other man’s retreating back. He’s quick to dismiss the olive branch; it has something to do with how he can’t help but notice how Jayce’s coat settles across his broad shoulders, wrinkled from what must have been hours of the night spent hunched over his notes.

The effect this mental image has on him is maddening.

He focuses hard on the blackboard behind Jayce’s workstation, heart beating rabbit-fast. Fragments of calculations spill across the surface in that familiar, passionate scrawl; some notation has been viciously crossed out, others circled with aggressive emphasis. Viktor recognises the momentum of Jayce deep in the throes of inspiration and pictures him pacing between his notes and the board, brow knitted in thought.

Viktor wills himself to breathe evenly, setting his crutch aside against the table with a long exhale. This side of Jayce—dishevelled, intense, brilliant in his chaos—shouldn’t be so compelling—but this isn’t the city’s Progress Day darling. This is his Jayce, the real man behind the sculpted model that flashes up in front of the Council, crowds, and investors.

No—not his. Not anymore.

His pulse beats in his ears. His breath, superficially steady, falters. He has always possessed this deep affection, this painful attraction to his former partner, but his feelings are now much more intense than he ever remembered.

He retrieves the notes he collected from the floor following last night’s argument, stacking the papers on the desk in front of him. His motions are foreign with artificial precision as he adjusts them a fraction, aligning the corners and far edge. He places his pen along the top, then slides it to the right. He frowns at it.

“So,” Jayce starts, piercing the stiff silence. “How… are you adjusting back to Piltover?”

Viktor’s lip curls unkindly, but he keeps the ugly expression between himself and the tabletop. “Small talk, Jayce?” The words still drip with derision. Jayce either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“It seems safer.” The kettle bubbles to a boil. Jayce crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. The pads of his fingers drum an anxious rhythm against his bicep that Viktor follows with his eyes. His sleeves are hastily rolled up past his forearms, and his tanned skin is a shade paler across his left wrist, where he normally wears his bracelet. His hands are strong, rippling with his movements.

After an incriminating length of time, Viktor manages to tear his gaze away. The truth is clear to him, even after less than twenty-four hours topside. Adjusting will be hard—is hard. Living in Piltover has always been difficult for him; he has to play their games ten times better whilst only hoping for the barest return, and he can’t trust anyone. Not even Jayce—not again. “I don’t see why it’s necessary.”

“I can’t do silence, V—Viktor.” The correction of his name lands like a blow between them. Viktor reels from it, even though he’s the one who insists on their distance. Jayce’s next words are soft with cautious apology. “You know that.”

Viktor wants to shake himself. “Put on a record,” he suggests dryly.

Jayce’s shoulders tense. He purses his lips into a thin line. “Let’s… just get you caught up on the work.”

Irritation flares to life inside of Viktor—of course, Jayce expects him to simply fall in line, to pick up where they left off as if the years between them were merely a brief interruption. As if Viktor’s exile had been a minor inconvenience in the great narrative of their incredible journey. As if Piltover—as if Jayce hadn’t torn away everything he’d built for himself from scraps, much as the Undercity has risen from Piltover’s castoffs.

Familiar bitterness rises in his throat, but he swallows it back with a cough as he watches Jayce fix his tea with trembling hands. Nothing in Viktor’s life has ever been so easy, so accommodating, and Jayce has always failed to see what that truly looked like.

Jayce’s betrayal was agony, certainly, but its most terrible cruelty is that it was preventable. Viktor knew better, and, despite himself, he’d let Jayce’s warm smiles, gentle hands, and scientific enthusiasm win him over. But this time, he promises himself, he’ll abide by his lessons for living amongst the wolves in Piltover.

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

Autumn, 974 AN - nineteen years ago

This city was specifically designed to torment him.

The Academy Square was impossibly wide, a torturous distance stretching between him and the classrooms. Even after trekking across its expanse, there were still endless stairs to climb before reaching the gauntlet in which he would have to demonstrate that he belonged in this city. Each landing was a temporary refuge before trial, a chance to catch his breath. Lances of pain shot through both legs, never mind just the bad one, and his overused muscles quivered with the effort of maintaining dignity under the wary glances of countless passing students.

The whispers had run, lightning fast, through the student body before the end of the day was out.

“Do you think he can read?”

“Must do, right? They wouldn’t let him in otherwise, even with Professor Heimerdinger’s favour… “

“Where did the professor even find him?”

In the grand lecture hall, he cautiously approached a group of students discussing coursework in low but animated voices. The conversation died the moment he approached, sending his heart leaping first into his throat, then to the pit of his stomach. He swallowed audibly, uncertain how to proceed under their attention.

“We were just discussing Professor Wingert’s summer intensive,” one student offered, a false brightness in their tone. “Did you attend?”

“No,” Viktor answered, attempting to keep his voice low enough that his accent might not be detectable, but this felt too insufficient an answer. “I studied independently—”

One of the students in the group, a round-faced teen with an absurdly large collar, gave him an aborted little cough that failed to hide his snicker. The girl next to him elbowed him without discretion, and Viktor noticed they all now seemed to be enraptured by anything that wasn’t him.

He clenched his teeth against the sharp stab of humiliation, refusing to give them the benefit of noting his embarrassment. Instead, he swept out a chair and settled into it, hooking his cane on the edge of the table before folding his fingers atop the surface. “Please, continue. I’m sure it will be enlightening.”

The students blinked at him, obviously unsure how to take his intrusion, and he waited them out with as patient an expression as he could manage. Eventually, they turned back to their chatter. He gave the occasional hum as if he followed the thread of conversation, quietly stewing in the bitter misery of the moment. He made himself sit through the banal recounting of their fancy summer course and laughed at jokes he didn’t fully understand until it felt less like retreating when he gave his quiet excuses and left.

He realised at some point that he had faded into the scenery for them. It felt marginally better than being an open interloper in their space, and it let him breathe, stretch out his aching leg, and dig his thumb into the painful knot that had been building at the joint of his knee after a day of endless stairs.

He marked this exchange down as his first lesson learnt.

Rule number one: make space for yourself; they will not make it for you.

It was as good a thing to learn as any about manoeuvring in this city. The Undercity had its own set of rules: never look distracted whilst walking alone, haggle a merchant’s first price, and memorise the locations of hazardous vents, the times at which they release, and when they can be safely walked over. Of course there would be plenty of similar circumstances for him to familiarise himself with, but he regretted stumbling unawares into one on his first day.

Survival in Piltover was less literal than it was back home, but the swift current raged around him, close to dragging him in. The threat of drowning made his next lesson all that more painful to swallow, like gulping water instead of air.

As his first few weeks continued, Viktor found himself existing in proximity to several other students in his year. He didn’t exactly pull them into conversation, but they seemed content to let him occupy their space during meals and study at their table in the Academy library in the evenings.

He appreciated the opportunity to not be left alone. The last thing he wanted was to make himself a target here. He wasn’t exactly sure what cruelties the shining citizens of Piltover might be capable of, but he hadn’t gotten that far in life by ignoring the simple rule that those left behind by the pack were easy to pick off.

What he didn’t anticipate was how quickly that illusion of safety in numbers could dissolve when he moved from being a mildly annoying shadow to something far more sinister—a threat to the proper Pilties in his lessons.

Viktor, after all, was smart. It was the one thing that carried him through every indignity of his life, every agony and complication. His intelligence was a weapon he had forged, honed, and used to carve his path.

He, however, didn’t realise it was a blade that could cut both ways until he showed up a fellow student at a lecture. It hadn’t been meant as a slight; it was simply in his nature to act on his knowledge. Classes were the one place he felt confident that being silent would do him more harm than good.

So when he cut across his fellow first-year’s fragmented attempts to reconcile an equation with a simple, “The math you did here is wrong,” he didn’t expect the daggers that shot his way. They came from not just the boy he’d corrected, but nearly half the class. He cleared his throat, resigning himself to make himself unshakeable in this clear social catastrophe, and picked up the chalk. With his cane tapping gently, he moved to the board and made a short correction of the boy’s work. “An oversight, I’m sure,” he managed stiffly, stepping back as their professor looked over the work with a hum of approval.

His classmates moved away from him that evening when he settled at their table to work. He spared a moment to watch them walk away before forcing himself to look back at his notes and stuff down the absurd notion that rejection could hurt him. Even if it could, he would never let them see it. He had been a loner before; he would manage being one here as well.

Rule number two: never rely on their grace—it is precarious, and they will exploit your weaknesses.

So went the rest of his first semester at the Academy, and in time, winter gave way to spring after a quiet holiday break that Viktor chose to spend on campus. It was towards the end of that first school year that he learnt his third lesson.

Viktor wasn’t one to notice looks right away, but even he noticed the striking appearance of the student approaching him—olive skin, jet black hair, and sapphires for eyes. Perhaps this was why he had been utterly unprepared when this person stopped beside him, peered over his shoulder, and asked, “What are you reading?”

Their accent was one he couldn’t place—it wasn’t quite round enough to be Piltovan, but it sounded close, perhaps belonging to a nearby neighbour.

Viktor looked up, already prickling with awareness. His hard expression softened slightly at the edges, though, when he saw that those blue eyes were bright with interest. “Realms of Runeterra,” he offered finally, lifting the book to show its cover.

“Sounds… big,” they commented with an easy smile, presenting him with a hand. “Morgan.” Viktor took it in his own, giving a cautious but crisp shake.

“Viktor.”

“Viktor,” Morgan repeated, as if trying out the name as they dropped onto the emerald grass beside him. “Well, in case you can’t tell, I’m not from around here either.”

For the remainder of the school year, Morgan and Viktor orbited what one could loosely call a “friendship,” if one were being generous.

Viktor didn’t see the other student much, as they were a year ahead of him and so didn’t share but two of his classes, but he found himself growing… excited for those lessons in particular. Something about those periods made his stomach perform tight backflips, which doubled in intensity whenever Morgan caught his eye and gave him a swift smile.

One evening, as the sleepy start of winter started to nip at the air, Morgan caught Viktor’s wrist as he was gathering his things. “Hey,” they said, leaning in conspiratorially, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

Viktor fumbled one of his books, nearly dropping his cane, but Morgan’s next words were not what he’d expected. “You’re brilliant, Viktor—but if you want to succeed here, you need to… adjust.” Their thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. “The way you speak—I know you can’t help the accent; I can’t do much about mine either, but—the way you present yourself? Like you have something to prove.”

“I do.” The words burst forth more insistently than he intended. He faltered, trying to justify them. “I… I know they don’t think I belong. But I can do the work just as well—better than any of them.”

Morgan sighed. “I’m only telling you this because I care.” They let go of his hand, standing back to fold their arms over their chest. “You worry too much about what others think. It keeps people away—I mean, you don’t see anyone other than me, do you?”

Viktor looked askance, burying the wellspring of discomfort that was beginning to burble in his chest. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

Later that week, Viktor heard Morgan’s lilting laugh from around the corner of one of the Academy’s sunlit halls. “It’s sort of cute how he’s more confident than anyone from the Undercity ought to be,” they were saying, eliciting snickers from their captive audience, “but he really ought to know his place.” Light flashed in his vision in a way that didn’t have anything to do with the crystalline window panes.

Viktor turned sharply down the hallway towards the voices, his cane stabbing the floor with each step. Something in him had gone cold and still; he didn’t even take satisfaction in the way the clack of his cane clipped off the group’s laughter when he passed by. He could feel their stares landing all over him but kept his own gaze firmly fixed ahead. He no longer remembered where he had been heading, but at least they knew he wasn’t going to lie down, clueless and naive, for their cruel humour.

Rule number three: they will lie to you. Their kindness is an instrument made of ice and mirrors instead of steel.

He spent that night, and each one after it, alone. Much like home, you couldn’t trust anyone topside. But at least in the Undercity, people bared their fangs so you knew they’d tear out a chunk of your flesh if you let them. Here, they flashed their pretty teeth like anglerfish, beckoning you in to be devoured before you knew it. Viktor refused to let himself be consumed by this city. He would learn everything it offered him, and even from what it did not. If their kindness was a weapon, so too would be his perception.

It wasn’t until the next week that Morgan attempted to approach him again as if nothing had changed. Viktor didn’t look up from his work as Morgan greeted him, but his voice carried just enough for those nearest them in the library to hear. “Here to offer me more advice about fitting in?”

“Viktor, I—” He could hear Morgan’s smile faltering in their words.

“You want to help me pull people in instead of keeping them away? Like you?” He fixed Morgan in his gaze, trapping them there, each word a pin to hold them down. “To tell them about who I know, what my family does—all so I’ll be worthy of my confidence?” He snapped his notebook shut, placing it carefully into his bag. “Are you going to teach me how to tell six different versions of the same story, depending on who is listening?”

Morgan wasn’t smiling now. Their hands clenched into fists at their sides, shoulders straining the perfect cut of their starched academy uniform. Viktor took this in, tracing the style of their hair, coiffed in the latest fashion without a single strand out of place. Despite their obvious mortification, their posture was still Piltovan perfect. Viktor wondered how long they had practiced in the mirror, turning to examine their pose from every angle. How many versions of themselves had they tried on before finding one that Piltover would accept?

In his periphery, he could see the nearby students pretending not to listen, but their pens were frozen in mid-air. Viktor leaned into his cane to push himself to standing and started for the door. He paused next to Morgan, letting his words fall softly, perhaps mercifully, over his shoulder.

“Before you mock someone for not minding their place, make sure you know yours.”

𓊈 first chapter | previous chapter 𓊉 𓊈 next chapter on AO3 𓊉

AN: thanks for reading chapter 5, 'Defiance' of our fic, Lies We Tell Ourselves! We're posting twice weekly on AO3 and sharing previously posted, full chapters on tumblr each day before update day 🎉 Our next update (ch. 18!!!) is coming up tomorrow if you want to get caught up!

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interiorergonomics · 6 months ago

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The Premium White Face to Face Workstation Desk Cluster

Embrace the Ekko workstation cluster of 2 cubicle desk facing each other. This desk solution comes in premium white currently trending in designing modern corporate workspaces. In a modern minimalistic design, it features in 3 variations of dimension along with a divider and a wooden mobile storage pedestal underneath.

Check its design as manufacturer by the leading Office Furniture Supplier in Dubai.

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neuvilette-tea-party · 3 months ago

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Hi!!! Do you mind if I drop by to say that I love your work for Steb? (Steb Nation is my emotional support😭🫰) And also maybe pitch an idea for your wonderful works? If I am allowed such an honor🤣(sorry, I'm a little talkative, a little dramatic, and just a little nervous😅) how about our quiet and reserved Steb who finds loyalty in a person with ADHD?(And maybe they are from Zaun) at first glance they are quiet and aloof, but when they start to trust they reveal their quirkiness? Like walking around the room to the music, making strange movements and whispering something as if reenacting some internal story, and then being embarrassed to be caught. Or do something stupid to make him laugh, and just say without hesitation that he has the most beautiful smile (I love him too much🤣😭🐟) and they just support each other and accept their peculiarities.I hope you are doing well and not overstressed! And I'm sorry if something is unclear and strange, drawn out (I'm not very good at forming my own thoughts correctly, and my English is at a very low level, so I only need a translator to help me😅🥲😭)Thank you and take care of yourself! Hugs(⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ

Hehehe I'm doing well, thank you dear anon! Hope you're okay too ❤️ I hope I did not overdue the ADHD symptoms here, I may be tempted to write a part 2!

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱ Steb x GN!reader ⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

Tags : Steb is selectively non verbal, fluff, colleagues dynamic, pre-relationship fic

You bite your lips, trying your very best to remain calm. You tap your foot irrepressibly as your eyes scan your desk desperately.

You search for the 5th time, opening all your drawers, pushing your workstation, and almost throwing all your papers away. You run to the breakroom of the station and search here too.

No success

You return to your cubicle with low shoulders when Steb appears, eyes focused on his papers, noting down something. You immediately jump on your feet to place yourself right before him, forcing him to stop with a slight jump backward.

"Tell me you saw my toy, I beg of you." You ask.

You lost your fidget toy, surely when you conducted the census in Zaun with Steb earlier! As his new Zaunite partner, you must show him around and guide him in the lower city.

Steb seems to think before shaking his head with a sorry expression.

"Uuuuuuuuuurgh..." How are you supposed to focus on your tasks if you can't stimm off?

Steb approaches his desk and opens a drawer. He takes off a small toy full of buttons and hands it to you.

"Where did you find this one?" You ask, grabbing it from him with profound relief.

He puts his paper down and signs you always loses your toys and enters panic mode right away, so he bought several little ones just in case.

"Thank you Steb!" You exclaim, "You save my life!"

He shrugs, unconvinced. You immediately tinker with the toy, pushing the buttons, slidings the edges, and turning the keys.

Aaaaaaaaah, feels so good...

Finally, you feel the stress slowly evacuating your body, making you sigh of relief. You both sit down at your desk, ready for a day of long and very dry tasks the bureaucracy adores.

Or at least you try, Steb doesn't seem to have any kind of difficulties with those. He grabs your list of tasks of the day and starts noting his name down until he gives it to you. You take your pen and start reading until...

"Hum, Steb?"

He hums in response, booting up his workstation, ready to work.

"You took all the longest tasks..."

He nods, entering his password, barely looking at you.

"I should take some. Thats not fair for you."

He gently taps the list with his fingertip, ordering you to focus on that and not him.

"But-"

He stops you with his hands and starts signing. It did not escape him how you cannot focus for long, and how you hate repetitive tasks as you always sigh next to him or get distracted by anything.

So he will handle the long, tedious tasks, and you will complete all the more numerous but smaller ones, often needing to walk around the entire compound. You consider him before smiling and throwing yourself at him to hug him.

"Thank you Steb!" You squeeze him tight, earning a breathy yelp of surprise from him, "It means a lot."

He gently pushes you away, inviting you to calm down as he replaces his collar correctly. He explains that you took the time to learn sign language to understand him, so he could make some adjustments to your work dynamic to accommodate you.

You smile brightly at him, pressing the list agaisnt your chest.

"Thank you Steb, you are so nice."

Again he shrugs.

"No it’s true! Nobody made the effort to accommodate me before."

The corners of his lips drop down like he is sorry to hear it. Boldly, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. He blushes hard when you part from him, pressing his palm where you kissed him.

"You are adorable Steb, I mean it."

He looks at you like he is trying very hard to appear furious but is failing miserably. He just looks incredibly shy and embarrassed, so far away from his serious and stern usual expression.

It makes you chuckles.

He signs that you were not like that before, you were so much more reserved and cold when you met three years ago.

"I warmed up to you!" You explain cheekily, "Is that so bad?"

He bites his lips for a split second before shaking himself, his cheek scales waving once as he recomposes himself.

No, he signs, it isn't as long as you can work properly.

You giggles.

"With your support, I'll be able to work way better."

He clears his throat, still a bit rosy on the cheeks, trying to appear dead serious, taking a sip of his glass of water while you observe him warmly.

You just like this guy.

"Your cute Steb, I love your smile."

His sip goes the wrong way and he coughs, the blushing coming back with a vengeance. He is so sensitive in an adorable way when you get to know him.

He is just so gosh darn cute!

He finishes coughing before turning to you with ears flapping around like crazy while he looks at you like an animal between headlights, lower lips slightly trembling.

You shoot him a smile before turning toward your workstation, full of energy.

"Enough talk, Steb, it is time to work!" You declare like he was the one losing time in here.

He looks at you slightly offended before turning to his workstation, a blushing mess and trembling hand while you hum a tune, happy with yourself.

Torturing him is quite funny, you should play with him more

Not too much

But a little

He is so cute after all...

@dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @brandy-and-bane @sp-the-fae-queen @aeeliy @sanktastuff @telephoneonawire @daichisito @sofiyathelast-blog @luv.della

#steb #steb my love #steb x reader #steb arcane #steb imagine #steb fics #arcane fic #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #fanfic #neuvilette tea party

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starwrighter · 2 years ago

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I am not a baby!! (yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (previous) (next)

(Chapter ten baby!!!!)

Danny isn't stupid. He knew Giga Fish was still here somewhere. Watching him... Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, oxygen ticking lower and lower as he darted back into the semi-safety of his base.

A backpack full of peepers and bladderfish smelled awful. Getting the fishy smell out of his suit was going to take ages! Bladder fish are natural water filters. The fabricator draws out drinkable water from the fish's well...Bladder. Ancients, he hoped the fabricator sterilized this with its little lasers.

Non vegan water...

Sam would have a conniption fit, Tucker would love everything about it. He'd find a way to contact them soon if they didn't find him first. The earful he would get from Jazz might just be worse than his giant stalker. Getting lectured by Jazz would be preferred over sitting here with a gigantic fish a few dozen meters away. At least with Jazz, he knew she cared about him. He didn't know what the big guy wanted from him. Danny wasn't exactly a snack you'd travel through the sea for.

Whatever the guy wanted, Danny didn't care. As long as they both stuck to themselves, things would go just fine...

Peeking through the curtain, Danny saw the massive eel-like fish curled up, staring directly at his base.

Danny really wanted to study the guy. What were his eating habits? He didn't seem to be interested in eating any of the fish around him. Both the sharp teeth at the front of his maw and the shiny bioluminescent stripes that drew fish closer to him suggested a carnivore, but his complete disinterest conflicted with this.

Could a fish be vegetarian? A fish capable of sentience like this one probably could, but Danny didn't want to shove his head in the lion's mouth to test that.

Drawing on his PDA, Danny sketched out the blueprints for a table with a trash bin that slotted into the left side. Two air-tight cabinets were built into it. One smaller one underneath the trash bin and one larger, like a fridge on the right. In the middle was a collapsible set of stairs that'd allow him to reach the top of the table. Maybe making the table shorter would be more convenient, but giving up that extra storage space along with his dignity would be too much for him right now. The table top was a bit too empty for his liking, so he added small drawers at the back edge of the table. A perfect place to store small blades and silverware when he created the blueprints for them. Overall, it was much more like a workstation with built-in storage than a table, but Danny still planned to eat his meals here just as he planned to prepare them.

The fabricator would've been sufficient to cook his meals, but the lasers vaporized the shit out of the organs and bones of the fish. Anything nonedible in a fish's body turned to dust. The dusted ligaments and organs gave the meat a medical taste, like using hydrogen peroxide as mouthwash. Sure, the lasers were cool, but what was the point of cooking if your food tasted like high-tech sadness? It was bad enough that the only seasoning he had was salt. He didn't need his food to taste like it was made in a lab. Gutting his own fish was a necessity. Anything he couldn't eat could be tossed outside for the carnivores to snack on. They deserved a little treat for dealing with his stupidity.

Danny built his little table close to his fabrication station, ensuring it was anchored to the floor and wall. An unsteady piece of furniture could flatten him into an ugly pancake. If his friends were here, they'd agree he looked much cuter when he's only fifty percent dead.

Quickly stepping up to the table with his backpack full of fish, he unsheathed his survival knife... The knife would've been so much more effective than his teeth when he fought the big guy. Danny fought the urge to facepalm. What's done is done, he bit someone like a feral raccoon, but everything worked out!

Gutting fish was more difficult than he'd expected it to be. It was hard to tell if his lack of experience or now tiny hands were what made the task feel a thousand times harder. Peeper blood was yellow, but his own was still a vibrant red that dripped onto the table with every slip of the hand. It felt like a fishing trip with Dad, only without the forty-minute lecture on the dangers of ghost fish.

Running his hands over the now gutted Peepers, Danny used all the power he could muster, freezing them solid. Spots danced in his peripherals, the floor spinning underneath him like a carousel. It took a minute or two to regain his composure. Sitting on the ground with his frozen fish head pounding, face flushed red. Forcing his powers was like trying to drink scalding hot coffee through a toothpick-thin straw. It left him out of breath, fingertips burning with no evidence of damage.

There was an ecto dampener on this planet, he was certain of that. One stronger than any of the ones his parents had built. A radius that reached far past the planet's atmosphere yet still remained potent enough to prevent any significant power usage.

Unfortunately for whoever put the field up, it didn't cancel out his powers completely. Maybe if it did, he would have died completely, saving the culprit or culprits from being mauled. If Danny was anything, he was a stubborn bastard, and there was no amount of dampening that would stop him from clawing the faces of whatever had the audacity to do this! If he had access to his powers he could've saved everyone!

Over a hundred people died because he wasn't strong enough to save them! Because he was prevented from saving them. Ships like the Aurora don't just crash and burn for no reason. Alterra might skimp out a bit on employee safety, but the engineers they hired for serious maintenance were top-of-the-line. Underpaid, but top of the line, they wouldn't make a mistake that could cause that much damage. The way the ship shook, it felt like something had hit them. Everything about this seemed more and more suspicious the more thought he put into it.

For now all he could do was survive in hopes of finding some kind of lead. Finding and stopping whatever was stifling his powers was number three on his to-do list. Just above studying the wildlife but below finding other survivors and surviving himself.

First things first was rations! Both he and any other survivor would need food and water. While he was set with his... questionably hygienic water, fabricating more was a necessity. Giga fish was still out there, Danny could feel eyes on him whenever he passed the glass. All it would take was a split decision to plop his tail in front of the hatch, and Danny was trapped in here to either starve or dry out like a sponge under a sunlamp.

Coral samples and crumbling chunks of salt were taken by the fabricator, turned into bleach within the blink of an eye. The PDA screamed at him, a pitch that could've made his ears bleed. Warnings flashed on screen, the AI desperately pleading with him not to put the substance anywhere near his face. A wild contradiction to the PDA entrance that recommended using it to disinfect his wounds.

Only when he used the bleach to fabricate more water did the tablet stop screaming. The water smelt chemical, and it tasted vaguely of metal coins. Like the overpriced bottled waters, you'd find at an airport vending machine. Laying the bottles on their sides, he stashed them away in the cabinet, placing frozen peepers between each layer. Cold water wasn't a luxury he'd be willing to give up, nor was it something he'd give himself a mind-splitting headache over. So the obvious solution was to turn the cabinet into a disturbing refrigerator with dead fish eyes that stared into the deepest depths of his soul!

Nobody ever said survival was aesthetically pleasing.

Walking back to the window, Danny stares flatly at the curtain. Apparently, the whole "You can't see me, therefore I no longer exist," rule didn't work on this guy, so the curtain was completely useless. Peeking past the cloth, he could see the fish staring at him. Didn't even bother to hide, just sat there like he didn't belong hundreds of meters down doing anything else.

If watching him gave this guy joy, he's going to do something nobody could be entertained by. No longer should he be the comedian for giga fish! He was going to do something so drastic, something he'd only done sparely over the past year! He was going to...

Sleep!

He collapsed down onto the floor, curling himself up with the low-hanging curtains. Spite made it all the easier for him to fall asleep.

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet

#You can't tell me the fabricator make anything that tastes good #dpxdc #dp x dc #subnautica au #dcxdp #dc x dp #Damian's going to get a mean nickname if he keeps things up

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yuzukult · 2 years ago

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yours, but not yours 06 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 06 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.7k (1k per month i disappeared lol) warnings: profanity, mentions of sex a/n: ... hopefully y'all didn't forget me,, if this chapter is mediocre i am so sorry i'm trying my best here T_T i had to rewrite the chapter a couple times & ended up going with a different route (which may be slightly unexpected) but the series isn't over yet !! this is the calm before the storm ok

There’s nothing worse than being proven wrong.

It’s like when you’re a toddler, your mom tells you to not eat the spicy slice of pork belly, knowing very well that you wouldn’t be able to handle it but you still beg her anyways. Then when you’d finally get a bite, your face contorts into a pained one, desperately wishing that water would be more relieving to the tongue as it is to a house fire. Or like when your high school best friend told you to maybe not get involved with the guy who has quite the reputation, but your constant urge to break the rules practically drowns you, so you go for him anyway. Then, when he left you crying outside on his porch, beseeching him to come back after you clearly saw him cheating on you with that other pretty girl in your Art class with that cool hot pink dyed strip of hair, you’re yet proven wrong again, only to be running to your best friend’s house after you regained your senses.

This is probably another one of those times. And truthfully, maybe you’ve evolved, but there’s this part of you that wishes you’re wrong.

Seungcheol is definitely nothing close to what you’d ever expect to be your type. He’s not the traditional kind of guy—office job, either living alone and saving for a house or lives in a house he owns, has a car, wears business casual clothes on the weekdays, maybe even into different types of beers, occasionally plays a gaming console—instead, he’s a mechanic with a motorcycle and likes to flirt with you whenever he gets the chance. He favors the torn up and stained attire, despite having money (which… you’d only find out not too long ago) but he does love alcohol. Whiskey being on the top of his list; beer is more of an option for social events, he mentions it the one night he stayed late in the garage when you came down with two bottles in hand. “I had leftovers. They were gonna go bad if I left it any longer,” you said as you handed over the Miller Lite. He popped the cap off on the edge of the workstation, swapping it with you after, then opening his own in the same way. “Let’s not put it to waste.”

And here you are, two days after the event, groggily putting laundry into the washer with your head full of—you guessed it!—Choi Seungcheol.

The last encounter was left with you exiting his childhood bedroom with disheveled hair, wet panties, and awkwardly adjusting the fabric of your dress. No phone call to follow up, no text—nothing. Fucking radio silence.

How does someone fucking rail you into the mattress, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, then claim you as their own and suddenly just go off the grid right after? You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and when you went back to Rowoon, he didn't interrogate you on your relationship with Seungcheol after he shut him up. The whole thing was eating you up inside to the point that you were fucking wishing that Rowoon would ask, just to have a soundboard for this dilemma.

Was that the finale of it all? Is this the end of You & Seungcheol: The Not-So Love Story? He hasn’t even been back to the garage yet, and it’s got you pondering why he didn’t even bother to send a fucking text. A text! It’s not that hard to send a text.

But maybe this is what that whole “karma” thing people keep talking about—what goes around comes around, right?

You groan. Slamming the door shut, you pull out the dispenser drawer of thr washing machine aggressively. Just like when he pushed you against the wall that night, knee shoving your legs apart as he looked at your lips with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but grip onto his biceps—he was so thick in that shirt, hugging every curve of his body in waves you didn’t know would leave you breathless from the sight. How is he so hot when he’s angry? He didn’t even have a right to be, you weren’t his (even though he continuously thrusted his hips into yours, heated breath against your neck with the word, “mine,” constantly falling off his tongue effortlessly), but god he was good at convincing you that you were.

You shake your head. Fuck! This is frustrating. Not sexually frustrating, (you’re lying, that’s definitely part of it), but frustrating in the fact that you don’t know where this leaves you. Are you still fighting? Do you make up? What… now? And why the fuck do you keep finding yourself asking the same goddamn fucking question with him?

Nearly overflowing the compartment for the detergent, you quickly grab a wet rag to wipe off the excess that spills as you mutter a couple curses underneath your breath.

He’s got you in a chokehold; how is it that a guy who wasn’t even on your fucking radar suddenly the only one you can think about? Even when you’re vacuuming your living room, you don’t even recall grabbing it from the closet. All you have infiltrated your mind is Choi Seungcheol.

Honestly, you’re a dick.

For one, you’re finally coming to your senses that disregarding Seungcheol’s feelings isn’t fair. He’s been nothing but helpful the entire time you’ve known him; last month, he replaced your windshield wipers when he noticed the rubber was tearing off. He ended up pulling out the weeds from the front of your house after the awkward attempt to water them, and not to mention, he came up to your home when he heard a screech (you’re afraid of cockroaches, and you didn’t admit it even after Seungcheol killed it with a flip flop).

But who really is the dick here? He hasn’t called you, texted you, or anything really. Quite literally have given you the post-nut clarity you needed, only for him to ghost you.

To fucking ghost you! The guy who said he’s head over heels for you, swooning all your friends into believing he’s your boyfriend, and well—also pretending to be your boyfriend, even when he knows what the consequences for it are.

Then again, who cares… right? He’s just some buff mechanic, a fuckboy, and a tenant.

(You almost used the “tenant” excuse to text him, but you hold yourself back and don’t. Only because when the 25th rolls around, you actually have to ask him for rent.)

As you’re making your bed, throwing the sheets up to float down and align with the mattress, your phone rings.

At first, you think it’s your mom, so you let it ring for a little. She has the tendency to never pick up the phone, and although you never have the audacity to ignore her call, you let it ring a couple times out of pure pettiness.

That is, until you realize it’s actually Seungcheol’s name on the lockscreen.

“Hey,” he greets; it’s a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, probably because he knows what he did wrong in terms of leaving you hanging but he misses hearing your voice. “Um, how are you?”

“Not great.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

You roll your eyes, despite him not being able to see the action right now, he could feel the burn through the phone. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know, I—”

“What happened?” You snap, pacing in your bedroom. “You fucking told me that you were anything but a fuckboy, and the moment that I let myself be vulnerable, you just leave me hanging? What the fuck was that? Am I just wasting my time with you, Seungcheol?”

It stings.

Of course, everything with you stings. In both a good and a bad way, the words you say always seem to ache, tighten, and sting his chest, all from a variety of emotions you spew out so transparently. You’re so real and raw in the way that if he fully commits to you, that’s it—he’s done. There’s no going back to the lifestyle he had before, no fucking around and dicking around.

And as scary as that is for him, hearing that it’s with you, he’s okay with it.

But he’s now in the position where he doesn’t know how to make that happen. Not after all the current events.

“I got caught up,” he says, unable to even believe himself despite it being completely true. The night of the event, you found yourself scrambling out of his bedroom after sex and his dad called about some emergency with the company—Seungcheol has been in Malaysia since. “I really wanted to call and text—really, I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Anything would’ve sufficed. I don’t know where that leaves us now. I’m trying, Seungcheol, I admit I was a jerk for disregarding your feelings and never taking you seriously. But when you pull a stunt like this, it doesn’t really make me believe that you��re not just setting me up.”

He stays silent for a moment; you could almost hear the ringing in your ears from the quietude, and you wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, I—I’m still here.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can you—Can you take off? Just the Friday. Can I get you on a plane on Thursday night, and you come meet me for the weekend? My treat.”

Choi Seungcheol never really lived an average life.

It all really started when his mom met his dad back in college; this innocent, bowl-cut boy with the thickest glasses of the century, eyesight nearing partial blindness had a crush on the prettiest girl in his economics class. His reputation was practically nonexistent other than for the fact that he looked nerdy, and hers was being… almost every positive adjective in the book. He’d gather the courage to ask her out, expecting a rejection, only for her to turn his way, those chocolate irises sparkling underneath the hallway lights while she said the word that was opposite to his predictions. Yes.

She stuck with him through all of college—even though she had a line of suitors waiting for her, she was always in love with the reputable nerdy boy. Despite what people thought of him, Seungcheol’s dad never failed to make sure she felt loved and supported through the entirety of their relationship. Even when he had these big goals to build a company from the ground up, he kept her as his priority and that never changed.

It’s a love story for the ages, one that his mom reiterated as she tucked Seungcheol into bed during his youth, but he didn’t quite resonate with it because how could someone like his dad be the one to make his mother swoon in that way? The man who sat at the end of the dining table, reading glasses at the tip of his nose even after getting lasik to rid himself of those stocky lenses, physically there but not… present.

Even now, as he’s sitting beside his father at his hotel room’s dining table, he still doesn’t feel him.

But to be fair, can anyone find comfort in a room full of stone tiles, high ceilings, and a chandelier that probably costs more than the average car times eighty?

“Tell your brother that he’s coming tomorrow,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen of his iPad. His father has since graduated from a newspaper to a tablet. “He has a presentation Friday, and he needs to rehearse everything he says. Can’t believe he fucked up the last one.”

Seungcheol sucks his cheeks. He clicks send on the message meant for his brother, feeling more and more like an assistant than someone who was next in line for the throne of the company. “Aight. Sent. Why am I here, by the way? You just so happened to drag me here? I thought there was a company emergency.”

He finally puts down his tablet. “There is. I’m dying.”

Seungcheol’s heart drops. “You’re… dying?”

“Well, not that I’m sick—god forbid, but you never know when I’ll die.”

That pretty much explains the origin of the majority of Seungcheol’s traumatic childhood.

“Dad, I don’t think it works like that,” he retorts with the quirk of his brow. “I thought it was a literal emergency. I left—”

“What? The garage? Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. I keep tabs on all my children—like right now, your brother is at his girlfriend’s house. The one he has yet to introduce to us, and in fact, I don’t think I like her.”

Seungcheol’s face contorts in confusion. He knows his dad like the back of his hand; if he didn’t know about the garage, Seungcheol would’ve been surprised. It’s almost an expectation that he would track both Seungcheol and his brother, and truthfully, it wouldn’t be totally out of character if he was tracking Seungcheol’s mother either.

“You’re always pressuring us to get married and run the company—isn’t him having a girlfriend just him going the right route? I’un get it. Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol only had flings; the girls weren’t ever disappointed in sex, and they never stuck around enough to figure out that he carried so much baggage. The wealth in his pockets might’ve been the reason for the hearts in their eyes (and his dick), but if they knew the weight of expectations from his parents that came with it, they’d run in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to bring anyone close enough that they’d meet his family, have to deal with the burdens he did, and it’s mostly why he’s been hesitant about telling you… everything. Even when he wanted to.

“I wanted him to date that girl, the one whose father owns KS Bank.”

Of course, everything loops back into business.

“Well,” Seungcheol begins, getting up from his seat. “He’s happy. Regardless if his girlfriend is a stripper or her dad owns KS Bank. If you want both of us to run the company, we should at least come home to a companion that we love and care for, shouldn’t we?”

His dad returns to his iPad, adjusting his glasses once again. “It’s not beneficial for the family business.”

Deja Vu hits—that same feeling he got when Namjoon swung at him returns, except the courier this time is his own father.

But just as he reacted with Namjoon, he remains cool.

Seungcheol probably rehearsed it a million times in front of the mirror, all the possible things he could say to refute his father’s beliefs. If his brother wasn’t in love with the girl he’s supposed to marry, sure, her status would definitely benefit the company, but… would he even want to help out anymore? Isn’t his happiness the priority?

Nonetheless, he knows that fighting back isn’t worth it.

Instead, he figures channeling that energy toward you would be more productive.

Although, with the last encounter the two of you had, it’s a bit doubtful he’d be able to achieve anything from being miles apart. For one, asking you to come see him when he had absolutely no plan whatsoever on what would happen when you arrive is… bold. Not to mention, you rejected his offer, saying something along the lines of, “that’s not how asking for forgiveness works,” and “things don’t get resolved on some ‘vacation high,’ Choi Seungcheol.”

And by all means, you’re 100% right.

This is an entirely new territory for him—he’s never actually had to ask or beg for forgiveness before because quite frankly, he never cared to. Burning bridges wasn’t a new concept for him, it was something he frequents. His mom never seemed disappointed, so he never felt the need to be apologetic, even if he felt the guilt, the words never emitted. Or when his father made that signature displeased ‘tsk’, Seungcheol had always been below the expectation that forgiveness wasn’t even worth chasing after.

But you—this experience with you, is a whole other thing.

That guilt gnaws on his insides brutally; he could physically see the impact that you have on him from his disheveled hair, bags underneath his eyes, and the sullen look on his face. Do you hate him? Do you want nothing to do with him? Did he ruin all his chances with you?

He’s never really had a serious relationship before—well, rephrase, Seungcheol has only ever had one serious relationship. “The Classic Couple,” was what they were called; they were the pair that the wealthiest parents would arrange for their children. The only thing wrong with them was that they didn’t work—or well, Seungcheol couldn’t make it work.

With a click of his tongue, reality settles in. If he really wants this, truly feels like there could potentially be more with you, then he has to make it work. This isn’t like the woman before you, you’re… you. Whether or not it lasts forever or just a couple months, he likes you—shouldn’t that be enough? Especially when you’re finally opening the door and hearing him out, stepping out of your own comfort zone?

“I’m gonna head back home then, since it seems like I’m not needed here,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his phones with a soft ‘thanks’ to the staff as they clear the plates. “I’m sure you two can handle things from here. If there really is an emergency—”

“You should’ve stayed with that girl,” Seungcheol’s dad interrupts, infamously cutting him off as usual. “The girl you dated a couple years ago. Margaret.”

“Maeri,” Seungcheol corrects. “Her name’s Maeri.”

And for the first time, his father’s lips curl into a smile. “So, you remember her.”

“Well, we dated for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have lost her,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I think I can reach out to her father and make an agreement. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you again. I ran into her at the banquet and when I brought up your name, her face lit up.”

Seungcheol stares at his father in disbelief. “Again, I feel like we should have more control over who we end up with, not you. I’m more than happy to try assisting you with whatever it is you need but I should be the one who chooses who I want to be with.”

“And? You chose her before, you can choose her again.”

Seungcheol quits this time, reminding himself again that he needs to preserve his energy for you.

There are a mixture of emotions that are flowing inside of you, eagerness and confusion, unsure of which to display. Do you showcase your excitement and elation or do you express the frustration and annoyance? Normally, it doesn’t really matter which you decide to promote; it’s only because this time, your reaction will result in what happens next.

Seungcheol sits on the hood of your car; in a leather clad jacket that hugs his arms so tightly, you’re almost tempted to spill an insult from between your lips on how he should get a size up (even though you most definitely can’t even stop staring), hair slicked back, and baggy black jeans, it’s the signature look of practically every label that Namjoon had given him. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word—instead, he watches you attentively, trying his best to determine what the expression on your face depicts.

He can’t quite tell what you’re thinking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, finally shattering the silence. “Get off my car.” You don’t really mean that, you like him here, and the fact that he’s back, still himself with that smirk on his face, only comforts your heart.

“Come on, baby,” he calls out, ignoring your sharp words with his fingers barely grasping onto yours, tugging you in close. The pet name that’s disgusting from a stranger is somehow sweet when it slips off his tongue, luring you in like some hypnosis spell. “You don’t miss me?”

Of fucking course you do—if it’s one thing that you admit, it’s that you were wrong about him. He’s not what those labels people whispered through the grapevine, completely different from an unattached, apathetic guy who doesn’t want anything that lasts longer than a night.

But you’re not gonna let him know that. At least, not that easily.

“No,” you retort through your gritted teeth, almost as if it’ll filter the insincerity of that response. “What’s there to miss?”

His hand slips into yours, interlocking your fingers before pulling you nearer. “Everything. Was it quiet down here? Were you lonely? Did it feel weird not to see my motorcycle out front? Or the garage open? What about my company? I know you hate the way I chew on gum, but I’m sure you missed hearing it in the background.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

He’s so cute, and you feel like an idiot for being another girl that ends up on the list of falling for his irresistible charms.

“I felt like a one-night stand, Seungcheol,” you confess, his full government name slipping off your tongue with bitterness that hits his ears. He couldn’t get a pet name out of you, but his nickname is enough and his smirk is wiped from his face within seconds. “We fucked then you suddenly pick up a phone call then I just—I never hear from you again.”

“I admit that it didn’t help my case,” he sighs, pushing himself off your car. You’ve got your arms crossed against your chest, a shield to protect yourself from him. “And I can fully explain.”

He starts off with his dad—this cold, distant man somehow ended up with a woman that’s the opposite. Underneath that hard facade, he’s a father who wants his two sons to run his business, only that neither of them inherited the drive to push the company the way that he does himself.

“… That night that I left, I didn’t come back to the party ‘cause my dad made it seem like the company was goin’ under,” he discloses, deciding that now, he isn’t going to hide anything from you anymore. “I thought I had to go into this big board meeting with my brother and sign off to sell shares of our company ‘cause my dad fucked up or something.”

You roll your lips. There’s a bit of regret for making him feel bad, but it doesn’t discount how he made you feel either. “And then?”

“It was some stupid trap,” he groans, shaking his head. “He’s really good at doing that ‘we’re blood,’ guilt scheme. But uh, listen… I don’t expect you to forgive me or for this to fix up overnight.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Honestly, um,” and for a moment, he pauses before chuckling. “I really contemplated asking you to be my fake girlfriend. My dad has this thing where he’s constantly trying to set me up with other women—”

The fronts of your brows shift together.

“—but,” Seungcheol adds, hoping you pause your thoughts from going in a direction where you’d stray from him. “To me, there’s just you.”

You blink blankly. “And what does that mean for us then? Where do we go from here?”

He slowly eases his arms to wrap around your waist, hesitant in his movements to confirm that you’re okay with his touch, only to then feel the anxiety lift from his shoulders when the weight of your arms replaces it. “We can… fix us. If you can push aside all the prenotions you’ve had of me, view me as someone that could be your boyfriend, then I want this if you do.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks; Seungcheol always manages to make your heart skip in its beats and cause that churning in the pit of your stomach. “Okay… but—” his smile fades the moment the second word appears, “—but we have work to do. You can’t exactly say we started off on the right foot.”

That stupid grin pulls on his lips once again as he settles back down onto the hood of your car, legs parting for you to sit yourself in his thigh, arms never leaving your frame. “I agree, pretty. I’m ready to do this when you are.”

And with a soft kiss planted on your nose, the comfort and warmth it brings makes you feel like this… is right.

Seungcheol admits that within the last month, his life has been pretty mundane in comparison to what he’s used to.

For one, he hasn’t received a call from his parents. Maybe they’re way too occupied to be concerned about him or that there wasn’t enough going on for him to tag along for, but all he knows is that it’s been radio silent on their end. Plus, the garage has been rather busy lately—he credits you for the increase in foot traffic, recalling how you rolled your eyes and snatched his phone from his hands on a Saturday night lounging on your couch, muttering “how are you supposed to get any business if you don’t advertise yourself?” Truthfully, he’s been banking on word-of-mouth from your neighbors that found out he does car maintenance, but this newfound array of customers isn’t so bad.

He likes the simplicity of this—in the mornings, he’d get to the garage early in the morning and park his motorcycle right by your steps. Pushing the overhead door with a rumble, he’d brush his hands off from the dirt residue left on the rubber at the bottom before placing his hands on his waist to take a good look at his shop—yes, his shop. He’d gotten so accustomed with calling it a literal garage that he forgets that it’s really a shop. Brew a pot of coffee, turn on the little TV he got for waiting customers (really, it’s for himself) before he got to business.

Then, around 6PM, you’d be back from work, dragging your legs up the steps into your home and he’s behind shortly after closing up. He enjoys how domestic everything with you is—cooking dinner together, eating dinner together, and then washing the dishes with one person scrubbing and the other rinsing before settling onto the couch to watch something on TV. Last night, you suggested, “King the Land,” which he normally isn’t a fan of watching K-Dramas, but with you, he finds anything entertaining.

Although the old version of himself wouldn’t ever confess this but… he likes being a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s just specifically that he likes being your boyfriend, considering in his last relationship, he didn’t favor that title as much. But now, he finds himself getting a little giddy inside when you introduce him in that way, almost like little kids get when their crush approaches them.

There’s something about the way you’ve given him a spot in your dresser for him to leave his spare clothes in case he unexpectedly stays the night, and how there’s a toothbrush residing in the cup beside yours, or even the fact that you’ve bought another set of slippers that’s just for him… it makes him feel more at home than at his own home. Seungcheol didn’t sleepover during his wave of late night escapades, but with you, he finds that the left side of the bed unspokenly assigned to him is something he didn’t know he craved for.

Seungcheol loves it. He loves all of it. And truthfully, if he didn’t catch himself before spilling it, he would’ve said he loves you, too.

Today is slightly different than usual, deciding that he would leave the estate earlier (and weirdly enough, living under the same roof as his parents didn’t tempt them from bugging him recently, but they did live on the opposite side of the home) so he could stop by the local coffee shop and grab you a cold brew.

You’re so pretty when you look surprised to see him outside your front door thay morning.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets, that cheesy smile never leaving his face. You grimace at the term of endearment, but your expression juxtaposes how you feel inside. “I thought you’d like a change of pace and enjoy something from the cafe instead.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing the drink from his hands. “Vanilla?”

“Three pumps. Just how you like it, baby.”

You’re still so awkward when he says things like that—it used to be so easy to roll your eyes and push him away when he’d do it in such a sleazy way. But now, knowing the genuinity behind the words, he leaves you flustered. Even if he’s annoying and it’s the grossest thing he’s ever said.

“I have about six appointments today,” Seungcheol reaches over to open the lid of his black coffee, the steam rising from the paper cup. “You said you had a doctor’s appointment? So you’ll be back earlier?”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, zipping up your backpack. “I’ll grab lunch for us?” And shortly after, he watches you drive away to work before getting back to the garage so he could greet his next client.

If this is what it’s like to be part of the working class, Seungcheol could get used to this.

He acknowledges that ever since the two of you had resolved your issues, he got a bit carried away. Investing in his makeshift shop has become a whole ordeal, only because the constant drilling, clanging, and unnecessary constructing noises from the equipment installers weren’t exactly what he thought was going to come out of it for the first two weeks—but the realization that he could grow his business from the new customers made him excited. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was doing something he was proud of.

So yes, driving or walking by this garage in the middle of a city suburb underneath a house with a whole jacking up station for cars looks futile, but the abnormally high ceilings of your garage should be taken advantage of.

He likes this—beneath a car, pushing aside the plastic tray from this 2018 Honda Accord after unscrewing it and unplugging the drain plug before it falls into a bucket he uses as an oil receptacle. This is nice. This is calming. There’s no hollering from board members, no backhanded compliments from his father, and no attempts on pressuring him into doing things he doesn’t want to do like date a girl whose father has a monopoly on owning property the next town over.

Seungcheol just wants to watch a gallon of old oil release from a crankcase and into a bucket.

And honestly, he thinks his thoughts have spoken too soon when he notices a Rolls Royce Boat Tail pull into your driveway.

He hasn’t met everyone in your life, but one thing he knows for sure is that even the wealthiest people you know (Namjoon and Yubin) don’t flaunt their money in front of you. The rest of your friends are middle class, average working people, and the only way someone is driving to your home with a $28 million car is if they’re part of his life.

“Choi Seungcheol,” the person calls out; the door is shut behind him with a thud, Louis Vuitton sunglasses sitting comfortably on his nose with his long brunette hair combed away from his face. He dresses in a flamboyant shirt, the first couple buttons unraveled, and in sandals that cost four times your car. “I heard you do mods over here.”

Seungcheol comes out from the garage, brows furrowing when he realizes who makes an attendance at his shop. Juxtaposing in a stained white tank and the upper half of his overalls tied around his waist, for a moment, he felt like the two of them were part of two different worlds. “Yoon Jeonghan–do you really think you want to mod your car? Do you even know what that means?”

Jeonghan takes off his shades and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Absolutely not, I heard some guy mention it in a movie once,” he grins cheekily. “So, I heard you got a new place.”

“Well, I’m renting a garage.”

Jeonghan blinks blankly. “What’s renting?”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking back to his station as Jeonghan follows in suit. “It’s when you pay someone to use their space,” he grabs a rolling chair from behind a desk and gestures to Jeonghan for him to sit down. “What’s up? What are you doing here? You didn’t come here to get a lesson on renting.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t own this place,” Jeonghan stares at the chair skeptically before glancing over at Seungcheol who points to it again. “And… not owning any new furniture.”

“It’s an autoshop, Hannie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t afford clean chairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the opening for any residual oil. “You come here to lecture me about my place or are you here with an actual reason?”

His friend sighs, finally deciding to plop onto the old swivel chair. “I know you briefly told me that you’re ready to move on from your parents…”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face, grabbing a cylindrical tool from off his cart as he eyes Jeonghan carefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And rumor has it, your dad hasn’t been happy about your brother and his new girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t say new, but my dad has been acting new about her.”

“Well, he’s been making moves to target you instead.”

The tool wraps around the oil filter, and with a bit of strength, it loosens as more oil spills from the sides, flowing into the bucket in unison with Jeonghan’s news.

“He’s targeting me? Stop being so ominous and go straight to the point.”

“Maeri’s back,” Jeonghan finally spills, and Seungcheol pauses in his movements. “Your dad met up with hers the other day—I have this bad feeling he’s gonna try to set something up.”

Out of all the people that Seungcheol has met through his parents and from their “community” (aka the rich people cult), Jeonghan is the only person he trusts. Although Jeonghan will never cut ties from his generational wealth, his loyalty as friend and unconditional support for Seungcheol has always been admirable.

“I mean, he hasn’t called me and—”

“Hey! I’m back! I brought—” you stop in the middle of your driveway, staring at the car you could never afford in your lifetime before looking at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I—Oh, uh, hey.”

Jeonghan grins mischievously, stealing a glimpse of Seungcheol then back at you. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s friend.”

You mimic his smile, and something in Seungcheol eats him up whole because he’s quick to speak before you do. “Jeonghan meet—” he says your name, then for a brief pause, he calls you by a label so confidently, he even surprises himself. “—my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. He hears Pomp and Circumstance play inside of his head, the image of him receiving his diploma at the podium while in a cap and grown flashes before his eyes. Choi Seungcheol has finally graduated from the school of fuckboys, reaching that point in his life where he looks at the prettiest girl who manages to make his stomach tie into knots and call him his—truly his.

“Wow,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “Your girlfriend? Insane. I thought you said you weren’t gonna settle.”

He shrugs with that smirk on his face. “Wasn’t. But when you meet a girl like her, who are you to say no?”

Your cheeks heat up as you place the bag of food on the coffee table. “It’s uh… nice to meet you. I didn’t know Seungcheol had friends other than the girls he met at the club.”

Seungcheol shoots a glare but Jeonghan snickers. “I like you already,” he compliments, hand sliding into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came to convince Seungcheol to attend a fundraiser that my mom is hosting this weekend,” the look Jeonghan gives his friend for a brief moment is suspicious, but the next inquiry gives it away. “… You should come too! Be his date.”

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not sure about that, Hannie,” Seungcheol interrupts, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t think she’d want to see that part of our lives.”

Jeonghan quirks a brow. “And why not? She’s dating you, right? I’m sure she can answer for herself, and I’m sure she wants to see that side of you and your family.”

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan divert their attention to you.

“You know, you didn’t have to say yes to Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s standing outside of your bedroom door, leaning against the wall while waiting patiently for you to get dressed. “It’s a whole thing if we go—it ain’t like going to a work party.”

“Well, he—he made a, ugh,” you grunt, and he could hear you shifting inside with a struggle. “He made a point, if I’m dating you, I’m dating all of you.”

“Baby, why are you getting ready in private again? You’re acting like I haven't seen all of you.”

“I’m just—gah,” you knock your foot into the bed frame and wince. “I feel awkward.”

Truthfully, ever since the two of you had made it official, things haven’t… escalated, ironically. The nights he sleeps over are all pure and innocent; he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, shower you with kisses, and wrap his arms around you to pull you close, resting your head on his chest.

But that was it.

Nothing more.

He hasn’t asked for it or initiated it, mostly because he’s slightly afraid you’d take it the wrong way but quite frankly, he’s been holding himself quite a bit. From when you come out the shower, the thin oversized shirt that hangs from your body is no match for your nipples protruding through the thin fabric, how you bend over to grab something and your sleeping shorts barely covering any skin, and there was even a time where you’d reach over his lap to grab something, breasts brushing against his thighs and ass up, he was wrestling with his sweatpants to hide his raging boner.

Trying to be a respectful gentleman, he keeps his distance. Normally, he’d be bold in his attempts to sway you—just as he did several times, including that night in his bedroom back at home, but now that you’re his girlfriend, it… feels inappropriate?

Weirdly enough?

A part of him is afraid you’d leave, especially when he’s got you now, but he admits that those cold showers aren’t doing any favors for him anymore.

“…Hey,” you call out again, this time it halts his train of thoughts with the door swinging open. Clutching onto the fabric of your dress in the front, his eyes immediately focus on your cleavage. Fuck. “The zipper is kind of low. Can you help me?”

He swallows that brick inside of his throat when you turn around.

Pushing your hair aside, you give him a view of your entire back. The zipper latch is right where your ass curves, and with a sharp inhale, he places a hand on your waist before pulling it up. It feels brutally slow, not to mention when he reaches up higher, he realizes where he expects your bra—there isn’t one. The smoothness of your skin is exposed and his dick twitches in his pants.

“Uh, um. I’m done,” he steps back, clearing his throat. “Ready?”

He feels like a vacuum sucked the air out of his lungs.

To him, you’re gorgeous all hours of the day. But something about today, in that tight fitting dress that hugs the outline of your body so well, and the makeup you applied only amplifies your beauty. He can’t help himself when he’s sneaking glances at your chest then back up to your eyes to the point he needed to get the fuck out of the house before he oversteps a boundary.

“Wow, uh, you look great!” Way to act natural. “Let’s uh, let’s head out.”

“Mkay,” you make your way before him to the front door, rummaging through the closet for your heels, and he turns away when your ass sticks out while you slip on your shoes. “Can you start the car?”

It’s going to be a long night.

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