#i just really think this needs to be seen. thank you

[creamflix]

gojo satoru x female reader; established relationship, you're married. mentions of alchohol, getting drunk, gojo is drunk. fluff and crack. featuring suguru geto. inspired by this dream i had. — masterlist here ☆

you opened the door to find suguru holding up your completely sloshed husband, gojo satoru, by the shoulders. gojo's bright blue eyes were glassy, his face flushed, and a huge grin spread across his face when he saw you. he nearly toppled forward, but suguru steadied him just in time.

"look who’s back," suguru sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "he kept talking about needing his 'wifi.' you were the only person i could think of."

gojo lit up even more at the sight of you, slurring, "my wifi! babe, my wifi’s here!"

"your wife, satoru," you laughed, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. "but yes, your wifi’s here."

he threw himself into your arms, clinging to you like you were the last thing tethering him to the earth. "mm, see? knew my wifi would always come back for me," he muttered into your hair. "you’re… so fast, like 5G, even."

"wow, i didn’t know you married a router," suguru snorted, gently helping him settle against you.

you laughed, rubbing soothing circles on gojo’s back. “and here i thought i was just his wife.”

gojo’s eyes suddenly went wide with shock, and he leaned back, looking you dead in the eyes with absolute sincerity. 

"you’re more than wifi. you’re... you're the whole internet." he grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together. "like, fiber optic. unlimited data."

"okay, okay, i get it," you chuckled, kissing his forehead. “unlimited data and all.”

gojo grinned, totally triumphant, and turned back to suguru with an exaggerated, wobbly point. "see, suguru? i told you she’s the real deal."

"yeah, i got it loud and clear, buddy," suguru said, looking at you with a smirk. “he's all yours.”

“thank you for escorting my data-deprived husband home,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“no problem. he spent the entire cab ride showing the driver pictures of you, actually,” suguru replied, amused.

gojo’s face brightened even more, as if he’d just been handed the greatest compliment in the world. “she’s… my favorite picture. no, wait.” he blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, swaying a little. “she’s my wallpaper. like... my home screen.”

you couldn’t help but laugh as suguru tried (and failed) to hold back his own amusement. “you’re a lucky home screen, then. good luck with him.”

after suguru left, you guided gojo to the couch, where he immediately flopped down, reaching for you like a kid needing a hug. you obliged, settling beside him, and he buried his face into your shoulder.

“satoru,” you murmured, gently running your fingers through his hair, “you’re so dramatic when you’re drunk, you know that?”

"it's not drama if it's real,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you with the most sincere gaze you’d ever seen, despite the fact he could barely keep his eyes open. “like, i knew i wanted wifi in my life, but i had no idea it’d be this strong.”

“oh?” you smirked, leaning in closer. “and what does that mean?”

“it means you’re, like, the only signal i wanna connect to,” he muttered, sighing and nuzzling his head into your neck. 

“like… one bar, two bar, three bars — full signal, only with you.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his adorably drunk logic. “you’re too much, you know that?”

he just hummed, eyes closing as he settled against you. “but, babe? promise we’ll never lose connection?”

you held him a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “never. as long as you don’t go dropping signals in my house.”

he grinned, letting out a soft, happy sigh. "perfect. ‘cause i’m… gonna marry you, wifi lady."

you held back a snort. “well, lucky for you, you already did."

he looked up, astonished. “i did?! really?!”

“yes, satoru, you already did.”

he flopped back, looking so utterly content that you could practically feel his happiness radiating off him. "best connection ever,” he whispered, clutching your hand in his like he never wanted to let go.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Minotaur x fem!reader—fingering, exhibitionism, rough sex, marking, light spanking, light throat squeezing

Pt1 Pt2

You were stuck blindly walking around your new office building. Not realizing when you made the decision to look for your Minotaur Boss that you have no idea where his office is. Plus, it didn’t help that you could barely stand on your own two feet or that your head was still a big foggy and clouded over with undeniable lust.

The promise of your hot Wolf Hybrid neighbor ringing in your ears. He’d take you next time. And boy, you couldn’t wait for the day. Maybe he’d bring his friends again. The idea of trying out all those different cocks that had cum all over your body only minutes ago has you only growing dizzier. Fuck, who are these people you’ve been meeting? No one usually acts like this, do they?

As you walk into an open office area, you grow more and more confused. So many doors. So many places your boss’ office could be. You whirl around to ask for help, but end up tripping over your own feet in the process. A small helpless yelp leaves you as you go tumbling.

But just as quickly as you were about to accept your face and make a total ass of yourself in front of your new coworkers, a pair of strapping arms curl around your plush waist, stopping you from falling. Those same arms pull you in, snapping your hips against theirs. A weak moan falls past your lips and you pathetically melt into the stranger.

You couldn’t help it as their delicious scent washes over you. Oh, you could just burrow into it. It’s then you realize your eyes had closed from the impending fall. They flutter open and immediately look up to greet your savior. You wanted to thank him, but fuck, his sheer beauty just blew you away. You had never seen a more gorgeous Bunny Hybrid in your life and you were briefly distracted in your quest for your boss.

“Hey beautiful, no need to throw yourself at me. Could’ve just taken me right here,” the Bunny Hybrid Secretary said smoothly, his lips pulled into a panty-dropping smirk.

“Huh?”

“I’m the Minotaur Boss’ secretary and he prefers it if I do all my work here. He likes to watch,” the Bunny Hybrid purrs. He tugs you around, pinning your back against his desk.

A small squeak leaves you and your mind immediately falls into the dirtiest depths. His words conjuring so many naughty images in your head that you’re positive he didn’t mean to allude to. Yet your vision blurs with lust anyway. There must be something in the air of this city, you swear you’re not always like this.

Then the rest of his words begin to register and you try to blink the fog from your mind.

“T-the boss, that’s it! Do you know where his office is? I need him— need to see him immediately,” you say desperately, hands flying to the secretary’s hips. His smirk widens at your touch and he leans more into you.

“Oh, so you like it hard and rough, huh? You must be really needy if you’re willing to see him. You only go in there if you’ve been really bad… or really good. But I can take care of you, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Please, I really need his help,” you beg shamelessly. His eyes flash with interest and for a moment you think he’s about to ignore your request all together and keep you pressed against him.

But then his bottom lips juts out into a pout and he releases you. Even going so far as to dramatically turn his back to you and cross his arms. Acting as if all his interest is suddenly gone. Though a quick glance down reveals otherwise.

“Fine, you don’t want me? Then have him! He’s right over there and he’s inside. Good luck,” he huffs and points just across from where the desk sits.

You glance back once more at the Bunny Hybrid Secretary. The urge to go back and show him just how badly you do want him tugs at your chest. But no, this is your job. This is your place of work and today is supposed to be your first day. Definitely not the time. You didn’t think it was anyway.

What you really needed was to find the headhunter who got you hired and finally get to work. In his previous emails he had always mentioned needing to see how well you performed for him. Whatever that meant. But getting in touch with your new boss had to be the best way to find him.

Just as you’re about to knock on his office door you hear a gruff ‘get in here!’ The sound has you jumping in your bones. But your body starts to tingle at the demanding tone of his voice. You brace yourself while opening the door and you know you made the right choice as you walk in. You silently curse under your breath. Why the hell is everyone so damn hot in this city?

Your Minotaur Boss sits behind his desk, his features drawn down into a stern expression. His imposing form appearing almost big as the desk and it has your panties flooding with arousal. His tight suit hugs his raging muscles so deliciously. But what really catches your eye is the silver ring hanging from his snort. A perfect combination of man and beast and it has you weak in the knees.

“Hello, sir, I’m—“

“I know who you are. You’re the new hire,” Minotaur boss says, slowly standing up in a way that has you ready to get down on your knees.

He walks around his desk, beginning to lightly pace as if surveying his prey. His hot amber eyes searing into yours.

“Only your first day and already causing such a disruption in my office.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just been such a hectic morning,” you try and excuse, not recognizing the shakiness or huskiness of your own voice. But Minotaur Boss sure does. He turns to face you, growing impossibly taller as he closes in.

The furious heat, the need, rises up within you once again and a whimper slips past your lips. The tension within the office is stifling and you swear you’re about ten seconds from either jumping his bones or dashing out the door. Given you’re sure you can’t do either, you opt for glancing down at your feet. But Minotaur Boss hooks a hoofed finger under your chin and forces you to meet his gaze.

“And you don’t think we’ve all had the same morning you did? Yet we come here and appear professional and put together.”

While you don’t think everyone in the office has had quite the same morning as you, you get his point. Kind of. You try and pay attention to what he’s saying but all you can focus on is the fact that his face is so close that his small huffs of breath fan your face. His lips so very close to your own. You start to revise the idea of jumping his bones.

“Yes, sir,” you reply slowly, your speech a bit slurred as you feel drunk off his vicinity. His sheer dominating presence washing over you and begging you to submit.

Minotaur Boss smirks as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. It’s like he’s almost doing it on purpose. But no, that can’t be. He couldn’t want you as much as you find yourself desperately wanting him. You two just met. That would be too soon for anyone else.

“Now I think you need to learn your lesson about what happens to naughty little whores like you when they act up here,” Minotaur Boss snaps, his rough voice tickling your senses and turning you on more than imaginable.

Your eyes widen at him but before you can even respond he’s flipping you around and pressing you into the glass wall of his office. You gasp as you’re immediately met with a view of the entire office. You can see them as much as they can see you right now.

Minotaur Boss yanks down your clothes, exposing your wet pussy to the cold air. You shiver against the glass. White hot shame bubbles up in your belly as you look out into the office. Some of the workers watch on, others give passing glances, and even Bunny Hybrid Secretary mouths ‘I told you so.’ But none of them look surprised. Like this is a normal occurrence for them. For some reason that only has your thighs growing more slick with arousal.

You jump as your boss’ thick hoofed fingers glide through your pussy, spreading you wide and catching every little bit of slick that’s gathered. He chuckles darkly and removes fingers, only to moan a second later. The clear sounds of slurping reach your ears and you know he’s tasting you on his fingers. You wanna see that so badly yet you’re frozen against the glass, not wanting to move without his permission.

He hums happily at your obedience and his fingers quickly return to your soaked cunt, rubbing your clit in tight circles. You feel his frame hover over yours and you immediately melt into his embrace. His free hand holds your hip, giving you silent permission to use his strength and get absolutely weak for him. As you sink against him his fingers sink right into your tight heat. A long mewl leaves you at the stretch from his fingers alone. He doesn’t hesitate to start pumping his fingers inside you, curling them at just the right moment to get your hips jerking and meeting his thrusts. A soft rumble moves through your bosses chest.

“I can tell your pussy’s been used well here, so willing to let me in. This city’s been treating you good, hunny.”

You moan weakly, eyes squeezing shut. The way he so bluntly calls you out has you clenching around his fingers. He growls under his breath and picks up his pace, hand snapping into your sopping cunt with brute force. Fingers curling and scissoring you open wide for him. You cry out, body writhing against him. How this man knows your every weak point is beyond you. He hits every sweet spot along your gummy walls he can find and your orgasm builds quickly.

Looking out into the office again you see more people stopping their work to watch you. You can’t help but hide away into the warm chest of your Minotaur Boss. A carful of people was one thing but an entire office felt a bit more daunting. But the way your boss didn’t even seem to care turned you on more than you realized. You quickly find yourself on the edge. Feeling your pussy spasm against his fingers, your boss quickly slips his fingers out.

Before you can let out a single complaint, your boss is stuffing his slick covered fingers deep in your open mouth, silencing you. You let out a noise of surprise but listen to him and focus on cleaning his fingers of you instead of talking. His hand on your hip leaves and you hear the soft clanging of a belt unbuckle. Sparks shoot down your spine and straight to your throbbing core.

When Minotaur Boss pushes his thick cock head through your wet folds you’re already pushing back. A playful shriek leaves you as his tip nudges at your entrance. Your boss’ hands both move to rest on your hips and he teases you, pushing his tip in little by little. You instinctively clench around him, trying to suck him in. He clicks his tongue at you

“What a naughty pussy you got here, hun. Think I’m gonna have to teach it some fucking manners,” he says and slams his entire length inside of you in one solid stroke.

Your back arches unnaturally, jaw dropping in a silent scream. But you don’t even get a second to process the sensations coursing through you as his hips snap back, starting at a brutal pace. Your hands shoot out to brace yourself against the glass but your boss instantly snatches your hands and holds them behind your back. He smushes you against the glass, your body wetly smacking against it with each brush.

“Ooooh— nngh— god! Oh god! Fuck,” you wail, eyes rolling back into your head as he sends your body buzzing.

Minotaur Boss laughs wickedly and you moan again, loving how he uses you. Ready to open your mouth and release more obscenities, your boss shuts that down with a firm smack on your ass and you merely help in response. He smacks your ass again.

“Louder! I wanna fucking hear you, hunny! Gotta welcome everyone in the building with your sweet sweet moans,” he growls, picking up pace, his cock slamming inside you.

Every deep snap of his hips nudges against your cervix and has your eyes crossing. You weakly try and move back against his thrusts but he keeps you pinned against the glass wall of his office. Forcing you to show off every inch of what he’s doing to you to the whole room. And you don’t dare wait a moment before listening to his demands. Your moans echoing off the walls and grating against your ears till you’re sure the whole building can hear you. Every smack of his hand on your ass has you growing even louder.

“H-how can this be so bad but so good? The boss fucking a subordinate. The entire office watching and touching themselves. How does no one get in trouble?” You shout in ecstasy, your eyes flickering to your coworkers who’ve started touching themselves. Some even moving to fuck each other too. Your boss nuzzles into your neck, lapping up your sweat.

“One of the benefits of living in a free use city, baby,” your boss says with another taunting laugh that has your toes curling. But you have no clue what he’s talking about. It’s hard to focus with his cock hammering itself inside your sopping cunt.

“A what?”

“Free use city. Means I can take you whenever and wherever I want. And you can do the same to me or anyone,” Minotaur Boss growls his weak explanation. But it’s hard for him too with your pussy clenching and fluttering around his girth.

Even with the brief explanation your mind spins. Not understanding what the hell is going on. You moved into a free use city? How was that not on any of the brochures the headhunter had given you. He just sent you into this place completely blind.

“But I didn’t…”

Minotaur Boss catches your expression. One of his hands curl around your throat and tilts you back. Your spine arches with it and you moan weakly as your boss slides into your cunt at a new angle, his cock brushing along your sweet spot with each jerk of his hips.

“You saying you didn’t know?”

All you can you is faintly shake your head, your eyes lost in a haze of confusion and lust. Your cunt once again spasms around his girth and he knows you’re getting close again. His own expression shifts, eyes twinkling with mischief as his hand squeezes around your throat.

“Well what a treat for you, eh? Now prove to me how much you belong here and cum all nice and pretty on my cock.”

As if your body was waiting for his command, your belly tightens and the cord snaps as you start coming on his cock. Your juices spraying all over the glass wall as your body thrashes in his hold. Minotaur Boss, as always, maintains a solid grip on you. Fucking up into you through your orgasm until he follows soon after and cums deep inside you, shooting buckets of his hot semen in your belly.

Minotaur Boss works with an efficiency fit for a boss as he slips out of you and gets to work cleaning you up. All you can do is pant heavily against the glass, your mind still whirling from the revelation. Everything that had happened to you since yesterday suddenly making a lot more sense.

But none of the information you had about this place mentioned it being a free use city. Should you have done your own research? You guess so. But the truth about this place shouldn’t have been hidden either. This was all because of your headhunter… and you were finally gonna get answers. You struggle to push off the glass and turn to your boss, once again fully clothed.

“Where— where can I find the headhunter who hired me? I need… to see— to talk to him immediately,” you stammer over your words, still trying to pick yourself back up again.

Minotaur boss settles back in his desk chair, leaning back and looking more than satisfied. But amusement quickly joins in as it dances in his eyes. Clearly finding your situation hilarious. He points down the room and you follow the line of it to a door marked ‘Conference room D.’

“In the conference room but, uh, he might be a little busy at the moment…”

With your destination in sight strength pours back into you. Your legs stop shaking and you stand up a little bit taller. Maybe it’s all the anger flowing through you but you let it propel you forward. Readying to give your headhunter a piece of your mind. And maybe a piece of something else too…

[screamlet]

08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

---

Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.           

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[aventurineswife]

aventurine, sunday, and any others when reader pretends to not remember them after a bad injury hehe…[angst with fluff at the end] i love giving my poor babies heart attacks mwahaha

anyways love u and ur writings btw k byeee drink water ok byeee 💕✨

“I'm sorry, but who are you?”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Fluff, Light Humor Angst to Fluff, Established Relationship, Memory Loss, Reassurance.

Warnings: Emotional distress (brief moments of fear and confusion).

A/N: thanks for reminder, anon! 😪😮‍💨I really need to drink some water

Aventurine's eyes widened, his usual playful smirk faltering as you looked at him, confusion clouding your gaze. He reached out, as though instinctively wanting to close the distance between you, but he hesitated. Your words cut through the air, soft and fragile.

"You… you are… who exactly?"

The words stung more than he expected. His heart raced in his chest as he observed the faint, distant look in your eyes. He had always been in control of the game, masterful in reading people, but this? This was a blow to his carefully constructed facade.

"You don’t remember me?" His voice was softer now, the bravado slipping as his pulse quickened.

You shook your head, an empty feeling creeping into your chest. "I don’t think so. Sorry… am I supposed to?"

Aventurine's smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw something raw beneath his cool exterior. Pain. Fear. He stepped back slightly, trying to hide the cracks forming in his walls.

"I suppose I’ve miscalculated…" he muttered to himself, voice barely audible.

But then, you reached out and touched his arm gently.

"I—"

Aventurine looked at you, his breath catching in his throat as you softly smiled. "I do remember you, though. Maybe I was just… testing you?"

The game was on again, but this time, it was different. He chuckled, a soft, relieved sound that made the weight of his worries lift just a little.

"You're dangerous, you know that?" he said, his voice returning to its usual lighthearted tone, though there was an underlying tenderness now.

You smiled. "I think I’ll keep you on your toes."

And with that, the shadows of doubt lifted, replaced by the warmth of your presence—one he could no longer imagine being without.

Sunday stood there, his eyes darkened with a mix of concern and confusion, staring at you as if you were a stranger. His fingers twitched slightly, an impulse to reach out, to make sure you were real, that you hadn’t slipped into some other world.

"You… you don’t recognize me?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, fragile under the weight of his own disbelief.

You blinked at him, the blank look in your eyes unnerving him more than he cared to admit. "I’m sorry… I don’t think I do. Are we… close?"

The air between you seemed to freeze, thick with unspoken emotions. His mind was racing—how could you forget him, forget everything you had shared? The kindness, the warmth, the bond he’d built so carefully with you...

"I see," Sunday murmured, his gaze softening with a hint of sadness. "I suppose it’s a part of the dream, isn't it? To forget… to lose everything."

You could see the strain in his expression, the hope fading from his eyes. "Sunday, I… I didn’t mean to forget you."

You reached for him, your hand trembling as you touched his sleeve. The contact seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and his breath caught.

A moment of stillness.

Then Sunday smiled faintly, the sadness still lingering. "I suppose we’ll just have to make you remember, won't we?" His voice was gentle, though you could hear the underlying fear in it.

You smiled, this time with a reassurance he needed. "I think I already do."

A sigh escaped him, a soft, grateful breath as he pulled you into his arms.

"Don't ever scare me like that again." he murmured into your hair, holding you close.

Ratio’s usual air of unshakable confidence was nowhere to be seen. He stood before you, his eyes wide with confusion and an almost frantic edge to his movements.

"You—don’t remember me?" he repeated, his voice betraying a crack he hadn’t expected.

You stared at him, trying to piece together the fragments of the world around you, the details of his appearance leaving you more unsettled than anything. "I… I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you."

His frown deepened, his expression unreadable but filled with something you couldn't quite place—was it hurt? Disbelief?

"I see. This is… unfortunate," he said, voice smooth yet tinged with something that didn’t fit. He folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing slightly. "I expected better from your memory."

You looked at him more closely, sensing a vulnerability underneath the sharpness of his demeanor. He was, despite his intellectual brilliance, losing himself in this.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your hand reaching for his, gently catching his wrist. "I’m sorry… but I’m sure we’ve met before. I just—"

He paused, his sharp breath catching in his throat as he looked down at your hand on his. For a brief moment, his composure cracked, and you could see the raw emotion behind his usually controlled facade.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the weight of the situation was too much to bear. "You must remember."

You smiled softly, understanding now. "I remember. You’re the one who always insists on teaching me things."

His gaze softened instantly, a relieved exhale leaving him. "Good."

Ratio’s usual brilliance returned, but this time, there was something gentler about him. "Perhaps next time, try not to lose your memory so easily."

And though his words were sharp, his hand reached out to take yours, a reassurance that you were not lost to him.

Me lmaoo

[gay-furry-poseidon-lover]

All of this is very fair, and good to read about. Though I do think Op has a point about the black and white of how people treat Epic's Odysseus verses anyone who gets in his way, and how hypocritical the treatment of Calypso specifically is if you look at how like. Any man in greek myths is treated. I believe Odysseus took women as slaves on his ship in The Illiad. Sometimes its someone else but he is one of the people who said they must kill the son of Hector, he dropped this baby off of a wall. Sure you can argue "it was willed by Zues," but I dont think that makes it any better morally. When he gets home he commands that an unfaithful servant be strung up and tortured untill death, as well as killing every female servant who was unfaithful to him. We dont neccesarily know to what degree, or even if engagement with the suitors was consensual. But all of this is to say that there really is no true good or evil character. I say all of these things as someone who really enjoys the Odyssey and Odysseus. We can recognize that acting in the ways he did would not be okay or acceptable in our society today, but we still tell his story and praise him for his loyalty and endurance.

Epic is a work of fiction inspired by The Odyssey. It is not meant to follow it exactly, nor portray an accurate example of how the story plays out in the book, and we must keep this in mind. In greek myth there are many versions of each story, many differing translations and interpretations, and long before they were written down they were passed on through oral tradition. I approach this with the mind that with each new retelling we learn about the time it was written, and what biases a translator or story teller may have let leak into it. Not that they are neccesarily false, just different, and products of different people.

A persons first introduction to Calypso will certainly influence their opinions on her as she is present in many different pieces of media. And what i think is most important is that we remember she is fictional. She's a goddess, a nymph, someone that exists only in the stories we tell. And the same with Odysseus. Its very likely writers took inspirations from real heroes and their experiences, but the Odysseus we know today is not a real person. Neither him nor Calypso are personally affected by the things we say about them. You can't conflate theorizing about the different possibilities of how an ancient story went with say, denying the story of a modern victim of rape. These are very different things in very different contexts. I thought fans of greek myth would be on the same page about this, what with the plentiful rape, incest, murder, slavery, and beastiality described in myths. But apparantly it needs to be said that enjoying stories that contain violence and crimes like these does not mean you condone or support these actions taking place in our modern society.

People are free to talk about Zues and enjoy his character without constantly giving disclaimers that we can never forgive him and he has done bad things. Because we know that, its established, its clear. People dont accuse you of being a rape sympathizer or being into fucking cows just because you mention Zues. Hes low hanging fruit though. Hera, Aphrodite, Artemis and Apollo, theyve all done horrific shit. But we dont immediately critisize anyone who talks of them fondly. Achilles did it with a corpse cause he thought she was just that beautiful. Obviously thats gross and bad. Liking his stories doesnt automatically mean you agree with that.

I'm not on tiktok (thank god) but ive seen a couple videos and posts that are very black and white. Calypso is an evil abusor and if you like her than you support abuse and rape. It's annoying as hell. I've been abused, ive been in coercive sexual relationships, I know first hand that thats bad. Duh. And if you find comfort in relating to Odysseus because of your own experiences, and that leads you to hate Calypso, thats okay. If people talking about Calypso is upsetting or triggering to you, don't engage with it by all means. Take care of yourself. Block, hit not interested, scroll away.

But what you should not do is tell random people on the internet that they are as bad as rapist abusors because they were talking about the one sided love of a nymph goddess and a mortal man in a musical inspired by anime and video games.

People are able to sepparate fiction from reality with so many other characters, why is it that Calypso is such a controversial one. Her character, and her backstory, have so much to explore and think about, and we can do that without believing that she is without any flaws or faults.

Think of her what you want, say about her what you want. Just stop projecting whatever beliefs you have about what it means to enjoy a fictional character onto everyone who disagrees with you. If you are do passionate about justice for victims, go outside, engage with local communities, see a friend, see a therapist. Speak out about the real, alive abusors and rapists who hold positions of power in our world right now. That will bring much more good to the world than starting discourse on tiktok, I promise you. (not directed at op or reblogger, but for people in general.)

Something I'm starting to notice about this fandom; y'all can like Epic's version of Odysseus without trying to paint Calypso as a rapist.

Odysseus in the original tale did cheat on his wife. Several times. And there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. But trying to paint him as blameless and all the other women as rapists for seducing him is not the winning move y'all think it is.

Like Tiktok is becoming the worst when it comes to the topic of Calypso.

[spidybaby]

Seat 332

Summary: The seat he always reserved for you, it's now hers.

Warnings: cursing.

You hug Aurora as the two of you jump happy.

"I'm so happy." Aurora says, tearing up a little bit. "I'm sorry, I need a moment." She says, walking out of the room.

You turn to face Gavi. He has the biggest smile anyone could ever have. He opens his arms, walking over to you.

You carefully hug him, head between his neck and shoulder. "I'm so happy for you, Pablito." You say.

He tightens the hug, kissing your forehead. "I'm happy too." He says. "I can't wait to be on the field again."

Gavi got the green light to start training on the training camp, not like the others, but finally, he's able to run, to juggle the ball, to be out.

"And maybe I'll be able to play against Sevilla." He smiles, a smile that might hurt later. "I can't wait."

You separate from the hug, grabbing his cheeks. "I'm going to be there for you, I'll be the loudest on the stadium when I cheer your name." You smile at him.

He moves his hand and places it on the back of your neck, bringing you in for a kiss. You don't waste one second and return the action.

"I kinda like having my own cheerleader." He smirks. Giving you another peck.

You laugh at his tone, grabbing his hand, walking with him to the living room. His parents and Aurora have smiles and tears.

Finally, after so long and after everything Gavi went through, he was able to go back to the field and do what he loved the most, play.

"We are so happy, mijo." Belen says, hugging him. "You are going back to play."

His father joins the hug. They were telling him how happy they were about his return, even when it was just to training.

It was a big step for everybody. After the times when Pablo didn't want to see anyone and used to cry himself out of the frustration of being in bed while his friends played. Horribly but played. (Don't fight me on this, last season was bad)

His family was grateful for your support to Pablo. You have known him since school, and your support was very important to him and to them.

You and pablo were friends, even when you looked like the typical couple. You never officially become anything other than his friend, and tell people that you were fine like that.

"Let's go out to eat." Pablo Sr. says. "We need to celebrate this big moment."

Pablo pulls you to the front door, intertwining your hands. Pablo asked you what you are eating. Naming you different things off the menu.

"I want a piece of cake." He says, opening the door for you. "Want to share?" He asks, passing his arm around your shoulders.

You nod to him, giving him a kiss. You were careful with the picture and places. You know that since you two aren't labeled, you don't want to deal with the fans.

You were fine letting people think you were Aurora's friend. You were thankful to have some pictures with them from when you were kids.

Fans have seen that and thought nothing of it. So they didn't really care when you were with Aurora at the games.

"We are going to Sevilla this weekend." Pablo says. "Want to join us?"

You shake your head no. "I have a lot of work to do." You explain.

He rests his head on your shoulder. "I'm going to miss you." He says, sighing.

Gavi's parents ask you about college. They were happy that it was going well for you. You wanted to be a physiotherapist.

They wanted you to succeed. They have known you since you were a child, and when you went out of your way to help Pablo during his recovery. They got closer to you and got to know you better.

You became closer to him because you two met up at a common friend birthday party. You told him that you moved to Barcelona to study.

He contacted you over Instagram. You two began talking, and then he invited you to a game. You, as a cule, said yes immediately.

Since then, you got closer and started a small fling. You never cared that it was an in and out situation. He was an old friend and he liked you.

Pablo and you excuse yourselves. He has training in the morning, and you were going to help him with his therapy routine.

"Do you want me to help you with your exercise?" You ask, checking on him as he does what his physio instructed him.

He shakes his head no, trying to act tough and uninterested. "I'm almost done." He says.

You enjoy the show he's pulling. His face went from normal to a red one as he refused to ask for help. All that only to look cool for you.

You can't help but laugh at how his arms are shaking thanks to the effort he is putting into the exercise.

"Pablo, let me help you." You say, getting up and walking up to him. Grabbing the weight he's using. "Let's do it together." You say, kissing his temple.

You work out with him. Doing it slowly and helping him take the proper rest in between sets.

"You see?" You ask him. Leaving the weight on the floor. "A little help won't hurt you."

He chuckles, giving you a kiss. "Want to shower with me?" He asks, hiding his sweaty face on your neck.

You nod, grabbing his hand and walking upstairs with him.

yourusername

Liked by aurorapaezg, pablogavi and 12,374 others

yourusername ♥️💙

View all 235 comments

aurorapaezg preciosa ♥️

yourusername te quiero 🤍

pablogavi 🙄🙄🙄

yourusername 🤨?

"Have you noticed that we are always placed in the same seats?" Aurora asks, walking with you around the now empty stadium.

"We do?" You ask, confused. "How do you know that?"

"I was checking the seating on the last few games. Don't ask me why cause I just did it out of boredom."

You turn, looking at where the seats are located. "Never noticed that. We can ask Pablo why is that."

"Ask me what?" Pablo says. He was behind you.

He grabs your arm, pulling you against his chest. You laugh at his roughness. "Pablo!" You say in between giggles.

"Pablo, careful." Aurora warns him.

Pablo shush Aurora, giving you a kiss. You feel him wrapping his arms around you. "What do you wanna ask me, guapa?" He whispers to you before returning to kissing you.

You separate. "I don't even remember anymore." You say, making him chuckle. "Ready to go?" You ask, making him nod.

You were taking them to the airport after the game. Even when he isn't ready to play, he wants you at the games.

He says that it's for you and his family to get used to him playing again. You love it when he includes you into his plans.

"Let's go, lovebirds." Aurora says, walking away from you. "We don't want to hit traffic."

You walk to the car, thanks to the wait in the stadium, there was not much traffic. You needed to pick something at Gavi's house before the airport.

"I'll be quick." Aurora says, running to the house.

Gavi was singing some song he had on the playlist of his recovery. He was focused on his phone.

You then remember what Aurora told you about the seats. You want to ask him, so you turn the music down.

"I just remembered what I wanted to ask you." You tell him, bomping his nose with your finger.

"A ver, dime."

"Aurora pointed out that we always sit in the same seats." You explain. "Why is that?" You ask.

He smiles, getting closer to you and giving you a small kiss. "I memorized where the seat was." He explains. His fingers combing your hair. "That way, when I scored, I know where to look. I know that you'll be there."

You can't help the big smile that you have. He was looking for you after every goal. After every asist, he knows where to look to find you.

"Seat 332" He says. "That's the one I always ask for."

You were about to say something, but Aurora joined the two of you in the car. She apologizes for the inconvenience of having to stop at Pablo's house for her makeup bag.

"Let's go!" She says happy. "I can't wait to be home."

You smile, happy that they got to go home. The rest of the drive consists of Pablo singing every song that plays and Aurora asking you to change the song because Pablo was ruing it.

When you got to the airport, Gavi helped his sister with the luggage. Telling her that he will carry them for her.

"I'll call you when I'm back." He says, putting his head inside the car. "A kiss goodbye?" He makes duck lips.

You giggle, giving him a kiss. "Have fun, bye."

pablogavi added to closefriends

You liked Gavi's story. Answering his dm. He let you know that he was still in Sevilla and that he was having fun.

You forgot to answer him. You were busy with some paperwork you were procrastinating. You needed to finish if you want to see him after he come back from Sevilla.

You tell him that you will be out of the radar for a few days, and when he comes back you will text him when you are free.

You spend your days working and going to uni. You had to study hard if you want to pass with a good grade.

Aurora told you that she gave your greetings to your abuelita and that she sent you something with Pablo.

You thank her and tell her that you'll talk to Pablo to get whatever she sent you. Going back to the books and the studying.

You spend more than you should without reporting you. Gavi went missing in action, too.

You didn't even notice, your phone was running in low battery from all the working and studying you are doing.

You were going back to your place, happy that you finally get to relax and to be free from all the books, all the papers and all the sleepless nights.

You find a very known car parked in front of your house. You get down of your own car, passing beside it like you didn't know.

"Hello, señorita." Gavi says, smiling with such pride. "I'm looking for someone. Maybe you can help me."

"Oh, hi Mister." You follow his act. "Can you describe this person to me?"

"She's pretty." He began, taking his glasses. "Very pretty. She's a very smart girl, with beautiful hair and a very pretty shiny eyes."

You blush with his words. You love it when Gavi talks about you like that. It makes you feel some type of way.

"I might know her." You answer shyly.

He laughs at your red cheeks. He exits his car, walking over to you and hugging you. "I missed you." He whispers in your ear. Leaving a kiss there.

"I missed you too," you say to him. "Let's get inside. It's really hot." You wave air with your hand.

You grab his hand and open your door. You noticed he has something in his hands. You look at him with a doubtful expression.

"Your abu sends you this." He hands you the bag. "She mentioned to me that you need to open it and try it."

You thank him for bringing you what your grandma sent you. You even thank him for going to see her and spend time with her.

You spend the rest of the day with him, cuddle on the couch, and watch his favorite movies. He was telling you about his family reunion, his trips around Sevilla. Everything.

"What if we go out to eat?" He asks, kissing your hair. "I know I shouldn't break the diet, but I just want to go out with you."

You nod, kissing him and going to freshen up. You fix your hair and brush your teeth. Apply more lip oil and reapply perfume.

He drives to your favorite restaurant, he asks for a corner table, not wanting to he spotted or bother when he's with you.

You tell him about your last few days, how stressed you were, and why you didn't answer any of his texts.

He loves hearing you talk about your day, even when it was just a ramble of two things or about the same thing over and over but in different situations.

"Do you want dessert?" He asks.

You shake your head no. You want to even unbutton your jeans because of how full you feel. Even breathing makes you feel fuller.

"Then let me pay, and we are on our way." He says, calling the waitress to pay.

You two walk out of the restaurant. Gavi has a hoodie that he had in his car. He asks you if you want to walk around, you say yes.

"Mom says that when she's back, she will teach you how to make that cake you loved." He smiles, hugging you by the waist. "That way, when you learn how to make it, you can make it for me."

"I will make it for you whenever you want to." You kiss his cheek. "Stay with me tonight, yes?"

He nods, tightening the grip he has on you. You two pass a man selling single roses. Gavi bought one for you. Handing it to you and stealing a quick kiss.

yourusername has added to closefriends.

"Do you want to go out tonight?" Alexa, your friend, asks you.

"I can't. Have something to do." You lie.

That thing you had to do was Pablo coming over to stay inside with you. He called you earlier and asked you to be home.

He was getting food for the two of you and wanted to see this new movie that he was too busy to see.

"Okay then." She shrugged. "If you change your mind, we are going to be at La Bodega. Text me." You nod, saying goodbye.

You drive home, listening to your shared playlist that Gavi created for you. That way, when you were together, the songs you liked were going to mix.

As soon as you get home, you clean the small mess you have in the living room. You take a shower to erase the sweat from the weather.

You decide to watch your show while you wait. Making time for Gavi to get out of whatever he's doing.

After a few episodes, you realize that Pablo was later than what he usually is. You check your phone to see if he texted you or something.

Nothing.

You sent him a text asking if he was okay. You want to make sure that it was just him being late, or maybe he got caught up doing something else.

After the first five minutes, you thought < maybe he's busy >

After ten, you started to worry. < what if during recovery, he hurt himself? >

After more than an hour, you decide to call him. The beeping of the line and the authorized voice of his voice mail made you even more worried.

You tried again. Nothing.

You calm yourself, maybe he got busy with something and couldn't come. Maybe he's in a meeting and you were interrupting.

You continue watching your show, trying to leave the worry away. He was fine. He has to be.

You get up and prepare yourself some instant Ramen. Your plans of waiting for Pablo are now long forgotten.

You didn't understand, but you didn't make it bigger. Two missed calls and a few unread texts were everything you did, and it was enough.

At one time, you turn your tv off. Walking to your room and getting into bed. You check your phone one last time, confirming that Pablo read your texts but didn't answer them.

He was going to explain himself later. It was all okay.

But... was it?

Pablo took not one day or maybe two. It took him five days before he showed up at your door.

You might think that after the texts, the missed calls, after you basically were dead worried about him.He was going to explain himself.

Thar he was going to give you the resume of what happened for him to be ignoring you like that.

But no, Pablo didn't do that.

He even asked you why you were blowing up his phone. HE was confused.

"Gavi, you told me you were coming and when you didn't. I got worried." You tell him, sitting next to him on the coach. "I even thought that maybe something happened to you during recovery."

He opens his eyes. "No, don't say that." He chuckles. "God, no."

"Then what happened?" You ask, hand on his cheek. "Tell me."

He thinks for a while, not sure what to tell you to calm you down.

"Aurora and Javi got into a fight." He says. "And I needed to be there for her. You understand that my sister was in distress and I wasn't going to leave her alone. I'm sorry I got busy, I really am."

You calm down, believing his dumb story. "No, you did the right thing." You say, caressing his skin. "I just got worried, that's all."

He pushed your head towards him. Giving you a kiss. "I'll make it up." He smiles, not worried Bout a single thing. "Now, why don't we watch that movie I told you about?" He asks, kissing you again.

You nod, letting the whole thing slide.

Oh boy, you were wrong for that.

After letting Pablo get away with that, he started to act differently. You blame it on him being stressed about the Sevilla game. Maybe he wanted to train extra hard and be prepared for anything.

You call him out for that. He apologized and invited you out. Insisting on going to dinner as a way for him to apologize.

He asked you to meet there since he was going straight up after training. He told you that the Mister decided for training to be in the evening.

You got yourself ready. Got your makeup on, your pretty hair well done. You got your nice perfume on.

All of that for him to be more than an hour late.

"Hey!" You say calling the waitress attention. "Can I get the check?"

She takes a look at your table, the empty bottle of soda, and your sad look was enough for her to feel bad.

"It's okay." She smiles. "It's on the house."

You thank her, already feeling too embarrassed to fight her for the check. You left some money for her, as a thank you.

You drive home, mad that you let this happen. You were expecting more from him, only to be let down by your own expectations.

You log into social media, trying to forget about your anger at him, only to find out a picture of him from only like thirty minutes ago.

gavirafan06

Liked by 763 others

gavirafan06 Gavi with a fan tonight.

View all 12 comments

ferminxgavi wait is that the girl they are talking about on twitter?

gavirafan06 apparently they were out with his sister and his mom 🤔

masialover10 they say her user is @/antogmz but her account is private tho

He was out with someone else, and his mom and sister were with him.

You were waiting for him, and he didn't even have the decency of calling you and canceled the date.

You throw your phone to the bed. Went to the bathroom and did your skincare. You feel down, Gavi wasn't like that. Not with you.

You give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was a fan who was casually in the back or someone else.

You don't want to make assumptions. You want him to explain himself. Even when you already decided that he was innocent.

Aurora called you the next day. Asking you if you wanted to go out and have some lunch together. You agreed to meet her.

She asked you to pick her up, thing that you agree with, too. You got ready and drove to her brother's house.

You want to talk with Gavi, ask him why he didn't showed up, but you don't want to look pushy or like a bother.

You ring the doorbell. After a few seconds, you are greeted by Belen. She got happy to see you, hugging you and pulling you inside the house.

You make small talk with her, she mentioned how much she wants you to come over so you can learn those food recepies you always ask her.

"I promise that I'll make time to come sometime around this week." You say, waving goodbye at her.

Aurora and you walk out. She was happy to see you and be able to talk to you. You were happy too, she was an amazing friend to you.

"Are you coming tonight?" She asks casually.

You look at her, confused about what she's talking about.

"What's tonight?" You ask. "I've been busy, and I've been forgetting things, sorry." You say, pretending to understand what she meant.

"Pablo is hosting a barbecue. His friends from Sevilla are in town, and he wants to celebrate with them." She exolains to you. "You remember now?" She laughs.

You nod, smiling at her. You feel your stomach turning. Gavi got the friends you two have in common, invited them, and left you out.

"Aurora, can I ask you a question?" You ask her.

"You just did." She jokes, making you roll your eyes as you chuckle. "Go on, ask me."

"But, promise me you'll be honest with me." You say, frown in your face.

She stops eating to look at you with a serious face. "Of course. What is going on?"

You think the question a few moments. You don't know how to deliver it and make it sound like a doubt, and not like a desperate thing.

"Is Gavi seeing anyone?" You finally ask.

She starts coughing. Lifting her hand for you to give her a moment. "Sorry, I ate too quickly." She lies.

You hand her the glass of water, trying to help her pass the food. "You okay?"

She nods, gaining composure. "Sorry, yes. I am." She says, drinking water. "Why are you asking me that?" She asks back.

You shrug. "He's been kind of ghosting me." You explain. "And I don't want to hurt myself and think that maybe what we have is going to work and then find out that he is seeing someone else."

She softened the expression on her face. "Y/n." She sighs. "Pablo likes you more than he cares to confess." She says, grabbing your hand. "Believe me when I tell you that he only thinks about you."

You smile at her. Happy with her answer.

"He's been busy." She excuses him. "With all the training and him wanting to be as ready as possible for the match, I think he's been out of the blue."

You nod, understanding that he was worried about his comeback. Busy with his own life and trying to make it out as if.

"Well, I'm calmer now that you tell me that." You smile at her. "Thank you." You say, squishing her hand.

You go on with your day, the bright smile you have on your face was something nobody was taking away.

You drive Aurora home, asking her to tell her mom that yoh will be back to learn everything she wants to teach you.

You then drive back home. You need to finish some projects. You texted Gavi, letting him know that Aurora told you Bout the barbecue and asking if he needed anything.

He only texted that he would come over to talk.

You don't pay mind to that. Finishing with your homework and even using the free time to do some upcoming projects.

You don't notice the time passing by, until someone knocks on your door. You check the time. It was 5 pm.

"Hola," you smile at Gavi. Moving to the side to let him in. "Before you say anything, Aurora already told me that you've been busy and very tired and I totally understand why you forgot about dinner."

He frowns, not even understanding what you meant by that. "Okay." He says, shrugging. "Talking about Aurora, you told me she invited you over tonight?" He asks.

You nod happy. "She did. That's why I was asking if you needed me to bring something."

He scratches the back of his neck. Trying to find a way to say what he was about to say.

"Are you oka-" You were asking, until you got interrupted by him.

"You can't come." He says. The serious tone of his voice makes you shiver.

You frown. Looking at him not understanding.

"What?"

He sighs. "You are not invited." He says, looking annoyed. "Aurora wasn't supposed to invite you, and frankly, I don't want you there."

You feel the knife stabbing you in the heart. He didn't want you there. You stayed silent for a few minutes.

He's trying to read your blank expression, but he can't.

Your vision becomes blurry. "Oh." You whisper. "Okay."

He feels bad about hurting your feelings.

"Y/n, list-"

"You should go." You interrupt him. "It's getting late, and you'll have people over." You say, walking to the kitchen.

You don't want him to see you cry, but you can't help the sob that scapes your lips. That makes him feel even worse.

"Preciosa, listen." He tries one more time.

"No, Pablo." You turn around mad. "You need to leave." You say, stern tone. "Now!"

You clean your tears. You refuse to cry in front of him. You don't want to show him how much this situation is affecting you.

"Why are you so mad?" He asks, exasperated. "You act as if you are my fucking girlfriend." He shouts.

You pass from the sadness to anger in one sentence. Your fight mode activates.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Pablo." You say, trying to hide the angry sob that scapes your lips. "I'm sorry that I act as if I'm someone you treat me like. I'm sorry I'm crying because I genuinely thought that you cared about me, and now I'm realizing that you don't. "

He rolls his eyes. That only makes you feel so much fury.

"I do care about you." He says. "But fuck, I never told you we were a thing. You assumed things up, and now you are blaming me for it."

You let out a laugh. "I assumed?" You ask. "I assumed things up when you called me all those nicknames? Huh?" You start pointing out. "I assumed things up when you held my hand, kissed my lips, slept over in my bed? Huh?"

He's silent, knowing that there's no going back from here. "Liste-"

"No!" You shout. "Did I assumed things up when you were fucking me?" You ask, the bitter tone is evident. "I gave you everything, Pablo. And you can't even give me a decent excuse. Are you really blaming me?"

"Did I asked you to give me all that?" He asks.

That simple question makes you understand everything. Your energy got all down. You don't even want to keep talking.

"You are right." You nod. "You can leave now, message received."

He stops the hard frown that's on his face. He softens his look. What he just did was not what he wanted to happen.

He wanted for you to understand that he never wanted something serious, but he let it go for more than he should.

And even when he does like you, he can't be with you like he wants to. He needs to keep his distance, and you are making things more difficult than it should be.

"Go, please." You beg, trying to hold the tears. "Enjoy your party, and I hope you enjoy playing again."

You walk away from him. If he wanted to stand there, you weren't going to see it. You slam the door of your room.

You place a pillow on your face, yelling the frustration on it. Shutting the scream that your heart was letting out.

Gavi left, slamming the door on his way out. He cursed everything that was on his view radar. Blaming himself and his stupid boy mind. But not enough for him to turn around and do the right thing.

You cry into your pillow. You are hurt and confused about why he was acting like that.

He wasn't your Pablo, the one who brings you flowers just because.

He wasn't your Pablo, the one who takes you out on dates and walks after training because he misses you. Even when he saw you before training.

He wasn't your Pablo.

But not even Pablo was your Pablo.

You feel tired and falling asleep during the crying process.

When you woke up with a headache and puffy red eyes, you know it wasn't a dream. Gavi just told you that he doesn't see you the way you see him.

You got up, walked to your bathroom, and washed your face. You shrugged and decided to take a shower.

Your day began good, you even had some fun time with Aurora. Who would've thought that I was going to be the last time you did that.

You slowly do your night routine, trying to feel better. As if that's what you need. You order take out and decide to eat it while watching your show.

When you get tired, you open your Instagram. The first post is a story Gavi posted. You click on it and enter his profile, unfollowing him.

You think for a second. Angerly deciding that you were not only going to do that but also blocking him in the process.

You went then to your feed, refreshing it after a while. It didn't have anything good for you to engage.

You move to Twitter. The first thing you find is a tweet about this girl named Antonella. She apparently was Gavi's new fling.

You read through the tweets, finding out that she was the girl that the Instagram comments were talking about.

You read that someone mentioned her Instagram account. Deciding that it wasn't enough pain for one day, you went back to Instagram. Searching her.

You click her profile, noticing something very interesting. She follows you. You clicked on "follow back" requesting to follow her.

You don't have to wait that long after she accepts your follow request. You go straight to her posts, stalking her like a crazy fan.

You find something very interesting. Gavi liked and commented on her posts. But that didn't really surprised you.

It was Aurora's likes and comments on her page. Commenting like she knew her from all her life. You were closed to the two of them, and you can't remember anyone with that name or that looks.

You click on her story, only to find out why Gavi didn't want you at his barbecue.

antogmz has added to her story

You know Pablo a little too much to recognize him. And even if you have a little doubt about it, the background gives you all the answers.

He was at his house. He threw a party with all the friends you thought you two shared. But they aren't your friends if they know he's with someone else and decide to hide it from you.

You block your screen. Tired of going out of your way to make Gavi someone so on top of everything. You can't keep putting him before you. Not anymore.

What hurt you the most was that Aurora knew about it.

You can't blame her for siding with Gavi. She's his sister, so it was obvious that she was going to prioritize him over you.

But when you asked her if Pablo was seeing someone else, she denied it. Telling you that he likes you and that he only thinks about you.

She lied to you, giving you fake expectations.

You blink the tears away. You don't want to cry. You already feel dumb enough to keep humiliating yourself for him.

After a while, you open your phone again, you don't want to think about him. You start to see the insta stories of your friends.

That's when you see the one from Aurora.

aurorapaezg has added to her closefriends.

You see the tags on her story. It was everyone. The only one who wasn't invited was you. And you can't get mad, the sadness overpowering every feeling.

You tried to distract yourself, checking your feed again to see what's happening. Maybe finding a funny video or something. But no.

You click on that one picture even when you know it was going to hurt.

gavixpedri

Liked by 2,284 others

gavixpedri New picture of Gavi and his alleged girlfriend @antogmz in his Barcelona home.

There's rumors that she's going to be at the game against Sevilla. If that's true, then this will confirm their relationship.

Gavi and Anto have been linked up since a few weeks ago. People from Sevilla mentioned that he was seen with her on different occasions.

View all 673 comments

gavilover9 I thought aurora's friend was his girlfriend

gavixpedri No 😭 she's only a friend after all

barcamessi10 this is the hardest launch I've ever experienced 😭😭😭 he was in recovery a few weeks ago and now he has a girlfriend

gavixpedri I knowwww 😔 we missed a lot of chapters. I stayed at the one where Y/n and him were allegedly a thing 😭

This was from the same night that he left you waiting on the restaurant. He was with her.

You try to stay as low profile as you could. Gavi tried to contact you over text and tried calling. You left all his messages go to voice mail and made sure to mark as read all his texts.

You were coming back from Uni when you found that particular car parked in front of your house. You take your keys out, walking without stopping.

You were about to walk inside your house when you felt an arm pulling you away from the door.

"Just give me five minutes." He begged.

"No!" You say, stern tone. "Let go off me." You order him.

"Four?"

"Let go off me, Pablo." You say again.

"Only one, please. I'm begging you." He beggs.

Those stupid puppy eyes he has are making the devils work. You can't say no to that, and he knows it.

"I'm counting, so you better start talking." You say, lifting your arm to see your watch.

He let go of your arm. "I'm fucking sorry I ever spoke to you in that way." He says, words coming out of his mouth as if he was rapping some Eminem song. "You are someone I find really important to me, and if I ever gave you the impression of liking you is because I really do. I just don't want to hurt you." He pauses to take a break.

You pull your arm down. "Ironic, cause you did hurt me." You say, trying not to sound so harsh.

"And I really regret everything. You are my friend and I shouldn't have played you like I did. I really want you back in my life. I just don't know how to work as a partner. That's why when you never asked me to label our relationship, I was fine with it because you were too."

"Did I ever tell you I was okay with that?" You ask, interrupting him.

He shakes his head no. "I'm sorry."

"Fine, apology accepted." You say. "Now, your time is over. Have a nice day, Pablo."

You were about to turn, but his hands stopped you. "I have this for you." He says, handing you a pass.

"What is this?" You ask confused, not taking it in your hands.

"It's a pass for tonight's match." He smiles. "I'm finally playing, and I want you there. You helped me in my recovery, and I can't thank you enough." He says, scratching the back of his neck. "I know I'm an asshole, I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But please, please, please come to the game." He says, begging again.

You look at the pass in his hand, not sure if you should take it or not.

"Please, at least take it and think about it." He says.

You nod, grabbing the pass from him. You then turn back and walk into your house. You close the door after you.

You look at the pass, it says your number and your seat. < Seat 332 >

Just like always.

You left the pass on your table. Not quite sure if you should go. What if his friends and family looked at you weirdly over you coming to his game?

You shake that idea out of your mind. Gavi's family loved you. Maybe not as his partner, but as the girl who helped him during his worse times.

And that was something nobody was taking from you. Ever.

You try to not think about the pass. You clean your house, you cooked lunch, you watch your show.

You even take a shower, something refreshing.

When you open your closet, you see the jersey. Mayne ut was a sign. Maybe you should go.

You take it as a sign for you to go. You changed into something appropriate for the game. You apply some light makeup and walk out to the stadium.

You were late, and you got into the stadium thanks to Gavi's pass. He asked beforehand for you to be allowed to get in, even if it was only a few minutes left of the game.

A security officer walks you to the vip section. You thank him for allowing you in, he just nodded and left.

You walk into the vip section. Standing over at the doors of the door that's dividing the seats from the lobby.

You noticed that Gavi was about to get subbed in. Everyone on the section was standing and clapping for him.

You can hear people chanting and screaming his name. Everyone was happy about it.

They were all too excited that people didn't really take a seat during the last eleven minutes of the game. That's all that Gavi played, including extra time.

People clapped at the fact that Barca won five to one. You can feel the tears in your eyes.

The longest eleven months of your life. At the same time, those months were short when it came to helping Pablo recover.

Pablo was looking over at the section you were in. People are still up, slowly seating down because it is the vip section. People don't just walk away.

Then the people that left are gone, and people are seated back. You were about to walk into your seat but you noticed something.

She was in your seat.

You look back at the field, finding his eyes on you. You move your eyes from him to the seat. Where she was waving her hand trying to get his attention.

You feel your vision getting blurry. Understanding that it wasn't your seat to take anymore.

It was hers.

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl 🤍

[welcometohellfilm]

Congrats to everyone who has been working on W2H2! 🎉 If it's alright, I'd like to ask to ask 2 questions:

Is there by chance an official ref of colors for Debbie, or is it still up to interpretation at the moment?

Would you say that your personal, real life experiences within the 10 years moving from W2H to W2H2 shifted the tone/story of the series in some way? Something that I've always been fascinated with when I started looking more into W2H was the shift in Sock's character from the original comic -> first film -> second film, and Jonathan's character from the first film -> second film.

Thank you! ✨

I actually just made some 'official'-ish colors for Debbie! Her voice actor Kaitlyn wanted something to use on a banner for conventions haha... so here you go!

2. I'm not really sure how to answer this one, haha. I mean I've definitely changed as a person over the course of making each iteration of W2H. I started the comic while I was at community college, before I went to art school. I adapted it into an animation for my graduation project. And I started W2H2 a couple years after I graduated college. So there's a good 2-3 years between each attempt at W2H I've done, haha. I think a lot of my original ideas from the comic had to change because it needed to be condensed into a short film. I didn't even GET to Jonathan yet in the comic! Some things just didn't make sense to me anymore, like the idea of Sock already having a human body count. It'd just be absurd for him to be able to hide it for so long! Plus, if I made it so that Sock has only ever entertained the idea of murder, it makes his new job that much more appealing-- it's a chance for him to really lean in to this thing he's always had to hide. Between the first and second films though, I mean... I think there's been some tonal shift, for sure (I don't know about a character shift? We'll get to that haha) But basically, when I was first thinking about W2H2, my idea was "Sock and Jonathan hang out and attempt to figure out touch physics, also there's some drama about a journal Jonathan keeps." All of the hell stuff is something that came from bouncing ideas around with my friends, Michael and Neil. I was worried that sending Jonathan to hell would be too bonkers for a "2nd episode", but we all kinda agreed that enough time had passed that the fans would probably enjoy something higher stakes, so it would be fine. (I'll give everyone a moment to realize this conversation would've been happening in 2015-16... ha.)

We also kind of thought, y'know... I have no idea how many more of these there's even gonna' be, so why not go a little bigger with this one? W2H2 is a higher stakes story than what I set out to make in the beginning, that's for sure. It is interesting to compare all of them.. the employee handbook was actually from the comic and I cut that because it wasn't helpful for W2H... but then it became helpful for W2H2, so it came back! Haha. I'm curious to know in what ways people think the characters have changed though. (And is that a good thing or a bad thing?) Especially a character like Jonathan, no one's really even seen that much of him yet, I think most of the characterization comes from fandom, or like... art I've drawn, I guess? Haha... I'm not sure! I guess Sock's a little more confident and antagonistic in this one (though he'll have his moments of hesitation... we're only at Part 1 right now!), and Jonathan has had to become a more vocal/active character, just by nature of the kind of story it is, I suppose. But yeah, I'm not sure! Happy to hear your guys' thoughts though!

[pinkslipxox]

Hey! I have a request. Not sure if you are taking them at the moment? If not, please ignore this. This idea has come from personal experience lol, I was in the store today just going to pick up some random things but I came across a baby section, they had cute little toys and a cute crib. It just really made me realise how much I want to have a baby one day.

Maybe you could make a fic, Billie and reader go to the store late at night in their pj's because billie wants to pick up something silly (you can decide) and the reader just wanders off while she's waiting and comes across a baby section and just can't help but think how much she really wants to have a baby with Billie one day. Billie comes over and asks us what we are thinking about, and we just look at her and tell her how much this really makes us want to have a baby. And to our shock, Billie says she wants to have a baby too. Just all fluffy.

- Thank you so much 💓

ahhh how adorable! Manifesting that one day you have your baby, angel xx ilysm 🫶❤️

———————————-———————————————

“Billie, I can’t believe you,” you say between laughs as your wife parks the car in the near empty grocery parking lot.

“My love, we can’t have hot chocolate unless there’s whipped cream. It’s like a sin,” Billie proclaims with playful determination, sending a wink to you.

You shake your head fondly at her with a smile. Being married to Billie included random yet memorable moments like this. One minute the two of you were laying in bed, the next you two were up making hot chocolate because the two of you collectively thought that waiting to fall asleep was boring. Yet in the midst of making said hot chocolate, Billie discovered that there was no whipped cream to be found in the fridge. Which explains why you two are in the parking lot of a grocery store twenty minutes before closing time.

Hand in hand, you and Billie hurry inside the grocery store. It is brightly lit and a few shoppers can be seen buying their last minute purchases. You and Billie come here so often that the both of you already know whole store like the back of your hands. It is also the most convenient location since it’s less than a ten minute drive from your house— five minutes if Billie is driving.

“Billie, I just remembered. We’re out of laundry detergent,” you muse and Billie nods.

“Okay. How about you get the laundry detergent and I get the whipped cream? And then we meet back here,” she suggests and you smile.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply and Billie kisses your forehead.

“Don’t get lost, Y/N,” she smirks and you playfully roll your eyes at her.

You watch Billie walk off for a moment before making your way to the aisle where the laundry detergent is. And despite your best efforts to resist, you find yourself looking through the baby aisle. On the shelves are everything an expectant parent might need for their child— formula, diapers, baby monitors, strollers. Your favorite thing to look at are the clothes. Especially the little shoes.

Having a family has always been a dream of yours. To hold a baby boy or girl in your arms, kiss their little face, inhale their newborn scent, and watch them grow up. You’ve yet to talk to Billie about it. She’s so good with kids, and it makes your heart melt whenever you see her interact with them. Sometimes you even dream of you and her with a blue eyed baby boy or a blonde haired baby girl with your eyes.

Only time will tell.

“There you are, my love,” Billie exclaims as she walks over to you with the whipped cream in her hand. She smiles at you and then looks at the baby outfit you’re admiring. Then, with a playful smirk, she teases, “I don’t think that’ll fit you, Y/N.”

You smack her arm playfully. “Oh, shut up, Bills.”

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” Billie asks after a beat of silence. She then adds, “And don’t just say ‘nothing’, you always say that.”

You laugh softly at that. She knows you so well. That’s what makes her the best wife in the world. She’d also make the best mother in the world. Next to Maggie and your own mother, of course.

“It’s just… looking at all this stuff makes me want to have a baby,” you hum, a hint of hesitant in your voice. You then turn to Billie, sliding your hand into hers, squeezing it gently. “Don’t you ever think about having a mini you or me running around the house, Bills?”

“I do, actually,” she confesses, much to your shock and delight. Her voice is soft and warm, and a gentle smile tugs at her lips. “I want to experience everything life has to offer with you, Y/N. It’s just that… well, I assumed you didn’t want kids because we’ve never talked about it before.”

“Of course I do, Billie. More than anything,” you murmur as happy tears begin to swell up in your eyes.

Billie chuckles. “It’s settled, then. Let’s have a baby, Y/N.”

“Oh, Billie,” you sigh, content, as you wrap around arms around her, your heart swelling with love and excitement at the thought of having a child in the near future.

“I love you, Y/N Y/M/N O’Connell,” Billie murmurs softly, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“I love you, too, Billie,” you whisper, kissing her cheek.

“How about we buy that outfit? You know, for motivation,” Billie says and you nod enthusiastically, loving the idea.

“And the shoes?” you request with a pout as you hold up the cutest little pair of Converse.

“Whatever you want, mama,” Billie chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

Mama.

You love the sound of that.

[n0vazsq]

Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed’s Initial Intentions regarding Stede

Thank you so much for your attention to the poll. The consensus is it’s complicated - and I sort of agree - although I’m swayed towards Fascination alone.

This is my interpretation…

Stede causes Ed to access hidden or denied parts of himself before they’ve even met. And it causes a change in Ed’s behaviour. Ed’s come across many rich or aristocratic folks to rob whom he would see killed without issue; but not someone who’s also a pirate, doing their own original thing, and who seems ambivalent towards Blackbeard’s existence. It’s dopamine to Ed’s novelty-starved brain. It’s not as if Ed carries out a usual raid on the Revenge intending to kill Stede, only to find himself unexpectedly charmed. Ed’s bewitched even before he meets Stede, which means Ed’s entire approach and thought-processes are altered.

Killing Stede and the crew isn’t necessarily off the table should the need arise, but I don’t think it’s actively on in any capacity. There’s no plan, and there’s no ‘uszh’ for once either. Because none of this is uszh. Ed’s engagement with the Revenge is not his normal MO. History’s most brilliant tactician is free-styling. Possibly free-falling.

At the end of 102, Izzy states, ‘Captain says follow that ship.’ And Fang answers ‘Oh really? Why?’ To which Izzy replies, ‘How should I know? The man’s half-insane.’ This conversation shows this isn’t usual strategy. Even Fang asks why - he thought they’d seen the last of those ‘fancyboys’. And Ivan’s sad he didn’t get the chance to murder them, which seems the usual way of things. Plus they’d already had the chance to take or plunder the ship when it ran aground, so this stalking manoeuvre is out of the ordinary. It feels like wasted time and energy.

By the start of episode three, Blackbeard’s ship is a few hundred yards out from the Revenge, and Izzy’s trying to manipulate Ed into usual strategy again by suggesting opening fire, or boarding and throwing the Revenge crew to the sharks. Instead, Ed wants to wait until they make landfall and invite them aboard his ship. Ed’s doing something very different again because he’s unwittingly engaging with an unfamiliar part of himself. And interestingly ‘Go suck eggs in Hell’ appears not to insult, but to somewhat seduce him further. Before meeting Stede, he’s already out of his depth emotionally, and acting out of character, literally.

Despite what Ed would do normally, I just cannot see him landing on the Revenge with the active intent of plundering the ship and / or killing Stede and the crew. His words and actions suggest he’s already through the looking-glass.

So, to The Plan. We have three interesting moments which lead up to its revelation: the clothes swap, ‘careful of your face’ and ‘show me the ways of an aristocrat’.

For me, the three strands, which have no previous connection (other than Ed and Stede playing together), come together in Ed’s mind somewhere between Ed leaving Stede on the lookout, and Ed speaking with Izzy below: a matter of seconds. It reminds me of Keyser Söze in The Usual Suspects, pulling together disparate ideas into a cohesive story spontaneously. It’s the mind of a quick-thinker. And it’s in-keeping with Ed’s ability of reacting in the moment to the moment when necessary.

I think Ed also feels forced to perform Blackbeard for Izzy because Izzy’s threatening to leave pushes on that white father-figure emotional bruise. At this stage, Ed doesn’t have enough emotional loyalty to Stede to not voice such a plan; whilst his identity is still too caught in Izzy’s web to let him go - ‘you’re needed here’. For me, the plan to kill Stede is brought about in the moment via an act of psychological coercive control.

But Ed’s also kicking the can down the road. It’s a sort of Faustian bargain. Why not promise Izzy both their souls if it means Ed and Stede can hang out a little longer? Yet on another level Ed’s possibly hoping the debt won’t be called in, such is the complexity of the push and pull here. He’s putting it on the tab, the never-never. He’ll out-manoeuvre it if he decides that’s what he wants. Of course there’s doublethink going on because Ed’s in the middle of an identity crisis.

Ed daren’t admit his real reason for wanting to stay on the Revenge. He can’t comprehend himself even how deep this goes. His look as he turns is one of exhaustion and confusion. Stede Bonnet has him rattled. What started as a trickle of unease and ennui before they’d even met is now a whirlpool of unidentifiable feelings around both Stede, and Ed’s own perception of self.

Ed’s free-falling in liminal space.

[legomonkiefics]

Hello! I have had this idea/request in my lil monkie brain for a fic

I have seen LOTS of your other Fics and you're really good at writing!

So, I thought ''why not give this idea to a professional?''

AHEM, the idea:

Sun Wukong x fem reader

The reader finally convinced Wukong to go roller skating with her

*coughs* like a roller-skating date *coughs*

I imagine that Wukong can't skate so Y/N / the reader, tries to teach him and they have a wholesome moment or sum 

btw I hope you're having a wonderful day/night! <3

🧡👑Skates and Mis-skates — Sun Wukong x Fem Reader Drabble👑🧡

Genres: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

When you had offered up the chance to hang out, of course the sunny monkey king took up your offer. Even if he was retired, getting pulled into MK's hero work did tire him out a bit. He brushed aside any comments you'd made about how much he sleeps all day when he mentioned as such and agreed to meet as soon as possible. The sun was setting a bit, but the rolling rink still had a good few hours before closing. Wukong took in a breath, hood sitting fully on his head to cover himself as he walked in.

It was waaayy darker inside than he was expecting. The lights were very dim compared to the sunny day, and the Sage found himself blinking a few times just to have his sight adjust. Right as he got his vision back, you were already beaming next to him. "Jeez!" Wukong began, jolting a little "Nice job, peach. Sure you aren't taking stealth lessons?" he joked. You chuckled as you gently linked your arm with his "You stay in your dojo all day watching Monkey Cop films, you should be used to this". "Hey, that special director's cut edition was worth it" Wukong playfully argued. He was exaggerating just a hint. He could recognize your scent anywhere, and his body was naturally attuned to pick up any energy nearby. But he loved seeing the small self-satisfied smile on your face when you thought you'd taken him off guard, so he let you have this one.

You lead him over to the desk, sliding up money for the tired clerk to accept. Soon enough you were guiding Wukong to take a seat at a nearby table, handing him a pair of orange and blue skates with yellow star patterns. Wukong looked over them, absentmindedly spinning one of the red wheels with his finger. "You sure this is safe? I mean these things have like maybe four wheels holding them together" he asked aloud. "Is the great sun warrior scared of a roller skate?" You asked, the teasing lilt in your tone not escaping him. He gave a little scoff as he slid on his pair. "I'm just trying to look out for you! Can't have my star companion breaking their tailbone" he replied. You stood, shuffling across the faded-patterned carpet to stand in front of him "Well thank you, but I think I can handle a roller rink" you said playfully. Wukong stood up, flailing his arms a little as he tried to gain his footing. Once he was certain he wasn't gonna fall over, he gave you a thumbs up with a confident smile. You huffed a little laugh, beginning to walk to the rink.

Wukong placed down a confident step, only to almost immediately fall flat on his tail. He gripped the nearest wall, claws digging in as he tried to right himself. His feet kept slipping underneath him, and no matter how much he turned, he couldn't seem to land. He turned over his shoulder, seeing how you had already zoomed past him. Seeing you glide so effortlessly was... captivating, in its own way. You seemed so in control, so free and fluid among the sea of attendees. He watched as you slid in between groups, weaving and spinning like a soaring bird. His eyes glistened in the oscillating lights with awe and admiration as you did a little spin.

Wukong shook his head a little, breaking himself out of his trance. He looked back to his own skates, making a small noise of frustration. With his confidence doubled, he firmly tried to get his stance back once more. After a particularly harsh twist, he managed to accidentally push himself off of the wall. He went flying back, scrambling in air the whole time as skaters quickly dove out of the way of the hurtling hooded guy. It was all at once when something stopped him, the abrupt end of momentum disorienting Wukong for a moment. Once his head was no longer spinning, he was positioned back upright by helpful hands. He looked down, noticing the palms resting on his shoulders, looking up to see you very desperately holding back laughter.

Wukong's face shifted into a pout, and he gently swatted your hands off of him. "Are you sure you're okay?" You asked through your barely concealed snickers. Wukong huffed as he stood on shaky legs. "Uh, yeah! I was just doing one of those tricks you guys are always doing online" he lied. "Mhm. And which one was that?" You asked knowingly. Wukong stammered for a bit "It's- uh- pssh, obviously- ....the flying monkey?". You couldn't hold back that time, a snort and a laugh leaving you at his attempt to cover his blunder "Right, I'm sure everyone is dying to do that". "Give me a break, it's my first time" Wukong mumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Your laughter calmed to a soft chuckle, wrapping an arm around his waist "You could've just said so. Here, I'll guide you through it".

Wukong's sour expression faded, replaced with mild surprise "Alright, alright, fine. But don't get too upset if I end up a total master" he said, unable to hide his grin. "Right, and invent another move" You teased. Before Wukong could make a retort, you began gently and slowly leading him to a more empty part of the rink. He kept a tight hold on your sleeve, arm around your hip to stay as close as possible. "You got it, you're doing great" You reassured, leading him into a small turn. Wukong glanced up at your face, seeing your eyes watching his with amused care. Wukong gave a slightly crooked smile back, watching as you slowly moved him in front of you, your hands still intertwined.

"Not so bad, huh?" You asked, and Wukong nodded "Not the worst. I'm just glad I'm in the hands of a pro". You smiled a little wider, gently turning with him to guide him into a spin. He followed your movements with ease, but not without tripping a little at the end of the last rotation. He quickly clung tightly to you as he got his bearings. You wrapped your arms around him, patting his back. "There, there, your highness. How about a break? I can buy us some snacks". Wukong pulled back from you a bit "Human food? Hell yeah! Make sure you get the big drinks, all this learning is making me parched". You nodded, guiding him to a wall for safety, giving a reassuring pat to his shoulder. "I'll call you over when it gets here" You said, turning and skating effortlessly out of the rink.

Wukong kept watch, seeing you gently put aside your skates and put back on your normal shoes for a second to go and talk to the vendor. He leaned against the rink wall, sighing a little as he felt his cheeks tinge with warmth. Having you so close, supporting him like that, always made his heart feel so warm. He couldn't help but keep a soft smile on his face as he saw you waiting around for the food. He'd trip a thousand times if it meant you'd catch him after every single one.

[yandere-sins]

I also had another random thought about being Konig's platonic darling and Ghost's romantic darling at the same time!

In a lot of fics, darlings are mostly seen as rabbit or caged birds right? I personally think that kortac operator!reader is a swan. Why? Swans glide gracefully, but that's on the surface. They're paddling madly under the water. That's her! Being an operator means that darling shows excellence, but doesn't show her struggles to achieve that position. Also, doesn't have the privilege of opening up because that is a privilege reserved for the rookies. Operators can't do that. In Kortac, darling doesn't have the privilege about opening up about Konig. I believe that all readers are beautiful, so that, plus looking perfect in the surface, radiate swan energy.

And Ghost, being an extremely sharp man with good instincts can see that she's "paddling madly under the water" despite the perfect exterior. Maybe this is what attracted him to her?

A little scenario came to mind! I hope you don't mind me adding on to this ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Ain't you tired?" a deep, gravelly voice called out to you from behind. You flinched, all your training gone the second either Ghost or König were around, and you'd know his accent from anywhere. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted him hidden in the dark shadows along the wall near you, leisurely leaning against the metal while raking his eyes up and down your body.

It wasn't like you needed to fear him. What you needed was to pay attention to the meeting happening in front of you, although you had to admit you had long tuned out the voices explaining new adaptions to the handbook on how to behave with fellow operators. For a while, you had been watching König, his hulking form a few rows in front of you, other, lower-ranking soldiers separating you just like you wanted. He kept shifting his weight, stealing glances back at you, making sure you were still there.

Of course, you were. You were tired, not disobedient.

"You're not supposed to be here," you mumbled back, your sentence containing the slightest hint of a question even though the fact remained. He wasn't a KorTac operator; he didn't need to take part in a meeting with them. "And you should be sleepin'. Can see your eye bags from a mile away."

"Charming..." you sighed. "You came here just to tell me that?"

"Nah. Just lookin' out for my darlin'."

You took a deep breath, widening your stance as if to put up a stronger barrier. Naturally, König's head snapped around, checking why you were moving. Still, his focus was so sharply on you that he completely missed the ghost hiding in the shadows. König was obviously annoyed about the standing arrangements, rank never suiting him whenever he had to be a professional while in the same room with you. His neck stretched, making him even taller (as if he didn't already surpass all the other soldiers), yet, when you shrugged at him, he resigned himself to listening to the lecture. Was he disappointed there was no danger? One, where he could swoop you up and carry you to safety?

"I'm not tired, thanks," you finally replied to Ghost's question, speaking slowly and calmly to not raise suspicion by letting your voice ring through the rows of operators. If König—who you were sure by now this meeting was about as someone must have ratted him out for how he was behaving around you—wasn't enough of a stress factor, you really didn't need an additional hen to hoover over you.

"No foolin' me. I know he kept you on your toes last night. Always does, that bastard. The thrill of the chase, yeh? But won't you get tired from being the mouse?"

"It's not ideal," you offered, a small acknowledgment of the truth. "But he's my colonel, and I respect him. Can we leave it at that?"

Ghost sighed, and you felt his presence step up to your back rather than hear it. Uncanny, that's what he was. That was the reason your skin turned into goosebumps as he stood behind you, shrouded in darkness like an apparition rather than a fellow human being.

"Sure, darlin'. You can have me bed if you need to sleep for once. You know where to find me."

And then, as silently as he appeared, he was gone again, leaving you with that offer. Biting your lip, you hated how tempting it was. How secure it felt to put your trust in him. You knew better than that; knew he was on the opposite side of the spectrum of the horror you were living.

Ghost made it very clear that he wanted you, perhaps in the same way as König, just... carnally. König wanted his version of you, to be with you, to obsess over you, love you. Take care of you although you were perfectly able to do so yourself. The job was dangerous, sure, but in his version, you were a pitiful, debilitated thing to care for. One that needed him almost as much as he seemed to need you. But Ghost... he wanted more than that.

He wanted to win you over, wanted to mold and bend you as he pleased, wanted you feisty yet helpless to his demands. He wanted you screaming and crying, but he wanted you to come to him despite the eery promises of discomfort he emitted. There was more possessiveness in his eyes every time you saw him, more lust, more desire. Perhaps it was a form of love, too, but it was hard to understand either man obsessing with you.

"[Name]?"

Shit, the meeting.

"Y-Yeah?" you replied quickly, not wanting to be caught. König towered in front of you, his body blacking out the low-hanging lights he had to duck underneath.

"Who were you talking with? I saw your mouth move."

"N-No one, Colonel! I was repeating what I was learning."

"Oh... I see. Good. That's good."

You noticed his eyes prying away from you, scanning the area behind you briefly. "Let's go then. You didn't have your breakfast yet, did you?"

Lifting his arm behind your back, it hovered there. Not close enough to touch, even if you knew he was edging his fingertips over your shoulders, but it urged you forward in a gesture so natural, no one batted an eye. You sighed as you picked up a pace that König had very little problem keeping up with, but you knew that not all suspicions were quelled just with your verbal confirmation. He'd be even more careful and attentive—which was hard, considering he was overbearing on the good days.

And suddenly, Ghost's invitation felt very tempting again.

[heartofbusan]

I’m new to the fandom, I found the show on Disney and couldn’t look away. Jimin and Jungkook are so cute I had to know more about them. I found my way here to tumblr, it’s been a while since I’ve been involved in a fandom, but I do love their music and they seem to be such a cute couple!

I Read on here though that some people think these two were distant in the past year? I came across it looking for the way the travel show came to be, not that I found anything about that other than what was said on the show. I was just wondering why they made it and not fully with the group? I know some were enlisted at the time? Anyway, the take I found on a blog shocked me. This person saying they are either Fwb, they broke up or were just distant? But how can that be when they made this show? They seem so in tune with each other and domestic? And to enlist, which I learnt hadn’t been done before for an idol?

I just See commitment and got weirded out by said comments by people supposedly supporting them. I’ve never seen that in a fandom space before. I found some of your posts and you seemed level headed and I just wanted to ask your pov?

Thank you

Hi, and welcome to the fandom. Are you a BTS fan as well or just jikook? I'm so curious 😅 maybe they'll be your gateway drug to BTS and that would be WILD. Bcs shipping, or in jikook's case supporting, is usually something that happens once you look deeper into certain interactions or vibes.

And Jikook have vibes to spare! So it doesn't surprise me that you pick up on that.

When it comes to jikook I think the best way to approach them as you travel in these spaces is to just enjoy them for what they present to you. What you see, is what you get. Now, tbh some people look SO closely they think they're seeing things that aren't even there. They think they can infer motivation and emotions and whole backstories cut from cloth all from A LOOK, usually from a three second clip heavily slowed down 😂. I think it's much simpler than that. You see it. You put 2 and 2 together when you said 'they enlisted together'.

That's everything right there.

Jimin and Jungkook chose to be together. They've been choosing eo since they were teenagers. They're the ones who are most often seen together. No matter the setting. Jikook speak the same language, one borne of love and respect. They see the other, truly see, flaws and all and still love and support. They know things about the other they themselves can't know or see about themselves.

I'll be honest and say that I, too, thought at a certain point thar they might have cooled it down at a certain point. They are humans, after all, and relationships aren't always easy. In my eyes, they are mature enough to be able to revert back to friendship if that were to ever happen. Yet, I don't think they'd be able to stay away from each other. They really have something special going, and why would you deny yourself such a thing?!

I need to say, though, that jikook are not the first idols ever to enlist in the buddy program. Though I can't tell you who did.

It’s noteworthy because once again, jikook chose to deviate from what the other BTS members were doing. Defying everyone: their haters, solos, and the general fandom. But...jikook gonna jikook. No matter the eyerolling and haw clenching. And that, that takes some real guts.

The reason jikook did the travel show together and not with the group is because the others are not a part of their symbiosis. Easy as that. Jikook have something else going on. Something that makes them want to spend extra time together. This, however, does not threaten the group, nor the other friendships within, nor the special bonds they each have with other people. But it is different. And whomever doesn't see that is just being wilfully ignorant.

So, there it is. Plain and simple. By enlisting together, jikook are once again not hiding the (to some) obvious. It's just another step towards that something they've been nurturing. They've been doing it for years. No matter the cost. And that is not something you'd do with a fuck buddy 😌🙂‍↕️ right?

Thanks for your ask! 💜

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer was a bit shocked. But then, this was Michael, it's to be expected. He's seen and gone through some shit. He's got experience.

As much as he hates to admit it, Lucifer has thought about it. He trusts Adam and cares about him, but he'd be a fool if he didn't understand that Adam is dangerous. Even if he doesn't mean to be.

Of he tripped and landed on Charlie or Lucifer, they'd be dead.

Lucifer: ...I can do it. But... I'd can I have you as back up? Just incase?

Michael nodded: Of course. One call or text, and I'm on my way. Of you'd like, we can set up a security system here. This place is big, he wouldn't notice.

Lucifer: That could be a good idea.

Michael: Do you know how long he'll be down during this... growth spurt?

Lucifer: No. He said he'd need to move around, but it'll be very painful. So he won't be able to go far.

Michael: All right. Give me a message when it's started, and I'll get a small team in. They'll be quick and quiet. He won't know.

Lucifer felt horrible for doing this behind Adam's back, but it it could save his daughters life in the future, then it's worth it.

Lucifer: Thanks, Michael. Really.

Michael: Of course.

Michael looked just past Lucifer and saw Adam standing there. He didn't look like he heard anything, but he did look curious. Michael quickly changed the subject.

Michael: Would you still be interested in some jobs? You'll still need to come in for training, I hope you understand. We have a daycare fir when you need Charlie to be looked after.

Lucifer: Hm. I guess I better get back into it. You'd need to give me more notice of course, it'll take me a while to walk from her to my car-.

Adam: Knock the houses down.

Michael and Lucifer turned to Adam, looking confused. Michael stared him down, so he could hear them. Interesting.

Lucifer: Huh?

Adam: The houses in the village. No one's there. You could have a driveway... just knock them down.

Michael: ...it's possible.

Lucifer: Oh. Well. I mean... I don't know if that's respectful-

Adam: Their dead, babe. I don't think their going home anytime soon. It's just an idea- don't mind me!

Lucifer and Michael watched Adam walk back until the room he was cleaning.

Michael looked at Lucifer. Hopefully, that made him a little uncomfortable.

Lucifer: I want to give you something.

Michael raised an eyebrow and watched as Lucifer walked over to an ornate dresser. Reaching behind it, he pulled out a dagger.

Michael: What is that-?

Lucifer: Shh!

Lucifer pushed the dagger of death's flowers into Michael's hand.

Lucifer: This stops the regeneration- makes it possible to kill the. I don't know ow if it hurts, Adam, but I want you to have it.

Michael looked over the blade before nodding and handing it to one of his men, who packaged it.

Michael: All right. That should be us. Adam! Can I contact you in a month time for those tests!?

Adam: Yeah, babe! Go for it!

Michael: Thank you! I'll contact you Lucifer if there are any jobs available.

Lucifer nodded and walked Michael and his men out. He waved as they walked down the hill. He walked inside to the kitchen, which was cleaned and repaired. He had food and blood to put away.

This shod last them a month or so.

Have you seen Resident Evil: Village? All I'm saying is Adam and Emily as two of the three sisters and Sera as Lady Dimitrescu.

Lucifer is Ethan trying to find Charlie.

At first, Adam was on his mother and sisters side- but because they have a weird thing against dudes, he eventually helps Lucifer.

Trust me, it feels illegal not to make Adam the stunning Lady Dimitrescu, but for story reasons, he'll be one of her kids.

I mean, their hot. What can I say? Adam would look great like this 🤷

Adam: Mmm- man flesh~.

Lucifer: ...Kinda gay, man.

Adam: It's not gay.

Lucifer: It is- man flesh? Really?

Adam: ...

Lucifer: ...

Adam: *stabs sickle into his leg and drags him away* Mother!

I have seen it! Ha I love this. ((Yes he'd rock being the Lady of the house 😩))

Lucifer: Ow!! What the fuck!?

Adam: It's not gay! Mother was right.

[4ranghaes]

hi 🙋🏻👋👋 idk if your still taking song fic reqs but i really want one for woonhak 🙈🙈 you write so good with your fluffs (even angst 🤭) and i really like the idea of your song fics!! TAKE YOUR TIME AND 🫀 YOU

song fic!💋

now playing… new york kiss by spoon

kim woonhak x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader]

a/n - hiya anonie!!! always taking requests do not worry😁😁 thank you so much!!! also i have the flu rn so im sorry if this comes out a bit nonsensical😃

11:27 - “it���s new york!”

you laughed, letting go of your boyfriend’s hand as he ran through the crowd of people ahead of you, stopping and outstretching his arms, looking up to the sky.

“had you not realised the whole 13 hours we were on the plane?” you teased, catching up to him as he wrapped his arms around you.

“but–but this is it, you know?!” he exclaimed, looking from the people to the billboards to the shops below. “i’ve been here before but this is us, in new york.”

“i know!” you smiled, letting woonhak’s arms wrap around you tightly as you turned around, both of you looking about time square with an amazed smile on your faces.

“you know,” woonhak hummed, burying his face in your neck, “there’s something i always wanted to do.”

“what’s that?” you asked, removing yourself from his grasp and taking his hand, continuing your journey forward.

“have you ever seen sleepless in seattle?” he asked, an excited twinkle in his eyes as he looked at you.

you shook your head. “you know seattle’s not new york, right?”

“ah shut up, you haven’t seen the movie,” woonhak scoffed, brushing off your comment as you laughed. “we just need to go to the empire state building, okay?”

“oh yeah, of course!” you gasped, “that’s one of the places i wanted to go.”

woonhak smiled, pulling out his phone and following the map the short walk to the empire state building.

“what’s the hurry?” you laughed, as woonhak, with your hand in his, began running towards the building.

“ugh, there’s such a long queue!” he whined, stamping his foot impatiently.

“woonhak-ah, it’s okay,” you smiled, stroking his cheek with your thumb, “we have a whole three days, okay?”

woonhak nodded slowly with a smile, “i just want to make sure this is the best trip ever. i want to make sure every time you think of new york, you think of me.”

“i think that’ll be pretty sure!” you exclaimed, “you brought me here, woon-ie! as a gift! no one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

he nodded sheepishly, his lips in a proud pout as he kicked his foot about on the patterned floor below him. the queue moved slowly for two hours, passing the time between you with shared stories, laughs and kisses, until finally you reached the ‘main deck’.

“shall we not just continue to the top one?” you hummed, as woonhak dragged you out the lift.

he shook his head definitively, “this is where it happens.”

“oh in sleepless in seattle?”

he nodded with a smile. as you walked out onto the deck you suddenly dropped his hand, gasping and running to the edge.

“it’s new york!”

woonhak laughed, chasing after you, “that’s what i said!”

“i can’t believe it,” you smiled, wrapping your arm around your boyfriend’s waist, looking out over the city as you leaned your head on his shoulder, “thank you for bringing me here.”

woonhak didn’t respond, bringing his hands to your face and cupping it in his palms. he leaned forward slowly, kissing you. it felt like the longest kiss in the world, you felt on top of the world. when you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, a smile painted over both your features.

“they meet here,” he pants, a sheepish smile on his face, “its the final scene of the movie, it’s really romantic.”