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callmeagardengnome · 6 months ago

Text

𐂐 table for two ‎𐂐 | LEE DONG-HYUCK

pairings ᝃᝓ server!haechan x hostess! fem!reader

genre ᝃᝓ restaurant au, romance, SLOWW BURNN lowkey angst but honestly its not that deep.

synopsis ᝃᝓ you joined the F&B industry for one reason only: paying off your college debts. romance and friends? not on your list. but unfortunately for you, the new cute annoying server at your restaurant has other plans.

w.c ᝃᝓ 5.8k

c.w ᝃᝓ hella smoking scenes in this story (its literally nct), an old ass guy harassing you. no smut but there is a detailed kissing scene sooo read at your own discretion.

author’s note: make sure to like and repost!

not proofread!

other fics

working as a hostess was never a part of your plan as a new college graduate. the endless shifts, the line of karens walking through the door, having to smile and do small talk with ‘guests’, everything about the job didn’t scream you. but with your student loans dangling above your head - you had no other choice.

the restaurant you worked at, 127 Bistro & Lounge, was a cozy establishment. the warm, rustic decor made it a popular spot for dates and family dinners.

your role as the hostess was simple - greet the customer, manage reservations and ensure that the dining area was running smoothly. it was a routine you were used to, even enjoying it at times.

but that was until haechan started working there.

he was a new server - cocky, annoying, and way too good looking to be working at restaurant.

from day one, haechan made it a mission to get under your skin. whether that meant teasing you when he passed by the hostess stand or flashing you an irritatingly charming smile whenever you caught him looking your way, he just seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons.

and today was no different. as the evening rush died down, you found yourself at the hostess stand, looking through the reservations for the next day. you didn’t notice haechan approaching you until he leaned over the stand, casting a shadow on your computer.

“you know..” haechan began, a smirk forming on his face. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile before.”

without looking up from your list, you replied, “i do smile, just not around you.”

“ouch,” he chuckled, a sound that’s becoming too familiar for your liking. “i’ll take it as a challenge.”

you finally looked up, meeting his eyes with a glare. his eyes were always sparkling with excitement, which was quite impressive since the both of you worked in the same industry.

haechan walked away with a wink and grin, finally leaving you alone. still, you couldn’t help but wonder why he kept bothering you so much.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from the moment haechan started his server journey at 127 Bistro & Lounge, he found endless sources of entertainment. from the TV in the corner to talking to customers and the other servers, he managed to find things that made his shifts easier to get through. yet, nothing compared to annoying you.

you were the definition of professional - always composed, always reserved and most importantly, always resistant to his advances. this made it 100 times more fun for him to go up you.

“‘____’,” he sang out as he walked over to you, a wide grin playing on his lips. without waiting for a response, he leaned against the counter, invading your space like he’s done countless of times before.

“why do you always give mark the girl diners,” haechan sulked, looking at you with fake, sad eyes. “do you want me all to yourself?”

you sighed, keeping your eyes on the screen of your computer. “maybe it’s because mark actually focuses on his job instead of flirting with everyone around him.”

“well that’s not fun,” he said, drawing out the last part of his sentence. he moved closer to you, just enough for you to smell his cologne - the scent warm and annoyingly enticing.

“why are you making my love life difficult?” he whispered, dropping his voice down an octave as if he was sharing a secret.

you scoffed, looking up from the computer. “your nonexistent ‘love life’ is the last thing i’m interested in.”

his grin only widened, not taking your words seriously. “i don’t know.. are you sure you’re not keeping me single?”

“or maybe,” you shot back, stepping behind to create distance between the two of you. “you're single because this is the way you approach women.”

haechan chuckled, not breaking eye contact with you. “it doesn't hurt to have a little fun.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “your definition of ‘fun’ is coming over and talking to me every five minutes?”

“you keep track?” he tilted his head.

“very funny,” you rolled your eyes before moving your attention back to the computer screen. “if you spent as much time working as you do hanging out at my stand, you might get somewhere.”

haechan shrugged, unfazed by your comments. “why would i do that? watching you try to ignore me is the highlight of my shift.”

you gave him an unimpressed stare as he continued, “you’d miss me if i didn’t.”

the corners of your mouth betrayed you, showing the tiniest hint of a smile - and that was all he needed to keep pushing your buttons.

just as you were about to speak up, a group of diners entered the restaurant, forcing you to return to your job. with a sigh, you greeted and guided them to an empty table at the side. haechan lingered around you for a moment, watching you work before finally moving on to his own tasks - but not without throwing you a wink your way as he walked off.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

days turned into weeks and haechan soon became a regular part of your routine. you grew used to his teasing and cocky attitude. you wouldn’t call him a friend, but you couldn’t deny that he made your shifts more bearable. surprisingly, he had a talent of making his conversations more interesting than annoying.

and as much as you hated to admit it, he was getting good at it.

most of the time, he kept things light and somewhat professional. you indulged in his conversations just enough to keep you sane in the tiring job. after all, you were only here to work, earn money and get out. you had no plans to form an attachment to anyone - especially at your workplace.

and you could tell haechan had a similar mindset. even though he was constantly talking to people, whether it was you, other servers or customers, you noticed how he was always the first to leave the restaurant at the end of a shift, not waiting for anyone. it was like he switched off the moment his work was done, leaving his playful personality behind.

while it did make you wonder if the version of haechan you just saw was fake, you weren’t interested in finding out. you already had enough on your plate - trying to figure out haechan’s brain was not something you wanted to add to it.

however, something changed one night.

the restaurant had been a lot busier than usual and you were completely drained. all you wanted was a few minutes of peace before heading home to collapse on your bed.

you slipped out the back door, taking in the cool air. you sat cross-legged on the pavement, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. the first puff calmed you down as you watched the smoke swirl into the night sky.

haechan was exhausted too, stuffing his apron into his bag, eager to go home. he decided to go out the back door this time, not wanting to run into any other coworkers.

but as he opened the door, he saw you - slumped against the brick walls, a cigarette held loosely between your fingers. half of your hair was out of its ponytail and your shirt was completely untucked, the harsh glow of the street light bringing attention to the darkness under your eyes.

haechan froze for a moment. he had never seen you like this - vulnerable and out of your professional appearance you wore. there was something almost.. intimate about the scene, and for the first time, he felt guilty for all the times he annoyed you.

when you finally noticed him, you looked up with tired eyes. “do you need something?” you asked, coughing slightly to clear your throat.

he hesitated, unsure of what to say. “no- i was just about to leave..” he replied, feeling like he was intruding on something he wasn’t meant to see.

you nodded, looking down at the stone pavement as you took another puff. haechan found himself staying around longer than he expected, as if he was in a trance that he couldn’t get out of.

“uh-“ you broke the silence, looking at him confused. “you want one?” you took out a pack of cigarettes, waving it at him.

haechan’s body moved automatically. he put his bag down and sat next to you, accepting the cigarette. you lighted it for him and the both of you began to smoke in a comfortable silence.

for a while, the only sounds you could hear were the crackling tobacco and the faint chatter coming from the restaurant by loitering coworkers. it was strange being this close to each other - just you and him, without any teasing or bantering.

“you know, i really like this brand,” you said, twirling the cigarette in your fingers. “it tastes less cancer-y than the rest.”

haechan chuckled softly, leaning back against the wall. “what kind of description is that?”

you shrugged, bringing the cigarette to your lips. “hey, when you’ve lived as long as i have, you’ll start to see a difference.”

“what?” he raised an eyebrow, turning his body to you. “aren’t we the same age?”

“we are?” your eyes widened, genuinely surprised by what he just said. “i just assumed we weren’t because of that personality of yours.”

haechan clutched his chest with his hand, pretending to he offended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you blew out a stream of smoke, shaking your head. “with how happy you are, it’s kind of hard to believe we’re dealing with the same adult problems.”

“sure,” his smirk turned into something softer, even thoughtful if you were going that far.

“…you talk a lot more outside of work,” he said after a few minutes.

“and you talk a lot less outside of work,” you flicked the ash from the tip of your cigarette, watching it fall to the ground.

haechan studied you, scanning your figure up and down. “i like it. you’re more relaxed- and kind of friendly.”

“kind of?” you repeated his words, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

he shrugged, “i’ll take what i can get.”

you shook your head, putting out your cigarette as pushed yourself off the ground. surprisingly, you felt a lot better than you did earlier, the heavy feeling in your eyelids slowly fading away.

haechan stood up with you, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “…same time tomorrow-?”

“-don’t push it.”

he laughed, and you couldn’t help but notice how it didn’t annoy you as much as it used to. “worth a shot.”

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“dude- are you okay?” mark asked, waving his hand in front of haechan as they stood by the drink station.

haechan blinked, remembering where he was, not realising that he’s been wiping the same spot for the past five minutes.

ever since that night, something shifted. haechan started to see you.. differently. it wasn’t about annoying you anymore - there was something else, something that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“i’m fine…” haechan replied, not sounding convincing at all, even to himself.

mark raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “alright, if you say so. but you’ve been out of it the whole day.”

haechan brushed the comment off, moving his attention to the new table he had. he approached a table of girl diners, feeling less enthusiastic than he normally did.

“hey, can we get some recommendations?” one of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes as she flashed him a cheeky smile.

normally, he’d take the opportunity to flirt with them, maybe even ask for one of their phone numbers if he was interested. yet, he smiled politely instead and listed off a few popular dishes that he knew.

“thanks,” another girl added with a wink. “you’re really cute by the way.”

haechan nodded, giving a quick smile. “appreciate it,” before moving on to take their orders.

as he walked away, he realised that he didn’t really register the things they said, looking down at the scribbles on his notepad.

“not flirting today?” mark questioned, looking his friend’s quiet state.

“just focused on work,” haechan replied, his eyes drifting back to you at the hostess stand. you were busy with your tasks like always, and he wondered if you had noticed the change in his behaviour at all.

throughout the rest of his shift, haechan’s mind kept returning to that night, to the way you looked so different yet more real than ever. he didn’t want to admit it, but there was something attractive about that.

he found himself glancing at you more than usual, noticing how your hair fell slightly out of place or the way your fingers tapped on the stand rhythmically when you were talking to a customer - there was a something to you, a soft beauty that was easy to overlook if you weren’t paying attention.

but haechan was paying attention now, more than he ever did before.

he doesn’t remember the last time he packed his bag this quickly, but he dashed out of the restaurant, trying to leave all thoughts of the restaurant behind - only to be replaced by an image of you.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

of course, you noticed a change.

haechan’s visits to your hostess stand became less frequent, and his teasing comments were nonexistent.

at first, you didn’t think much if it - maybe he was finally focusing on his job, something you’ve been asking him to do for way longer than you should have. but as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was.. off.

you’d catch him glancing in your direction every now and then, but when your eyes met, he’d quickly turn away and wipe a random counter nearby. it was strange to see him so distant. you thought about bringing it up to him, but every time you tried, something else required your attention.

the restaurant was busier than ever, especially during the holiday season - barely leaving you with moments to catch a breath, let alone talk to haechan.

a few days later, you were at the hostess stand, answering the phone and jotting down details into the computer when a man approached the stand.

he was older, probably in his sixties, and dressed in a suit that was a little too expensive for a place like your restaurant. you didn’t think much of it, greeting him with your usual, professional work voice.

“good evening, welcome to 127 Bistro & Lounge. how can i help you?”

the man’s eyes raked over you in a way that made your skin crawl. he then leaned in, his voice low and gruff. “i was hoping that you could help me with something other than a table,” he said, his breath reeking with alcohol.

you straightened your posture. “i’m afraid i can only help you with seating arrangements, sir. if you’ll follow me, i’ll show you to a table.”

instead of moving away, the man reached out and grabbed your wrist harshly, pulling you closer to him. “come on, sweetheart, let’s skip the formalities.. why not you show me something else?”

you could hear your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to snatch your wrist away, only for his grip to tighten further. but before you could react, you heard a familiar voice.

“is there a problem here?”

haechan stepped up beside you, glaring at the man that made him stumble on his words.

“it’s none of your business, kid,” the man slurred, using his other hand to push haechan back. “we- we’re about to have some f- fun,” he hiccuped.

haechan stood in front of you, his hands shielding you from the old man. “i suggest you leave before the police come.”

the man snorted, not believing haechan’s words for a second. he tried to drag you towards him, before haechan grabbed his arm and threw it to the side, stopping him in his tracks. you stumbled back slightly, but haechan was ready to catch you, his hand placed securely on your back.

“i’m calling the cops,” haechan said, pulling out his phone. the man finally realised the situation he was in, muttering something under his breath as he tripped out of the restaurant.

as soon as he was gone, haechan turned to you, scanning your face for any injuries. “are you okay?”

you nodded, your heart still racing from what just happened. “i think so.. thanks for that.”

he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “don’t mention it.”

for a moment, the two of you stood in silence. you just realised that this was the first proper conversation with haechan you had in days, and it wasn’t about something light like how you were used to.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, concern written all over his face.

“i’m sure,” you answered, trying your best to sound confident. “thank you, really.”

he nodded, but his eyes still lingered on you, wanting to make sure you weren’t hurt. “if you need anything.. you know where to find me.”

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his offer. “same goes for you.”

haechan’s smile came back, patting you gently on the shoulder before turning away. but as he was went, something made you call out after him.

“smoke later?” the words came out of your mouth more like a statement than a question.

haechan paused, turning back to you, his iconic smirk returning, “i thought you’d never ask.”

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“are you okay?”

haechan looked up from his cigarette, blinking in surprise as he heard your question. “where is this coming from..?”

“come on,” you snorted. “you haven’t been yourself lately.. is something going on at home?”

he shook his head, taking a deep puff from the cigarette, exhaling it as if it would carry away all of his thoughts. “just trying to focus on work,” he replied, answering you like how he did with his other coworkers.

“i’m not stupid,” you scoffed, shifting closer to haechan. “i can tell when something’s wrong. you’ve barely annoyed me all week, which is a new record for you.”

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “didn’t realise you missed me that much.”

you rolled your eyes. “that’s not the point. i’m just asking because.. well, i don’t know- i’ve never seen you like this before.”

haechan’s eyes softened, putting out his cigarette on the ground. “…it’s nothing big, i’m just thinking about stuff.”

“stuff?” you repeated.

“yeah, stuff,” he said, avoiding eye contact with you, looking down at the pavement, drawing circles on it.

you tilted your head slightly - your curiosity getting to the better of you. you turned your body completely to face him, genuinely interested in what he would say. “want to share?”

“i-“ he looked up at you, searching your eyes. “it’s just that.. i used to see this job as a way to pass time, you know? but lately.. i guess i’ve been thinking about what i want.”

your eyes widened in surprise, not expecting him to actually tell you. “and what do you want?”

haechan hesitated, then shrugged. “i’m not sure yet, but i’ll let you know when i find out.”

you nodded, turning back to the street in front of you. the both of you listened to the sound of crickets chirping and the occasional car speeding by traffic lights that they were definitely not supposed to.

you played with your lighter, flicking the wheel and watched as the flame appeared after many tries. “thanks again for earlier by the way, you really saved my ass.”

“no problem, i just wish the guy got arrested, though.”

you widened your eyes as you readjusted your sitting position. “wait- you actually called the police? i thought that was just a scare tactic.”

“i mean- i was going to,” he replied, dusting specks of ash of off his pants. “who wouldn’t? the guy was weird and i wanted to help you… but unfortunately, i’m not built like a superhero.”

“what are you talking about?” you tilted your head, taking a closer look at him as you studied his figure, taking note of his biceps and arms. “you’re pretty toned.”

haechan’s cheeks flushed slightly as he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “thanks..”

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from that day forward, haechan returned to his routine of going to your hostess stand every time he got the chance, spewing out random things that was on his mind.

you found yourself paying more attention to him during your shifts, noticing the little details about him - like the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw you, or how he would always help the other servers even if he was busy. it wasn’t like he suddenly became less annoying, but you found his antics more.. endearing.

as the days grew colder, christmas decorations started to pop up around the restaurant. you hadn’t planned on getting anyone gifts this year - your student loans were enough of a financial burden - but your mind couldn’t stop drifting back to haechan and how he saved you. maybe it’s time to do something different.

you decided to approach mark during his break. “hey, what does haechan like?”

mark looked up from his phone, eyebrows raised. “why? are you planning on getting him a gift?”

“just curious.”

mark chuckled, “he’s really into video games. he’s been saving up for this one game for weeks, but he had to spend the money on other stuff.”

“do you know what it is?” you asked.

“yeah.. he’s been talking about it for a while,” mark replied, then paused, giving you a knowing look. “you’re going to get it for him, aren’t you?”

you shrugged, not wanting to admit that you already made your mind up. “maybe. it’s just a small thing.”

mark laughed and shook his head. “i don’t think he’ll see it that way. but hey, if you’re really going to do it, he’d really appreciate it.”

that night, you went home and checked your bank account. the number staring back at you wasn’t promising, but you knew you could make it work. you had been smart with your spending, and while the game would probably set you back a bit, it wouldn’t completely break you.

so you placed the order.

when christmas eve finally rolled around, the restaurant buzzed with holiday spirit. the staff exchanged gifts, and you already received a couple of things from your coworkers - a pair of cozy socks, some snacks and even a box of chocolates from your boss.

haechan didn’t mention anything about presents, so you decided to wait until the end of your shift to give it to him.

as the night died down and the last of the customers left, you grabbed your neatly wrapped package from your locker and made your way to where haechan was packing his bag.

“hey,” you walked over to him, catching his attention.

“yo-“ he looked up, surprised to see you holding something. “what’s that?”

you held out the gift, feeling your nerves bubble up in your chest. “just something small. merry christmas, haechan.”

haechan’s eyes widened as he took the package from your hands. he wasn’t expecting gifts from anyone, especially you. “you didn’t have to,” he said, but there was a hint of excitement in his voice.

“open it,” you insisted, watching him tear off the wrapping paper.

when he finally saw what was inside, his jaw dropped. “no way... how did you-“

“-mark mentioned you were saving up for it,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “so i figured.. why not?”

for at least a minute, haechan stared at the game, completely stunned. he then looked at you, his face softer than you’ve ever seen. “thank you,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “seriously, this is… i don’t know what to say.”

you felt a warmth spread through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with the overwhelming amount of holiday lights that were surrounding you. “no problem, just make sure to enjoy it.”

as you were about to leave, haechan called out to you, “wait-“

you turned around, confused. but that was when you saw him reach into his own bag, pulling out a small box wrapped in gold paper.

“i actually got you something too,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “i noticed your lighter wasn’t working well, so uh- here.”

you took the box from him, feeling your heart beating a little faster than before. unwrapping it, you found a new, sleek lighter and a pack of your favourite cigarettes.

“i wasn’t sure on what to get you,” haechan spoke as he watched you inspecting the gift in awe, “but i remembered that those tasted less ‘cancer-y’.. so i decided to get them for you.”

“these are pretty hard to find..” you breathed out, running your fingers over the cardboard. “how did you get this?”

“i spent an embarrassing amount of time looking for them,” he fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt. “but it’s worth it.”

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “you’re fuelling my addiction,” you joked.

“hey- you’re fuelling mine too,” he said, waving your present in his hand.

the two of you stood there, the moment truly setting in. you weren’t sure what came over you, but for the first time in a while, you felt genuinely happy. a smile slowly spread across your face, a real one this time.

haechan’s breath hitched, and he stared at you like he’s never seen you before. “you have a really pretty smile,” he said quietly, trying not to ruin the moment.

you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks when you heard his words. “shut up,” you said softly, feeling a little shy.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“ugh, what’s the point of a new years party?” haechan groaned as he approached your stand. “it’s just awkwardly talking to people you meet at work.”

you typed in details into your computer, not bothering to look up at him. “i thought you liked people?”

“yeah, but this is different,” he said, moving closer to you. “i’m not in the mood for small talk.”

you glanced up at him, noticing how stressed haechan looked about going to the party. “i mean- it’s just a few hours. plus, free food and drinks, right?”

“you’re just there to get drunk,” haechan said, a grin forming on his lips.

“maybe,” you shrugged. “but it’s not a bad thing to spend time with everyone outside of work. you can even hang out with mark.”

haechan nodded slowly, straightening his posture. “…are you going?”

“yep,” you replied, popping the letter ‘p’ at the end of your sentence.

“cool,” he said, patting the edge of your stand. “then i’m going too.”

the night of the party finally arrived, your boss inviting all the staff to his apartment, fully decorated with lights and banners. you found yourself enjoying the festive atmosphere, the clinking of glasses and the laughter filling the room. haechan, however, seemed a little out of his element, but he hid his discomfort behind his usual self.

he went through many conversations, but his eyes kept returning to you. there was something different about seeing you here, dressed casually, your hair draping softly over your shoulders as you laughed at something one of your coworkers said. it was the first time he could actually take in how pretty - really pretty, you were, making his heart skip a beat.

it wasn’t just your appearance, it was the way you carried yourself, you seemed less serious and more.. real.

as the night went on, a playlist of softer, slower songs began to play in the background. you ended up on the couch, sipping your drink as haechan made his way over to you.

he could see the soft light of fairy lights twinkling in your eyes as he sat next to you. “having fun?” he asked.

“mhm, especially with this drink,” you nodded as you swirled your glass. you noticed that your lip gloss transferred, making you pull out your phone and check yourself out. “aw man, my makeup is all weird.”

“really?” he tilted his head as he looked at your face. “i don’t see any problems.”

“sure, but i still need to fix it,” you said, glancing around the apartment. “do you know where the bathroom is?”

haechan led you down the hallway, the noise from the party slowly fading away. he held the door for you, the creaking sound making you jump slightly. “you can go, i’ll wait out here.”

you raised an eyebrow as you stepped into the bathroom. “are you sure? i’m only touching up my makeup.. you can come in too, you know?”

haechan grinned, walking in with you. “whatever you say.”

the small space was softly lit, casting a warm glow on the tiled walls. you leaned against the sink, rummaging your bag for your eyeliner as haechan sat himself on the edge of the bathtub, watching you intently.

you reapplied your eyeliner with ease, the movements becoming second nature by now. “you’re really good at that,” haechan said, breaking the silence.

you glanced at him through the mirror, a small smile tugging on your lips. “thanks, i practice.”

next, you reached for your candy-flavoured lipgloss, applying it carefully. the gloss shimmered under the soft lighting, making your lips even more inviting than ever.

haechan looked at you through the mirror, his eyes not leaving your reflection as he muttered, “you look good.”

you paused, turning to him with your lip gloss in hand. in that moment, you let yourself really look at him too - his slightly messy hair, the way his shirt hugged his frame and how his dark, shiny eyes stared at you. you always knew that haechan was good-looking, but tonight there was something more, something that made it hard to look away.

“you look good too,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. you turned back to the mirror in embarrassment, capping up your lip gloss and setting it back into your bag, ignoring the flutter in your chest.

“…should we head back out?” you suggested.

haechan took in a deep breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know..”

you rubbed your lips together, spreading the gloss before asking, “wanna get out of here?”

“really?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “i thought you wanted to stay..?”

“nah, i don’t give a shit about anyone here,” you replied with a smirk. “and i know that you definitely want to leave.” you went over to the door and left with haechan following behind you eagerly.

the both of you slipped through the living room, reaching the front door. that was when you noticed a ‘TAKE ONE’ sign over a bouquet of flowers - a gift from your boss that was meant for each employee.

without thinking, you grabbed a few flowers, cradling them in your arms. haechan kept quiet, simply watching you with an amused smile.

“let’s go,” you said softly.

the both of you stepped out into the cool, late night air. you stepped over the puddles formed from a downpour earlier, even turning it into a game with haechan.

the distant sounds of new year’s celebration played in the background as the two of you roamed through the streets. haechan walked close to you, his arm brushing against yours, making your heart race.

it wasn’t long before fireworks set off loudly, marking the arrival of midnight. the both of you stopped in your tracks, turning to each other with a shocked face.

“happy new year,” he said, smiling softly.

you chuckled, “happy new year, haechan.” you could see the reflection of fireworks in his eyes as he moved closer to you. you opened your mouth to say something, but the words got caught in your throat.

before you could find them, he leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to your lips. “haechan?” you whispered out, the fireworks casting flashes of coloured light on his face.

“have you ever heard of a new years kiss?”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as he stepped closer towards you.

he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, studying your face. “..well, i really want to kiss you,” he sighed, his eyes looking guilty. “but i know you don’t even like me like that-“

“-i do.”

haechan froze, the thumping in his chest becoming louder than the fireworks in the sky. “you do..?” he repeated, not believing what he just heard.

you nodded, feeling your heart race under his stare. “do you like me?” you tilted head, getting more nervous by the second.

haechan closed the distance between the two of you, “more than you can imagine.”

his lips crashed into yours, filled with pent-up emotions and words that were left unspoken. your hands made their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt as his hands cupped your face, holding you close.

the sweet taste of your lip gloss only added more fuel to the fire. the kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer. the intensity of his grip shocked your for a moment, but you welcomed it, leaning into him.

you soon found your back hitting the wall of the nearest building - the impact making you gasp, dropping your bouquet of flowers into a puddle of water. you broke away for a second, “wait, my flowers-“

“-i’ll get you new ones tomorrow,” haechan’s words rushed out before your lips met again, more messy and desperate than before. his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

“you’re amazing,” he murmured against your lips, sending shivers down your spine.

you could only nod, your words replaced by the overwhelming need to feel him again. in response, his hands held your sides, his touch almost possessive. your lips met again, with the smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses.

by the time you pulled back, the both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths.

haechan looked at you with a soft smile, his gaze lingering on your face, trying to memorise every detail. “i didn’t expect to tonight to turn out like this,” he said. “but i’m glad it did.”

you brushed your fingers through his hair, just now realising how smooth it was. “me too,” you replied.

he gave you a grin. “i’ll make sure to get you new flowers,” he said, making you laugh softly. “i’ll get you better ones.”

“i don’t care about the flowers,” you chuckled, reaching for his hand. “i’d rather have you tonight.”

haechan’s smile widened, unable to stop himself from giving you peck on the cheek. “wanna head back to my place?”

any and all feedback appreciated <3

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coffeeshades · 6 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

#cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #cillian fic #cillian murphy fluff #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #my writing

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tostilunch · 5 days ago

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Hello esteemed mutual. I am stealing this format from @yuespropagandablog to tell you about my favourite game of all time, Outer Wilds. The first thing you will hear about this game online is that you should go in completely blind, and I do agree with that statement so I will be doing my absolute best to spoil as little as possible in this post. I won't talk about the story at all, but will be mentioning some things about how the game works and stuff, so be warned. If you want to be extra safe I suggest not reading this post I guess.

What is Outer Wilds?

Outer Wilds is... hard to describe. At least I don't know any games that are really similar in design. Outer Wilds could be described as a rustic space-exploration knowledge based Metroidvania. More on that later.

The game was released in 2020 by Mobius Digital, and published by Annapura Interactive. This was (and still is) Mobius's first game, which started out as a college project (source: I feel like I saw this somewhere but I'm too lazy to look it up). Outer Wilds was released around the same time as Outer Worlds, an Action RPG by Obsidian Entertainment, which caused some confusion due to the similar names. But I digress.

You play as a young Hearthian who is just about to leave their home village on their first day as an astronaut at Outer Wilds ventures, the Hearthian's space program. If you want to find out what happens go play the game. It's good and as said I am trying to reveal as little as possible.

Also, fun-fact that I don't know where to fit in to this post: The species you play as (Hearthians) are completely genderless!

So you play as an Astronaut?

Yup. The solar system in which the game takes place is different from our own in that it the entire things is no more that a few dozen kilometres big. This means you can easily reach your destination planet in no time. Some bodies are so small that you might accicentaly fly into space if you jump too high. The spaceship flying might take some getting used to, since there's no friction to slow you down in space of course. Luckily your spaceship has an autopilot feature to help you out if needed (the autopilot doesn't take into consideration if the sun is inbetween you and your destination, however).

What do you mean with knowledge based Metroidvania?

Outer Wilds is unique in that the only form of progression is the knowledge you gain. You progress by learning how the world around you works in many ingeneous ways. Thats also means that you truly can experience this game only once. A first playthrough might take 15-20 hours, but once you have solved the solar system's mysteries, you can beat the game in twenty minutes.

Apart from a very short introductory section, they entire game is completely open world (or, open solar system I suppose). Once you launch you are free to go wherever you want, and you are sure to find something to explore.

Do you have to remember everything that you learn?

Luckily, your ship comes equipped with a handy shiplog, which records any discoveries you find, and can point you in a direction if you are unsure where to go.

How's the Music?

Amazing. The soundtrack perfectly encapsulates the emotion of whatever situation you find yourself in, be it roasting marshmellows by a campfire or travelling the not-so-vast expance of interplanetary space. Different 'groups' are represented musically by their own motifs and instrumentation, which is really cool. Here's the main theme:

youtube

There's also a deluxe version of the DLC's coundtrack on Spotify, which contains six long, beautiful songs that are not found in game.

Where can I play this?

Outer Wilds can be played on PC (Steam and maybe other things idk), Xbox, Playstation 4/5 and Nintendo Switch. When you start up the game you are recommended to play with controller but in my experience keyboard and mouse works just fine.

Can we play together?

Outer Wilds is a single player experience, but if you have already beaten it then watching someone else play for the first time is probably the closest you can get to re-experiencing this game's magic. So if any of you are going to play let me know! I want to see!!

Is there DLC?

Yes! The DLC is called Outer Wilds: Echoes of the Eye and it has managed to be just as excellent as the main game. The DLC adds a new area that is pretty seperate from the rest of the game but still fits into the story beautifully. It's honestly an entire game by itself, so defenitantely worth to get.

The DLC contains some segments that are a bit more Horror-like, but they are executed in a way that is actually exilerating and terrifying, instead of just cheap jumpscares. But don't worry, you can turn on a reduced frights option in the setting to make it slightly less scary.

Are there German characters in Outer Wilds?

It is unlikely Germany exists in this Universe, and no german characters are featured in the game.

#outer wilds #did my best to make this post while telling as little about the game as possible #which is kinda hard but tadaaa #Youtube

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imogenkol · 9 months ago

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— DATE NIGHT

words: 2.8k rating: mature warnings: slightly toxic dynamic, no respect for waitstaff, possessive behavior, rough alleyway make-out session

notes: got a bug to write these two having a totally normal night out where they act like totally normal people :)

The rustic saloon gathered all manner of lifeforms, from humans to aliens that took a moment for Imogen to identify. She had only seen one Trodatome before on Koboh, but their appearance was not one she could ever mistake for anything else. A live band assaulted her ears with instruments out of tune and the smell of smoke and rust caused her to scrunch up her nose.

To her seasoned approximations, no one seemed to pose a threat to her or the mechanic at her side.

What a shame, she thought, longing for the promise of at least some worthwhile entertainment.

Bix made way to the bar and threw a look over her shoulder. “Want anything?”

“I will have the same as you,” she replied dismissively and signed with her hand to get her meaning across above all the noise as she searched for a half decent spot for them to claim.

A booth in the corner was as far removed as it could possibly be in the small establishment, but two human patrons already occupied the space. They utilized the shadows to let their hands wander in intimate ways unnoticed. Imogen marched towards them unfazed.

The couple was far too enthralled with each other to notice her draw near, but Imogen announced her presence with an impatient knock on the surface of their table. They both startled at the same time and looked at Imogen with a mixture of annoyance and expectation.

“Leave,” she commanded with a small wave of her hand, penetrating their minds with the command so they would have no other choice but to obey it.

They blinked and suddenly straightened up as the awareness in their eyes vanished. In unison, they silently stood and headed for the exit of the saloon. While Imogen could have tolerated their presence by the bar if they had interpreted her order as simply leaving the booth, she certainly did nothing to correct their course.

With a satisfied grin, Imogen settled herself into the booth and waited patiently for her lover to return to her.

Bix had already started partway in her direction before Imogen sat down and she passed the couple as they left, glancing curiously at their vacant expressions as they strode by with almost robotic purpose. She set down two metal cups on the table and slid in to sit beside the bounty hunter.

“What did you say to them?”

“I simply told them to leave,” she answered nonchalantly.

“Sure you did,” Bix said sarcastically and took a generous swig of what Imogen assumed to be ale.

Imogen took a tentative sip from her own dented metal cup. An overwhelmingly bitter and stale flavor coated her tongue and made her throat involuntarily close. She nearly choked on the vile ale, but managed to get it down without making a scene. She did not try to hide her disgust, though. A scowl twisted her features as she set the pint down on the tabletop as far away from her as she could reach.

“You could at least pretend to like it,” Bix chastised as she took another sip.

“Why?” Imogen asked in exasperation as she attempted to wash the alcohol out of her mouth with some water from her canteen. “For the life of me, I cannot fathom your tastes.”

The mechanic shrugged. “It’s cold. That’s good enough for me.”

“You should have let me take you somewhere with more prestige. Certainly there would have been a drink far less offensive to one’s palate.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bix challenged as she leveled her gaze at the bounty hunter. “And how would you know the difference? You don’t drink. At least, I’ve never seen you drink.”

“We have gone out before.”

“You went to Cavo’s twice and sat in front of an untouched drink both times.”

“That is because I found the flavor to be akin to the many brown puddles riddled across Rix Road.” Yet Imogen would have preferred that to the swill from this saloon. She missed the expensive clubs she used to visit on a regular basis. “Honestly, darling, you must allow me to spoil you with an establishment worth your while one of these days.”

With a snort, Bix added in a dry tone. “Sure, let’s go to Canto Bight. You can buy me a bottle of the most expensive alcohol there and we’ll drink the whole thing while we bet on the races.”

Imogen caught on to the sarcasm in her tone and smirked. “If that is what you wish, I can make it happen.”

The mechanic shook her head and turned her attention to their surroundings as she took another swig of ale. “You’re being dramatic. This place isn’t that bad.”

Imogen joined her in surveying the other patrons. It was evidently clear that none came to the saloon for anything even remotely pleasant to consume. Most only sought whatever could numb them the fastest. She noted a couple of rugged looking workers slumped over their table and would have likely heard their raspy snores were it not for the music and chatter. Over in another dark corner, a group played cards while tensions grew among those on the losing side.

Then her eye caught a rather pathetic man begging the bartender for another drink. After repeated refusals, the bartender produced a blaster to shoo the pest away. The man threw his hands up and stomped off, only to immediately trip on a stool and collapse in a heap.

Imogen nodded at him. “I am fairly certain I once froze that man over there in carbonite and kept him in my ship’s cargo hold for several weeks. He fetched a handsome price with the Hutts.”

Bix pursed her lips and studied him with scrutiny. “I’d believe it if you hadn’t said that last part. He doesn’t look like he’s worth much.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Imogen said. The man picked himself up on wobbly legs and unceremoniously vomited onto his boots. Her face scrunched up in disgust and she shook her head. “But your assumption does seem warranted. I never accept less than forty-thousand for my services. I doubt I could make even a few hundred credits off a man of his… presentation.”

They watched him sway on his feet as another Theelin bartender accosted him for the mess and dragged him stumbling out of the saloon with a slew of slurred protests.

“Why bounty hunting?”

The seemingly random question drew Imogen’s gaze back towards the mechanic curiously. “Pardon?”

“Why are you a bounty hunter?” Bix repeated.

Imogen squinted at her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

She rested her elbow on the table and leaned in, making sure to drop her gaze down to Imogen’s lips for a brief moment as a small, patronizing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It’s this thing called, ‘getting to know you’, where you ask someone personal questions because you’re genuinely interested in understanding them more.”

Imogen hummed in disinterest. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Very funny.”

“You know me already, Bix.”

“I do. Which is why I find it curious that you chose to be a bounty hunter when you’re a talented killer. You like it. You’d make a good assassin.”

Imogen could not tell if Bix was insulting her or complimenting her. Either way, the bounty hunter felt that thrill stir in the base of her spine at her lover’s words just as much as that daring glint in her eye.

“Why are you a mechanic?” she deflected.

Bix did not skip a beat. “Nepotism. Your turn.”

“Do you wish to hear the honest truth?”

A devastatingly gorgeous smile became illuminated by the low light of the lantern beside them and Imogen knew she was at her mercy. “That’s all I ever want to hear from you.”

“Very well,” Imogen accepted with a forcefully curt nod. “The work of an assassin does not have enough sport in it for me. To locate a target and deliver them alive is not only more of a challenge, but it is where my talent lies. I was trained specifically to seek and retrieve. Bounty hunting is more or less what an Inquisitor does.”

“Minus the added torture and murder.”

“I specialize in hunting my prey just as much as interrogation and elimination, yes. I still get my fair share of killing in The Guild, of course. It is a profession that keeps me satisfied on multiple fronts.”

Bix’s eyes glinted knowingly. “You mean, it keeps you from getting bored.”

“Precisely,” Imogen answered with a devious grin. “However, I do find Jedi to be the most effective in that regard. I very much enjoy a challenging duel.”

“I’ll add that to the list of things I know you like to do, then.” She mumbled her next words into her cup as she downed the rest of her drink. “Murder, torture, lightsaber fights.”

“And you enjoy making black market deals and drinking cheap ale I would not feed to a womp rat.” Imogen placed her arm behind Bix and began to caress the backs of her fingers up and down her lover’s side as she stared intently at her. “What a pair we make.”

One of the bartenders — a young female Mirialan with most of her green skin exposed in a tight, revealing outfit — came up to them to retrieve what she must have assumed to be two empty cups. When she noted the practically untouched ale at the end of the table, she asked “Are you finished with this?”

“Yes,” Imogen answered without taking her eyes off of Bix, who had turned her attention to the younger woman.

The bartender continued to intrude. “Could I interest you in something else?”

“No,” Imogen said, dragging the word out in an impatient drawl. She forcefully tore her gaze away from Bix to throw a cold look at the Mirialan. “I get the distinct impression that everything here is as dreadful as that ale.”

Bix rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Ignore her. I’ll take another,” she said, handing over her empty metal cup.

As the slightly disgruntled bartender disappeared from sight, Imogen raised an eyebrow at the mechanic. “‘Ignore her’?”

“It’s the quickest way to get your attention, isn’t it?” Bix asked in anything but an innocent tone.

“Perhaps for you.”

“Come on,” Bix teased, tapping her index finger under Imogen’s chin, “you don’t think she’s cute?”

The bounty hunter grinded her teeth at the implication. “I might have thought so, if you were not here beside me.”

Bix lifted one of her shoulders in a light shrug. “I think she’s cute.”

Imogen narrowed her storming eyes and pulled her lover in closer by her waist. “Do you believe making me jealous is wise?” she mused in a low, smooth tone.

The Mirialan returned with a fresh cup of ale. As she set it on the table, Bix placed a couple of credits down as payment. When the bartender reached for them, Imogen’s hand clamped down on top of hers like the swift strike of a serpent. The young woman gasped and Imogen saw movement out of the corner of her eye — a horned Zabrak bouncer taking a tense step towards them. Imogen smiled dangerously at the girl. She supposed she was more attractive than most, but her looks did little to tempt Imogen beyond mischievous curiosity. She took a moment to lightly prod into the bartender’s mind.

The initial embers of irritation towards Imogen swiftly gave way to a sudden wave of fear. This girl knew she was dangerous, but she didn’t know just how dangerous she could really be. If only she could paint a clearer picture. Imogen felt her own ire melt into amusement as she tightened her grip ever so slightly and caused the girl to flinch. Satisfied, Imogen released her.

“Run along now,” she dismissed.

Bix leveled her gaze. “Are you that starved for attention?”

Imogen pursed her lips thoughtfully at the sight of the bouncer returning to his post. “I may kill her yet. If only to be banned from ever returning to this hovel.”

As she turned her gaze back to her lover, Imogen saw Bix bring the fresh cup of ale to her lips and tilt her head back. In two large, impressively smooth gulps the mechanic downed the entire pint. Imogen felt her mouth gape open slightly at the pronounced line of her jaw and the sight of her throat contracting as she swallowed. It filled Imogen with a familiar warm ache down below.

Bix set the empty metal cup back down and dragged her thumb from the corner of her mouth across her lower lip to wipe away the excess droplets of ale before they raced down her chin. Imogen found herself suddenly craving the drink she held nothing but disdain for mere moments ago, if only to taste it from her lover’s lips.

“Come on,” Bix announced and rose to her feet. “I think you need some air.”

Despite how flustered she felt, Imogen managed to summon enough indignation for a retort. “Air? Do I appear as some neglected pet to you?”

“You don’t want the answer to that, sweetheart,” she replied with a smugness that caused Imogen’s cheeks to flare up with a different kind of heat, but one no less addictive.

She accepted Bix’s outstretched hand without further protest and allowed herself to be led past the bar and out of the saloon altogether.

The late evening air felt a little too cool against her already cold skin, but nowhere near the damp chill of Ferrix. Imogen had that to be grateful for and more.

Bix’s firm hand in hers felt warm in the same way a fire did — a near constant warning not to get too close, yet pulling her in with enthralling influence. Imogen long let go of her instinct to rip her hand away from the flames of her lover’s skin.

Without much warning, Bix swiftly turned on her and grasped the bounty hunter by her coat. As breath pushed out of her lungs from the impact of her back against the side of the building, Imogen found herself feeling rather impressed by her mechanic. Not many could catch her off guard.

Before she could sing her praise — before she could even really catch her breath — Bix pulled her into a fierce kiss.

Imogen felt a rush of irritation from the other woman as she took her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard enough to make her groan. Imogen also felt the arousal that pulled at Bix’s gut when she desperately molded their bodies together and knew it had been there for most of their time in the bar.

If this was how Bix chose to punish her, Imogen may just have to misbehave far more often…

“Careful, darling,” Imogen breathlessly mused in between kisses.

She reached up and gently grabbed Bix by the jaw. With the small amount of control in her grasp, Imogen slowed their cadence to a deeper, more consuming kiss. The velvet heat of her lover’s tongue carried the bitter taste of ale and Imogen found the flavor not just bearable, but unexpectedly pleasant in this context. Her fingers lightly caressed down Bix’s throat. The mechanic’s hands fell and gripped Imogen’s hips tightly in response, pulling her in even closer.

A tremor went through both of their forms at the same time and Imogen had trouble discerning whether or not it came from the cold air around them. Either way, it spurred the desire to mark her love and Imogen trailed her lips down to Bix’s neck with purpose.

Just as her teeth scraped against her skin, Bix suddenly reached up and pulled Imogen’s head back by her hair. A quiet grunt escaped her, but a smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“No,” Bix said.

“I want them to know you are mine,” Imogen insisted.

“I don’t care about them,” the mechanic countered, assertively pulling at Imogen’s waist. “I want you to know you’re mine.”

The swell of pride Imogen felt in her chest was so profound that her smirk grew into a grin. “I love you,” she said without a moment of hesitation. Those words were getting easier to say, however foreign they still felt coming from her lips.

Bix softened and kissed her again. This time her lips moved in a delicate, chaste stroke that caused a wave of pinpricks to spread all over Imogen’s body. “Are you mine?” she whispered into the bounty hunter’s mouth.

“Yes,” Imogen answered with a nod.

Another soft kiss graced her lips – a wordless reciprocation that Imogen could never doubt. The kiss said I love you, too. I belong to you, too. I want nothing more than that. She cupped her face and held them there in a shameless, selfish moment of pure indulgence.

Then Bix parted from her. “Let’s get something to eat. You pick this time.”

Imogen sighed at the abrupt loss of contact, but she composed herself. After straightening her coat, she pushed away from the wall and stepped out of the shadows on unsteady legs. Bix failed to hold back a smile. Imogen ignored her smug amusement and simply motioned for the mechanic to follow. “I know just the place.”

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#oc insp: imogen kol #ship insp: if i had a heart #in other words: getting turned on by questionable things #this has no plot relevance but I had fun writing it so here #prompts: if i had a heart

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