#sorry but I think it’s kind of rude to come onto fics and not say ONE thing abt the story itself

[liamgallaghermpreg]

.

[purinfelix]

yes Ollie fics I BEGGG🙏🏻🙏🏻

sweet as sugar ⟡ ݁₊ . - ollie bearman

summary: it isn't everyday you see a classmate shopping at the grocery store you work at, especially not when he's buying the most expensive ingredients possible. w/c: 3.4k

a/n: your wish is my command !!! been binging the bear necessities vlogs so i felt verrrryyy inspired for this one (also bc i recently started a second job as a checkout chick HAHA)

Working at a grocery store was far from glamorous - but given that it was close to your university, you figured it was definitely far from the worst part-time job you could've taken up. In between stocking shelves and dealing with rude customers, it hadn't been too bad, and that was the reason you had stayed for over a year.

In that time, you had seen your fair share of things. Given that the dorms were so close by, it wasn't uncommon for you to recognise people from class. Often they were polite enough to start up some small talk or ignore you completely, leaving with several bags of instant ramen and frozen garlic bread, more than enough to last them the week.

But this, this was new.

"Oh, hi," he lets out, polite and a little shy as he piles his groceries onto your conveyer belt.

"Hey," you let out, a little drawn out to show your confusion at the multi-coloured produce headed towards you. You spot a couple radishes, a whole head of cabbage and several jars of spice amongst everything else. "Do you have your own bags?"

"Oh, yeah," he mumbles, reaching into his back pocket and producing several reusable bags, most of them from your grocery store chain - you find it a little cute, though you don't say anything.

"I think I've seen you around, you know," he says quickly, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room as he positions the bags. You drag your focus away from the items you're scanning and study his face instead - he's tall but boyish, and his eyes are round and innocent as he looks at you.

"Right, Professor Royce's class, stats right?"

His expression lights up, almost out of relief at you not asking about the groceries. "Yeah! It's tough, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and he marks really strict as well, a friend of mine got a quarter mark taken off because her power wasn't written high enough."

"Jeez, that's rough," he laughs, and his eyes flicker between yours and your hands as you bag the last of his things.

"Your total will be $75.80," you announce, pulling a face to show that you don't envy how much he's going to have to pay - but to your surprise, his expression doesn't falter as he reaches for his wallet, pulls out his credit card and taps it without another word.

"Thanks, see you around," he smiles, as he takes his several bags with ease and leaves, the automatic doors closing behind him. You find yourself watching him, gaze lingering as his lean figure grows smaller and smaller in the direction of the dorms. What could he possibly be using that kind of food for, how many people was he planning on feeding - and most importantly, what sort of dorm fridge would fit all that?

You hear an annoyed grunt from in front of you as you're once reminded of your job, turning to face a stern-looking woman. "Sorry ma'am," you let out, beginning to scan her items - though your mind doesn't leave him, not for a while.

Given how much he had bought, you didn't think you'd run into your classmate at your job for a while. To your surprise though, it's less than a week until you see him again, and for about a month he continues showing up weekly - and as fate would have it, always when you were on shift and at your register.

What's even weirder though, is the fact that the two of you barely make it beyond awkward small talk about the singular class you share in common or the weather lately. Still, you manage to glean some information - his name (Ollie), his major (marketing) amongst other, smaller, details like the fact that he normally comes in the mornings to get the freshly baked loaves of bread, or that he has an unusually large collection of reusable grocery bags.

For the most part, you don't mind, working at a grocery store register has made you vulnerable to over a year of awkward conversations. What seems to actually get to you though, is the gnawing curiosity of just what on earth he could be using all this for because, at the rate you see him, he can't be the only one eating it.

You're busy pondering this thought, mindlessly stocking shelves mere minutes before closing one night - until you notice a familiarly lanky figure creep up behind you.

"Oh!" you gasp out in surprise, but when you spot the full grocery basket in his hand you dart quickly behind the register to help him. For a minute it seems like your opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery has reared its head.

However, from the awkward smile he gives you in greeting and the way he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets while he scoots up to your register - you're inclined to just mind your own business and leave the poor boy alone. That is until you break eye contact with him and turn to the items now moving towards you.

He seems to have replaced his normal fresh produce and meat for dessert ingredients, and you watch as several bars of dark chocolate - the most expensive brand your store carries, at that - cartons of eggs and sacks of flour make their way towards you.

"Okay Ollie I'm sorry, but I have to ask," you hold your hands out as you preface your question, "What on earth do you do with all this stuff?"

"Oh, I mean, a boy's gotta eat right?" He laughs shyly, causing you to furrow your brows to show your doubt.

"I don't mean to judge but, surely that's a lie."

He looks almost disappointed at the fact that you don't believe his obviously made-up excuse, as he looks down at his feet to avoid eye contact.

“Well, you see,” he starts, and you can hear the squeaking sound of his sneakers against the store floor. “It’s sort of embarrassing.” 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” you reply, waiting for him to hit you with it, only to be met with a moment of silence as the two of you just stand there, even the conveyor belt refusing to move. 

“What, you cooking for a roster of girls every night?” You joke, desperate to diffuse the suffocating silence. 

“Wh- no!” he replies immediately, hands springing up in defence, causing you to let out a low laugh. 

“Well?” 

He takes a step closer to the register, looking around as if to make sure no one will eavesdrop - despite the two of you being the only ones in the store - before whispering to you. “I’m an influencer, like, a cooking influencer. 

You hear yourself let out a shocked laugh, and Ollie’s eyes widen in response as his cheeks burn up. 

“Sorry, that sounded mean, but that’s actually really cool!” you blurt out. 

“Oh,” he laughs in relief, “I mean it’s not that cool.” He shuffles around awkwardly to help you bag his groceries, though you’re pretty sure he’s just eager to avoid eye contact. 

“Home come I’ve never heard of you before?” 

“Well, I keep it anonymous,” he sighs, “not many people in real life know.” 

“Wow, you’re a proper Peter Parker.” 

“Yeah, if his superpower was stuffing up puff pastry for the third time.” 

“$32,” you read out his total, pausing before following up, “you know, I don’t know if I completely believe you.” 

“Wh- why would I lie?” he asks as he taps his card. 

“I don’t know, to hide the fact that you’re actually cooking for a never ending rotation of girlfriends.” 

“Oh please, I wish that was the case,” you quirk your eyebrow at his response, showing just how much you’re struggling to believe him. As he loops his arms through the several grocery bags, he catches sight of your expression. 

“Wh- look me up then!” 

“Alright, what’s your username,” you say, whipping out your phone. 

He seems to regret his words, his voice immediately shrinking to a shy tone, “promise you won’t make fun of it.” 

“Just tell me Ollie.” 

“It’s, @ bear in the kitchen.” 

You have to fold your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh as you type the user into your search bar. However, once it pops up your eyes widen in shock instantly.

“Ten thousand followers? Ollie, holy shit!” He lets out a little chuckle as you continue to scroll through his posts. “God this stuff looks amazing.” 

“Alright, just don’t tell anyone about it okay? I don’t need this spreading around,” he sighs nervously. 

Lowering your phone, you feel an idea coming to you, “well what’s in it for me?” 

Once again, you watch his brows rise in shock as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking. You’re about to break the silence to tell him you’re only kidding, and that of course you wouldn’t tell anyone and that it’s totally f-

“What time do you get off?” 

“Wh- in about five minutes?” 

“Do you want to come watch?” 

“Watch what?” 

“Me cook, duh,” he says, making it seem like you’re the one being crazy here. 

“Huh?” 

“I live in the dorms so it isn’t too far and you could even try some of it if you want, unless you’ve got something on after this that is.” 

“I mean, not really.” 

“Great, then, help me with these will you?” 

So that’s how you ended up closing up a little earlier, and then helping your classmate Ollie - who a couple weeks ago had been little more than a stranger - carry his ingredients back to his dorm. If you had told anyone that, they probably would’ve called you crazy, and you would’ve agreed. But still, no matter how many times you tried to wake yourself up from this strange dream, you were still there - closing the store, in the elevator with him, even watching as he struggled to use his keys to open his dorm. 

“I got lucky with the dorm lottery this year,” he explained as he finally managed to get the door unlocked, “I think it’s supposed to be for special accomodation students but no one took it so, I figured I would.” 

“Woah,” was all you could say as he ushered you in and shut the door quickly behind you. And woah was correct, given that his 'room' was the size of a small apartment, and much much bigger than any of the other shoeboxes most students got. Aside from the usual bed and desk, he also had his own small lounge room and bathroom - and of course, a kitchenette, which you recognised from the background of his videos. "Lucky is an understatement."

All he does is let out a low laugh in response as he lifts the grocery bags onto the counter, prompting you to do the same. "Do you want my help?" you ask.

"No, I mean you're my guest if anything, so you can just pull up a chair and watch," he offers you a warm smile before turning to unload the bags, stuffing condiments into cupboards and tossing things into the fridge. You do as he says, finding yourself a stool and scooting it over to the counter so you can watch him.

You're amazed, obviously by the fact that someone as unexpected as a boy from your statistics class has a cooking page, but more so by the nature of his movements. After setting up his phone on a small tripod and clicking record, he falls into a rhythm that's mesmerisingly beautiful to watch. Every grab of a bowl or flick of his wrist as he whisks this and stirs that, like a conductor bringing together a symphony.

You don't realise how long you've been silent until he looks up at you, almost as if to silently ask if you have any questions, all the while he's separating a couple egg yolks from their whites.

"So, what exactly are you making?"

"Mille-feuille," he responds.

"Milly- huh?"

He laughs softly at your attempt to mirror his pronunciation. "It's a French dessert, basically just puff pastry with some cream but it's a pain to make."

"So why are you making it?"

"Well, it's fun, I guess? It's nice to challenge myself to do things, even if it takes me a while, the satisfaction of mastering it is really like nothing else." He turns to you, a slight sparkle in his eye and you're taken aback by the pure passion in the way he talks.

"Wow, you really enjoy this, why are you studying at university then? Why not do this full-time as a chef or something?"

"Don't be silly, this is just like a hobby there's no way I could make it a job."

"Ten thousand people seem to say otherwise," you say, and as he pulls a couple things out of the oven and places them on the counter he turns to look at you with an expression that's equal parts confused and surprised. "Well, ten thousand people plus me."

He smiles earnestly, though you can tell you've made him a little shy by the way his cheeks are flushed. "Well, you haven't even tried it yet."

"You're right, how much longer?"

"Maybe another five minutes, why do you need to go?" His expression morphs into one of worry, almost as if he's pleading you not to leave.

"No," you laugh, "I'm fine to stay for as long as you want me to."

"Okay, good, I just," he says, searching for an excuse, "I just want you to taste it before you go."

"Right," you hum, looking around his dorm, or more his apartment complex. "If I had a space as big as this I'd probably throw a party every second night."

"Oh nah, parties aren't really my thing." You watch as he looks down shyly and for the first time, you notice the way the dim kitchen lights illuminate his soft brown curls.

You notice that the only thing separating the two of you is a couple inches of marble countertop and that this is the longest conversation you've had with him, ever. You notice, when his brown eyes rise to meet yours, that the bashful smile spread across his face makes your heart rate quicken a bit more - and for the couple of seconds you're able to hold eye contact with him, you're thinking about how oddly intimate this moment is.

A loud ringing sound brings you back to the current moment - the timer that Ollie set a couple minutes ago signalling that his dish is ready to plate. You straighten up on your stool, eyes darting around as the boy across from you hurries to take out a plate. You pull out your phone, just to have something to do with your hands, but as you do you hear a couple soft groans coming from Ollie's direction.

"Hey," you hear his timid tone call out to you, "could you help me?"

Hopping off of your stool, you pad your way over to where he's bent at an awkward angle, trying his best to hold a broken sheet of puff pastry together.

"Just put your hands where mine are," he instructs you, and you do as he says, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief as he reaches for a piping bag. As he does, you notice the phone camera pointed directly towards you.

"Won't I be in your shot?" you ask nervously.

"Don't worry, your face won't be in it and I can edit it out if you want," he brushes you off, clearly more concerned with the structural integrity of his dessert.

"Oh, right."

"Wait, just-" his voice is just above a whisper and before you realise what's happening you feel his warm touch on yours as he nudges your hands slightly into position. You try not to overthink the fact that his touch alone makes you feel so flustered that you almost drop the pastry. "Okay, hold still."

"Yes, chef," you joke in as serious a tone as you can, trying to alleviate the suddenly intimate tension between you two. You watch silently as he pipes a couple of dollops of custard onto the pastry then nudges you once more to let you know you can let go as he reaches for the last piece of pastry to place on top.

The two of you stand back, and you hear him let out a proud huff as he rests his hands on his hips. "Finally," he breathes, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a spoon.

As you watch him break apart the pastry he spent the last hour trying to perfect, you catch the tender smile he gives you and feel your heart warm at the fact that he seems so different to the awkward, shy boy you first served a couple weeks ago. The image of your classmate, who you only ever saw shuffling out of class as soon as possible, melts away as Ollie confidently scoops some of the custard onto the spoon.

You wait for him to bring it to his own lips, but instead watch it take a turn towards you, his eyes catching yours.

"Here," he smiles, "a payment for your help."

"Wh-" You're taken aback, partially by him not wanting to taste his own food first, but mostly by the fact that he seems to be insisting on feeding it to you. Obediently, you open your mouth and he feeds you the dessert, other hand cupping your chin to catch any crumbs that fall - and you can only hope he doesn't feel how hot your face gets when he does.

"Holy shit Ollie, that's delicious!" You exclaim, watching as his eyes survey your expression.

"Really? That's a relief then," he laughs, taking his own serving of the dessert, nodding thoughtfully as he tastes it. For the thousandth time that night, the two of you stand in silence, just looking at each other - though it's less awkward than you thought and more comfortable.

Until you see your phone on the countertop buzz awake and you catch sight of the time.

"Oh crap, it's past midnight!" you gasp, reaching for it and sending a text back to your roommate, who's probably wondering where you are.

"Do you need to get back?" Ollie asks, brows furrowed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and thank you for all this it really was amazing-" you ramble out as you try your best to shove your feet into your shoes by the doorway. He seems a little lost by your sudden movements, dropping the spoon and padding his way over to you.

"Do you need me to walk you home?"

"No, no it's fine, I'm just in the next building and you should probably get to cleaning up all this anyways," you gesture to the small mess of used pans and bowls waiting for him in the kitchen behind.

"Right," you catch a tinge of disappointment in his tone, "well get home safe okay?"

"I will," you insist, letting out small grunts as you finally manage to get your second shoe on, "oh, and send me the video you post about this, I want to see my cameo!"

He laughs, "of course."

You're just about to reach for the doorknob and bid him farewell when you hear his voice pipe up again, a little less sure this time.

"Oh and hey, do you think you'd want to do this again?"

"Come over and watch you cook?" You're a little confused by his request since you were sure you had just been in his way all night.

"Yeah, I mean it's nice to have someone keep me company, and help me out when I need it," his hand rubs the back of his nape as he looks at the floor.

"Sure, I'd love to Ollie, you know where to find me anyways."

"Checkout number 4," he laughs, "goodnight."

"Goodnight Ollie," you respond with a smile and a wave before opening his dorm door and leaving.

It's only once you're out in the night air, frantically rushing from his building to yours - that you notice the smile hasn't left your face.

(and as a little something extra, a mockup of ollie's account :)) )

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[layyeschips]

Patron Ghost King AU #2

A sort of continuation to this

"hey bats, I think your kid's broken" "hn" "what's green flavour?" "what's a poptart?" "dude you don't know what a poptart is?!?!?"

Tim couldn't be bothered to figure what came from who, not when he's just trying to block out the unnecessarily bright lights of the watchtower. So he did the thing that any other self respecting tired student™️ would do, which is tossing the spare oreo he had in his suit pocket onto the hastily drawn summoning circle that one John Constantine brought with him on a piece of paper.

Now the last thing the League was expecting to happen was the lights dimming and green smoke coming from the printer paper that John took from who knows where.

---------------------------

Danny doesn't usually do this much paperwork in one sitting but someone just left a full mug of coffee on his shrine in hopes of being able to finish their assignment on time so he might as well finish the small pile he has on his desk. Ever since he accidentally gained a following he could taste the offerings and even feel the strong emotions from each one of them. It's not a really a big deal, pushing waves of calm/relax/focus doesn't take much energy and the offerings are nice too. So when he felt the pull of a summoning followed by drowsiness, exhaustion and the familiar taste of a stale oreo, who was he to reject the call of one of his favourite humans?

First of all, kind of rude to be summoning your patron by using such a small summoning circle but he'll cut the poor student some slack. Secondly, bright lights were definitely no good for this sleep deprived human, he'd probably be more comfortable if Danny turns it down a bit. The room full of heroes and magic users were unexpected but, hoLY- IS HE IN SPACE????? Did he say one of his favourites? He meant his number 1 favourite.

Sorry this was a bit short but feel free to write down/comment your own additions to this au. I also don't mind if anyone wants to write their own fic based on this but do tag me if you do!

Also sorry if I missed some tags, I tried. I won't be doing a tag list in the future because I don't want there to be people who are left out

[tag list] @gin2212 @jaggedheart11 @amercurio @raven-6-10 @onlyhereforthechaos @booklover9114 @fisticuffsatapplebees @overtherose @impulsiveasshole @shorterthanadverage @mimilikey @mnemovoid @chip-thief @mouzerequis @thegatorsgoose @spectralstardustandphantomnights @malice-of-the-sunrise @temporalhunter @nappinginhell @idkmrpianoman @vythika96 @seraphinedemort @meira-3919 @avelnfear @akikkobara @addie-lover-of-stories @ghostface3100 @yurineko135 @sjrose1216 @proper-idiocy @screamingtofillthevoid @sailor-goddess @the-legal-shipper @alcorbearson @dannyphantomphan @lady-time-lord- @starlightcat04 @liedboutmurder @jerithe @dixiwoods @gamma-radio @mirellacoco @blankliferain @violetfox2 @nexux-point

[fishii-writes]

the crown of your head - chapter two - him.

masterlist

cw: kaiser (again smh /j), proofread (at 3am so dont attack me!), finally some isagi crumbs 🤯, kaiser slanders/humbles isagi, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: erm. not rlly liking this series so far! sorry chat... anyw erm if the first few chapters i have planned dont really idk, hit off ig, i might not continue this as a series. best bet might be to make it a long fic but idk man. enjoy !

word count: 426

Michael smiles in return, introducing himself and stating his reason for arrival. Before he can introduce you, a woman, who looks pretty young, but certainly not young enough to be your age, catches sight of him. With a smile on her face, she hurries down the large white staircase.

“Michael! You made it! And with your darling sister,” she looks and sounds so happy, it's a nice change, compared to how your parents behave at the mere mention of you.

She wraps your brother into a quick hug then shakes Ness’ hand. She turns to you, politely smiling as she puts out her hand for you to shake it. You hesitantly shoot a quick glance to Ness, who nods, then to your brother, who nods a little more harshly. You shake the lady’s hand, reciprocating the smile.

“Welcome, welcome, dears! Yoichi, darling, come down!” she lets go of your hand once you share the friendly gesture and turns around, calling out to someone. And boy were you wrong for thinking this was some mere “someone”.

She calls out again, inviting the three of you in as a butler leads you to the lobby. Honestly, can it even be called a lobby, by the way it's so extravagant? Not just its vibrant exterior, the whole palace follows the theme of sapphire blue. It's gorgeous, to say the very least.

“Ah, mom! We have guests?” a boy who looks around your age, assumingly Yoichi, asks, standing beside his mother. She nods. She whispers something to him before she exits the room. The boy walks closer, smiling.

“Welcome-” your brother cuts him off. So they’ve met before, and don’t seem to be on good terms. Just great.

“Oh please, don't act like you didn’t know we were coming here. Didn’t you encourage it?” Michael rolls his eyes, a scowl finding its way back onto his face. The boy’s smile fades, but doesn’t say anything.

“As I was saying, welcome to the Panasonic kingdom. I’m Yoichi,” he smiles. And that's where your mind goes blank for a moment. The way his eyes are upturned kind of animatedly, and his lashes are brushing against the skin above his eyes. God, who let the “devil” be so handsome-

You’re snapped out of your daze when you hear your brother groan. “I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Michael scoffs, turning to Ness and dragging him out the lobby.

Well, that’s embarrassing. Rude, one might even say. But Yoichi doesn't really look that surprised, more confused, almost as if it happens… often?

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© fishii-writes 2024

[realwitchieshit]

Bad Idea, Right?

Summary: Your ex, Melissa, invites you over when you’re out with friends. Despite your better judgement, you go see her.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, implied cheating (kind of?), gender neutral!r but there is one use of the word “girl”, lmk if i should add more! :)

A/N: this fic is inspired by “bad idea, right?” by olivia rodrigo. this is my first fic so i’m sorry if it’s bad. enjoy!

part 2

The beat of the club’s music vibrated throughout your chest as you danced with your friends, the dim lighting making it hard for you to see anything but black silhouettes. This had been one of the only times you’d all been able to go out this month, your friend group having your own things going on. You were pretty tipsy at that point, having thrown back a couple of vodka shots reluctantly.

Despite the booming of the bass, you still felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket. You pulled it out, looking to see who was calling you. The words DO NOT ANSWER were plastered on your phone screen, the contact name you gave Melissa after you went to see her “just to catch up”. Before you had the chance to scurry off to the bathroom to answer the call, there was a hand on your elbow.

“Girl, do not answer that,” Your friend, Mira, warned, wearing a look of worriedness and sternness.

You watched the phone screen as it turned black, your stomach turned, “I’m just gonna tell her I’m busy…”

“You’re doing so good, babe. Don’t let all that work go to waste.” Mira was right, you hadn’t been alone with Melissa at all in the last month. You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating. Would it really be that bad to call her back and tell her you’re busy?

“I’m just gonna call her back and tell her I’m busy, I swear.” You said, causing Mira to drop your arm and drop her with a look that said “are you serious right now?” She seemed like she wanted to say something but decided against it, instead just shrugging and turning back to the group reluctantly.

You pushed through a sweaty crowd of people to get to the bathroom. Once there, you opened your calling app. You chewed on your thumbnail, second-guessing yourself. This was practically a routine now, Melissa would call you and you would drop everything you were doing to go see her. The only reason the routine had stopped was because the last time you were there, Melissa had rudely woken you up in the morning by throwing your clothes at you. She told you Gary was coming over and you needed to either leave or pretend to be sleeping in her guest room.

Yes, she’s your ex and is actively talking to someone else, but she’s also your coworker. It’s good to be friendly with your coworkers. And besides, can’t two people reconnect?

With that, you clicked on Melissa’s contact and called her. You placed the phone to your ear, still nibbling on your thumbnail. The line rang for a total of two and times before you heard a quiet “hey”.

“Hi, I saw that you called.” You muttered around your nail.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask if you would wanna come over.” There was a beat of silence before she added, “I made some tiramisu for Barb and I have some leftovers.”

Tiramisu. You hadn’t had tiramisu since you and Melissa broke up. You had attempted to make it yourself one night, but you failed miserably. Melissa probably knew that.

“I don’t know, Mel. I don’t think we can keep doing this and I’m–” Before you could say that you’re out with friends, Melissa interrupted you.

“C’mon, hon. It’s just tiramisu, nothin’ else.” Her tone lowered in that way it did when she was trying to sound serious, it made you smile lightly. “Nothin’ else” usually meant Melissa would wait at least five minutes before she began trying to get you into bed, and she would often succeed.

“I’m tipsy.”

“Great, so am I. I’ll order you an Uber.”

You sighed, leaning your head against the bathroom wall. Here we go again.

“I’m… on the way.” With that, you told her where you were and said goodbye.

You went back out onto the dancefloor, finding your group and telling them goodbye, feigning illness. A chorus of “aww”’s and “we have to go out again soon”’s broke out in front of you while Mira looked at you disappointedly while shaking her head slowly. You shot her an apologetic smile and made your way to the exit. You stood outside the club, the late summer night breeze caressing your skin gently.

The ride to Melissa’s house was quiet, the Uber driver having the music set to a quiet volume. When the car pulled up to her neighbor’s driveway, you stepped out and thanked him. You waited until the car was out of your sight before walking down the road to Melissa’s house, just like she’s told you to. Due to the lack of clothing your clubbing outfit included, the once cool breeze made you shiver as you waited for Melissa to open the door.

She opened the door with a shit-eating grin on her face and a glass of wine, making you crack a smile and look down at your shoes. She sidestepped to let you inside, looking you up and down. You ignored her gaze and walked in, enjoying how her house always seemed to be set at the perfect temperature. You walked straight to her kitchen, telling yourself that you would only have a piece and take whatever leftovers she had.

“Did you get all dressed up for me?” She asked playfully, earning her a quick glare from you.

“No, I was out with some friends.” You answered, cutting a piece of tiramisu and setting it on the plate you had already gotten from the cabinet.

Melissa’s brows furrowed, “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt your gathering. I could’ve just brought you some on Monday.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t having that much fun, anyway.” You and Melissa both knew that was a lie, when you were out with friends, especially Mira, it was damn near impossible to get you home. Even so, Melissa brushed it off and watched as you moved about the kitchen to get a fork before settling across from her at the island. There was a silence in the room as you ate your tiramisu, a sort of tense silence.

“Well, can I make it up to you? Barb recommended this really good red, so we can sit on the couch and have some wine.” She offered, you gripped your fork tighter.

You were about to tell her no, you really were, but then you looked up at her. She didn’t look different from the last time you saw her, which was yesterday, but your heart still skipped a beat when you looked into those green eyes. It’s like all higher-brain function had stopped abruptly, the voice of reason drowned out by a certain redhead’s voice. You tapped your fork against the plate and looked at your watch. It was still early. Just a glass of wine or two, then you’ll order an Uber and go home.

“Sure. But no funny business.” You pointed your fork at her with a playful smirk.

She raised her hands, “No funny business. Just wine to make up for your lost night.”

A glass of wine turned to two, and two turned into three, and before you knew it Melissa had you laid down on the couch while she kissed down your neck. In this now much more inebriated state, all you could focus on was how Melissa’s lips felt against your skin and how nice her perfume smelled. You felt Melissa’s hands begin fiddling with the button of your shorts and you snapped out of your haze. This is a bad idea, right? This is a seriously terrible, stupid, idiotic idea, right?

“Melissa,” You breathed out. She pulled away from your neck, lifting herself to look at you. She looked breathtaking, her hair falling around her face, her lip gloss smudged, her cheeks lightly flushed from the wine and the makeout session you just shared.

“Yeah?” She asked, her voice just as breathless as yours. It made your heart jump.

Fuck it, it’s fine.

“Bedroom.”

She smirked at you, lifting off the couch and grabbing your hand to pull you with her. She leads you to her room, fingers intertwined. Tomorrow, you’ll be telling your friends that you just tripped and fell into her bed.

[ijwrsmff]

I would like to request a Riddle Rosehearts x Reader where reader really struggles with studying so he has to come up with a “reward” system :3 - 🥀

Hi hi!!! My first TWST fic! Riddle is good boy, I used to think he was kind of annoying. But that was before I really got much into the story and now I completely agree, that he is precious baby boy. He got some issues, but who doesn't? XD

Here's a cute lil fic for the boy! Enjoy <3

Word: 1,552

“I’m sorry, housewarden…” You mumbled, looking at the ground ashamed. It was supposed to be a simple test, but you had nearly failed it. Riddle wasn’t one to tolerate lower grades, and wanted to be the best house in the school. At least, that’s what he pretended to want more than anything. He really just wanted everyone to have the chance to succeed. You knew that, and it only made you feel worse when he began scolding you over the grade. 

He sighed, and rubbed his face as if to hide the irritation he was feeling. “This is your first semester here, you need to be able to keep up with your studies if you want to succeed. I won’t stand by when one of my housemates is fumbling on a simple test.” He glared at you, but the glare softened as your face only looked ashamed. There was a twinge of pain in his heart at the look, and he took a step closer. 

“Look, if you’re struggling with concepts, you can come to me or your housemates. There are plenty of students here who have struggled with those topics, but we’re here to help each other.” He straightened his back slightly, and tried to give you a reassuring smile but it seemed almost forced. Riddle almost left it at that, but something was nagging at him. 

“We’ve talked numerous times, you’re exceptionally smart…I don’t see how these concepts are difficult for you.” He turned to look at you fully, his expression curious as he tried to figure it out without you even answering. It obviously didn’t work, but his mind had run through numerous scenarios in the short amount of time it took you to speak up in response to his question. 

You felt a bit embarrassed, and a small blush crept onto your cheeks from his gaze. You shrunk in on yourself slightly, and mumbled a small, “I’m…I’m really bad at studying. I just can’t seem to focus on it for very long at all…” Tears were nearly falling down your face, ashamed to admit that…focusing on things you didn’t like was straight up impossible most days. You hated the fact that you’d made your house warden disappointed in you, and it made you feel like a failure. 

Riddle made a surprised gasp when he saw your tears start to fall, and took a step closer to you, reaching out hesitantly. “H-Hey! It’s alright! We can…we can work on it together, okay?” His voice was panicked, and it seemed like he thought he was the reason you were crying. He’d continue to beat himself up over that, but for now he needed to comfort you somehow. He put a hesitant hand on your shoulder and said softly, “We’ll figure it out. I think I know how to help. Give me some time, I’ll be back.” 

With that, he rushed out of the room and you heard his door slam shut behind him. Your jaw dropped, and you wondered what he had planned. But he just left you here to cry! That’s so rude! Though…he did say he would try to help. You hadn't exactly had an overwhelming amount of conversations with him, so you weren’t sure what he intended to do. You wouldn’t even find out until two days later, since Riddle seemed to be talking to everyone in the door aside from you. 

It kind of hurt, how he said he would help, but numerous other students you considered friends mentioned Riddle talking to them about you. If he had something to say to you, why wouldn’t he say it to your face? Even your friends were keeping the secret on what he talked about to them. You tried to pry the answers out of them, but they all said variations of the same thing. 

“I can’t afford to have another ‘off with your head’”

It was disheartening to say the least, but tonight when you were in the common room attempting to study, Riddle approached you directly. He looked determined, and a little smug, as if he’d solved all the world’s problems. “I’ve devised a plan.” He spoke, and sat down next to you with his phone in his hand. It confused you immensely, considering he rarely used the thing. 

“A…plan…?” You tilted your head and waited for him to continue, and he pulled out a binder the size of three full length textbooks. It had your face turn pale and your jaw dropped, terrified of the thought of having to memorize all of that. Though Riddle saw your look and gave a small chuckle. 

“These are my notes, not yours. But they’ll help.” He opened his phone and showed you the game he’d installed. It was…one of your favorites of all time. You’d play it when you got too stressed over studying, and it gave you mixed feelings. For one, it was relaxing, but the counterargument being that you were wasting your time playing it when you should be studying. 

“Since when did you start playing that? I love that game!” You gasped, and he opened the game. He wasn’t near the level you were at, but you’d been playing for several months. It seemed like he’d been playing for a couple…that or he’s using someone else’s account. You looked at his gamer ID, and bio and concluded this was really Riddle’s account. That or someone is copying him exceptionally. 

“Two days ago.” He spoke, nonchalantly. “I got it for you.” He blushed slightly when he said that, and cleared his throat to continue explaining. “I’ve taken notes on every possibility, enemy, and outcome when it comes to the game, and devised a strategy to get through every story and level in a proficient manner while minimizing time spent.” He looked proud of himself and stared at you until you understood his meanings fully…even though it didn’t work.

“How…is that going to help me study?” You were impressed by his efforts, and you didn’t even know it was possible to have so many materials and weapons in such a short period of time. To say you were confused would be an understatement, and you found yourself mirroring his blush. “You…did all this to help me?” You mumbled, looking at his binder full of supposedly everything you would need in the game. 

He cleared his throat to hide his blush, and tried to look composed as he continued. “It will help because your friends mentioned you enjoy rewards for getting things accomplished. I have three hours of free time within the day, and I expect to see your results and papers on the questions you need help with or need corrected.” He took a deep breath, and spoke with determination in his eyes. “I will be giving you the materials you need based on how you score. And for each time slot around my freetime you work, I will spend my free hour time slot playing your favorite game with you.” 

It blew your mind how much time and effort he had put into his plan…it made you tear up again. No one has ever been that thoughtful for you and your needs like he is right now. You had friends, yes, but Riddle was a busy person. He even said he only had three hours of free time in his day, and he was willing to spend it with you. You sniffled as tears started to fall as he gasped and looked petrified. 

“I-I made you cry again! Is the plan insufficient? I thought it would be enough, I-” He reached out to you to try to comfort you, and you held his hand and smiled through your tears. You effectively stopped his panicked ramble, and spoke with sweetness in your voice despite the shakiness. 

“The plan is perfect. I would have even accepted holding hands as a reward. It’s…really just any time and anything I get to do with you.” You blushed, but closed your eyes from how wide you were smiling at him. The second your eyes closed, you felt his lips on yours. It made you open your eyes in shock to see his eyes closed with a blush that covered his face. The moment seemed to stop, and you both put tenderness into the action, not wanting that moment to end. 

He pulled away, and tried to scowl, but it really looked more like an adorable pout. “I suppose I could do that again for your rewards. But only if you get your work done!” He scoffed, and looked away from you when you looked at him with nothing but enthusiasm and adoration. 

“Okay! I’d…I’d really like that.” 

From then on, you would always study together. He had classes at different times than you did, but all of the free time you both had was spent with each other. Apparently, Riddle had fallen for you the moment you teared up from his lecturing you. He mentioned how you had a form of sensitivity and tenderness he hadn’t seen in a long time. His feelings solidified when he saw you crying, and made a point to never let you get sad enough to cry again. He’d make sure no one hurt you, and even if they did…

He’d be right by your side. 

[bobawitch]

Romcom Cuddles M.S

a/n: this has so many spoilers for the movie 27 dresses so please watch the movie before/while reading this </3

summary: its the same as the movie night fic for chris but with matt as was requested by @noirpxrker

cw: fluff and MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 27 DRESSES

w/c: 1200

“What did you say this was called again?” Matt spoke as the scene of a pink and white wedding began to play on the computer screen sitting in front of the two of you. You and your boyfriend had been planning a movie night since the tour had begun and you knew exactly what you wanted to watch. Matt had suggested a scary movie or a thriller, something halloweeny and although you loved how enthusiastic Matt was about the spooky season, you knew you wanted to watch a rom com. So you took about 3 hours to convince Matt to trust you on your movie choice. You were both finally back in LA and at the triplets apartment where you and Matt could finally enjoy your movie night. “It’s called 27 Dresses Matt, it’s a cute little romance movie.” Matt sighed, scrolling through his phone as you watched the main character explain her love for weddings and seeing them come together. It was always a touching story to you, the doomed bridesmaid finally finding love for herself. “Booo I don’t think dresses says October movie date.” You rolled your eyes and flicked Matt’s arm. “You already agreed to it. Just watch the girly movie because you love me so much.” Matt rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing an adoring kiss to your cheek. You smiled in a giddy glee before settling onto his chest. 

For a while Matt stayed quiet, watching the witty chaotic banter from the movie. You already knew the entire movie by heart, each witty little line, the big proclamation of love by the end of the movie, all the fun in betweens, the twists and turns, the fighting, all of it. Matt sat up suddenly as the girl began to undress in the back of a taxi. “Woah woah woah what kind of movie is this??” You brought your head up to look at your boyfriend. You quickly rolled your eyes and motioned back to the movie. There was 0 nudity and 0 sexual things happening on the screen, causing Matt to slowly calm down. “Ok ok, ignore my former question. But why is she changing into a bunch of dresses right now?” You shake your head. “It’s her job, she’s in different weddings. Now shhhhh please.” Matt sighed and kissed the top of your head. “Ok baby I’m sorry.” A few more minutes goes on and soon the sister comes into Jane’s life again. As soon as Matt sees the sister making her moves he pauses the movie. He turns to you with his mouth totally agape. “Is her sister going to marry the guy she loves!?” As you watch your boyfriend fall into total shock at the audacity within a movie he previously found very girly, you bursted into loud laughter. You slowly nodded before patting the portion of bed next to you. “It’ll be ok Matt, just watch the movie…” Matt begrudgingly laid back down, hugging you tightly as you grabbed some of the popcorn you prepared beforehand. The movie continued on, the plot slowly moving through each section. Then the bombshell dropped, sister marrying Jane’s boss who she just so happens to be in love with. Matt nearly threw the computer but you managed to calm him down to keep watching the movie. 

It stayed fairly quiet, at least mostly quiet. Matt managed to throw in some aggressive and irritated blips about how rude and selfish the sister was, how Chris and Nick would never ever pull anything like what the sister did. You tried to quiet him quickly so that he didn’t miss anything else in the movie such as the plot twist that wasn’t really a twist at all. Matt, thankfully, quieted his anger at the fictional characters when he saw the main character kiss the second guy. Y’know that romance trope where the girl meets her exact opposite except he’s actually just like her but he has to get through his own stuff, yeah that’s this movie’s trope as well. You hugged Matt’s arm tighter as the plot thickened, the first climax of the film finally coming. Matt shook his head and sighed, leaning to pause the movie. “Baby this movie is doing something to me. It’s too up and down, I need to know it’s gonna be ok.” You knew that your boyfriend was teasing you but there was a hint of genuine frustration at the movie. That he was genuinely annoyed at how the girl was going to get through everything and somehow find a happy ending. Because that’s the trick with rom coms, there’s always a happy ending. You sat up to meet your boyfriend, a smile printed against your lips. You gently cupped his cheek and pulled him into a kiss. “I wouldn’t show you a movie that you wouldn’t like Matt, just let the movie finish.” Matt pouted before pulling you closer and snuggling into the bed once more. He finally unpaused the movie and silence fell upon the room. 

Throughout the movie there were a few more exclamations from Matt, the most notable one being after the main character, Jane, exposed her sister for lying. Matt had to pause the movie so he could jump off the bed and do a small victory dance around the room. At the end of the dance he turned to you and pointed at you, “We should show this movie to Nick and Chris. I think Nick would like it, Chris might as well but I’m less sure.” He shrugged before you gave him a stern look. Earning an apology from the boy before he hopped back into bed to finish the movie. Finally getting past the most shocking ups and downs of the movie, Matt calmed and just watched the movie. There were a few moments where you managed to get some funny photos of him. He ended up being more invested in the movie than you were, which you found hilarious.

As the movie began to close up, tying each lose end up you found Matt was silent, like too silent. You turned to the boy and noticed he was so focused on the movie that he’d moved away from cuddling you to sit hunched over the computer. You laughed to yourself before scooting up to him and leaning your head against his shoulder. Upon you doing that he jolted, the two main characters confessing their love for eachother as he looked at you. You stared into his blue eyes and he smiled, grabbing your hands and pulling you off the bed. Music played as the movie came to a close with a beautiful wedding and 27 dresses. Matt let the credit music play as he pulled you close to him, swaying you around the room. After a few minutes of the two of you gently swaying together to random music you pulled away, looking up at Matt. “What was that for?” Matt smiled, “I just wanted to twirl you around and make you feel beautiful.” With that he leaned down and kissed you, a soft mumble of words escaping against your lips. “I love you.” “I love you too.”

[icarusredwings]

A love with no need for words.

Chapter 2.

A sfw young Cherik fic

Pretty boy indeed...

Upon arriving at the mansion, Charles now stumbled into the lounge with a laugh. “I can't believe you almost hit that poor deer! Did you see how big its eyes got!?”

“It jumped out in front of me! That's not my fault-”

“Well maybe if you weren't going 70!”

As much as he was laughing, Erik had a feeling of embarrassment, putting the keys where they belonged, helping him to sit on the couch, trying to take off his coat.

“Oh, cheers. So now what? Hopefully not driving lessons.” He mutters, leaning back to lay down, Putting his arms behind his neck, watching as Erik takes off his own coat, wandering his way to the kitchen.

“Are you bringing me a drink?” He shouts, sitting up as if afraid Erik was going to leave him, to sneak out the back.

“Shhhh. Charles, people are sleeping.”

Seeing him start the kettle, He settled back into his spot, waving a hand. “Nonsense! It's my house.” Laying back onto the couch, he hums a quiet tune he heard at the bar.

In the kitchen, he smiles, chuckling. Oh he missed him like this. The Charles who didn't mind his manners And was quite rude in that snobby kind of way. It made him joyful to know he could drop the professionalism around him.

“I can shout if I wish.”

“Yes but if you shout you'll wake the children. Or worse- Raven.”

He hears the groan from the lounge room and can't help but smile more.

“Raven would chew me up if she knew.”

“Knew what?” He asks, bringing the cups on a tray.

“Knew that we owe yet another neighbor a mailbox.” He mumbles, taking the cup, sitting up and tries to sip it only to suddenly look confused.

“... there's nothing in this..”

“It appears not.” Erik laughed softly at the disappointed look. “It's still on the stove. Should be done soon…now.” He sits across from him, on the tall chair that complimented his shoulders.

“Tell me about this other mailbox.”

Still holding the cup his eyes light up, lounging back again “Okay, So when I was a lad, Raven and I were… Ehm… Practicing our driving skills.”

“You stole your fathers buggy, you mean.”

“Precisely.” He nods, grinning. “And one day, I completely wrecked into the neighbor's garden. Absolutely demolished their post box right?”

“Mhm.”

“And poor Raven- Fell right into their rose bush!”

“Oh nooo!” He chuckles. “I hope she was alright.”

“You're not going to ask about me? Tch now you're the one being rude, my dear friend.”

“Oh of course, Apologies.” He says sarcastically. “Were you okay? Wait, don't tell me- you died!” The bit of this joke was that Charles couldn't have died because he was sitting right in front of him. It took him a few seconds to process this, staring at him like he were a moron only for his brows to raise.

“Ooh! Ha! Yes, quite, Oh how did you know? Was it the tombstone outfront?”

“Obviously, How could one miss it?”

Giggling, Charles came back to the story. “So anyway, Were standing there, terrified because we just wrecked my father's car, smashed our neighbors custom mailbox-”

“Custom? Mailbox?”

“Oh yes, those are commonplace.”

“Sorry, Charles but I don't think I'm financially acquitted enough to understand what language you're speaking, And I know multiple.”

Another giggle, his eyes so bright and smile so wide that Erik's heartbeat quickened, grinning too, happy he was having a good time.

“But yes, So there she is, poor Raven, Covered in thorns and out comes Mrs. Chamberlain. I'm not sure how the conversation went to agree upon this but Raven then turned into my father and convinced Mrs. Chamberlin that he was driving… sooo.”

Erik gasped. “So your father got accused of what you did?”

Nodding, He was absolutely glowing, lighting up the dark large room with his grin alone. “Yes! And because he was so drunk he-... you really think so?”

“What? Think what?” Honestly he thinks maybe the light of his smile may be more intoxicating than the alcohol itself.

Please, did you forget who I am?

He frowns, furrowing. “I didn't give you permission to do that-”

“Oh come onnn, Erik! You know I can't help it when I've had too much to drink. It's not like I wanted to.” He borderline whines, flashing him those big blue eyes of his.

Erik grunts. “Fine.. but just.. stay out of there.” He mutters, watching Charles’ pout turn to an adoring smirk, starting to tease him.

“Aww, what? Afraid I'll see something naugh-” he jumps slightly when the kettle screeches, letting them know it was finished.

Erik blushed, quickly getting up as he scurried away to pull it off, not wanting to wake any of the others. “You deserved that.” He mutters, coming back as he finally pours tea into his cup.

“Easy… Don't spill it. It's hot.”

“Aren't you hot?” He asks, causing him to stumble, gasping as he catches the kettle from actually spilling any onto him, just the carpet.

“W-what!?”

“Hm… Well that's a shame” The man mumbles, staring at the spot on the carpet.

“What did you say?” Erik asks, carefully conducting the kettle to do as he said, causing it to float away, placing itself back in the kitchen where it belonged.

Watching this, Charles holds his cup in awe. “.. You're amazing.” Another whisper. He did this at times, saying quietly what he should have kept inside his head, but sometimes he had trouble doing so.

Swallowing, he picks up his own cup.

“Uhm.. th-thanks??”

“Hm? Oh! Oh- I uhm.. Oh, goodness, you'll have to forgive me. I think my mind is trying to run from me.”

Sitting, Erik smirks, realizing that they were in the ‘I'm gonna say everything out loud and hope no one hears me’ portion of the night. “I don't blame it, I'd hate to be connected to someone as mad as you.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? It's just carpet. Replaceable.” he mutters.

Erik gives him a look. He really is losing it isn't he?

“Is that why you said I'm ‘hot’?”

Choking on the tea, Charles sits up. “What? Oh- No, no not in that sort. I was referring to the kettle. Didn't it burn you? Your hands?” He asks then says casually. “Besides, Dashing? Perhaps. ‘Hot'?” He shakes his head. “Not you.”

Eriks jaw opened slightly. “ ‘Dashing’?”

“In a sense, of course My friend. I'm sure anyone would be lucky to go on fine evening with you… if you don't crash the car first..” he mumbles under his breath with a mocking tone, Taking another sip.

“Oh yes Because your record is so clean isn't it?”

“Tell you what, Next time we go, I'll drive.” He offers a small cocky smile, a flush painted permanently onto his cheeks from the drinking.

“No thanks. I'd like to arrive alive, thank you… and if you must know.. I wasn't touching it.”

“Hm? Touching what? The kettle? Yes I saw.”

“No. Before that. I was only pretending to touch it. Bad habit.. you see this is what I'm talking about, charles.”

The mindless stare that he got in return told Erik he wasn't litsening.

“Hm?”

“Even now I mask my abilities unconsciously, afraid of what will happen if I do not, even in the safety of a place like this, Where mutants are supposed to be able to be themselves.”

His eyes soften as he starts his speech.

‘Oh have his eyes always been that strong? What am I drinking right now?’ He glances down to the tea with a ‘hm’ only to let his eyes slowly wander back up. He had a feeling in his head, his chest open and warm, perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe the tea but he felt… oh goodness what was that word? Staring at him, he has a soft smile on his face. ‘He's just so…’ Despite being so spaced out, he was calm when his name was called.

“Charles? Are you even listening?”

“Of course, my friend. And you're making a very compelling argument. Continue.” He says, mindlessly praising him on auto pilot as he's always done.

“As I was saying, That's what humans don't get, Is that we should be feared and you would think because of those they would accept us in fear of upturning their precious-”

‘Precious… Yes, that's the word. That is perfect. Oh how passionate he was as well…’ His soft baby blues work their way to his lips, watching each harsh sentence that came from them. Such sinful acts and atrocities he wished to commit. ‘He says he's the devil but all I see is a gentle angel..’ He thinks.

‘.. I bet I could do something about that..’

“What do you mean ‘gentle angels’ ? Charles, you've seen how they treat us on the daily! It's not right!”

“I bet I could do something about that..” he mumbles, only coming back to reality when Erik's eyes light up, grinning. “Yes! WE could do something about that! And we should! For all the others that are like us!”

Tilting his head, Charles furrowed that adorable little look he held of slight disgust and serious confusion. “What? Erik- No.”

“But.. you just said-”

“I said I could do something to show the world that WE are gentle angels.”

‘Yeah great save, chuck.’ He internally rolled his eyes at himself, shaking his head then took a deep breath.

“It's getting late.. forgive me.”

“But Charles-” Erik sets down his cup, coming close to him, their foreheads merely centimeters apart. “Think about it! Think of how much of a difference we could make. Together!”

Again his eyes wandered, Smiling lopsided like a moron. “Oh I am.. I am thinking about that..”

“Yes! What did you have in mind? Please, Tell me.” He shifts to kneel down, taking his hand, Staring up at him as if he were a messiah in their new theoretical world.

“Please.” He repeats. “Put it in my head if you must. If it mustn't be said out loud.”

He whispers, his eyes so focused, so … Yearning…

‘Please Charles. Tell me. I want to hear your ideas. All of them.’

Are you up for a game, Pretty boy?

[sitkowski]

xo ( matt dierkes x oc)

pairing: matt dierkes x zephyr (oc) cw: no real warnings. a little bit of angst, a healthy dose of fluff, neighbors to lovers, making out, meddlesome…dogs? word count: 1.5k author's notes: this is my first matt centric fic (not the last there will be more of these two!!), and i had to fit him into the riptide verse. @darksigns-exe inspired the shirt that zephyr's wearing on their dinner (not) date 🫶🏻 title comes from the song by fall out boy (of course!). dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 🩷

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || riptide verse masterpost

Apparently before the band made their decision to take their break, Zeus learned a new trick while Matt was on tour. He learned how to unlock the back gate, which is why he’s gone when Matt opens the sliding glass door to call him back into the house. It would have been nice if the neighbor kid who’d been looking after the dogs had thought to tell him about Zeus’ new trick when he came home. Boo is just sitting there by the open gate, as if to prove that he knows he isn’t supposed to be on the other side of it.

He brings Boo inside, relatches the gate and grabs Zeus’ leash and a couple of treats in case he needs to be coerced back to the house. He doesn’t think he could have gotten far, he wasn’t outside that long. Matt walks out his front door, looking left and right to see if he spots him right away. It’s not until he steps off the porch that he realizes Zeus didn’t go far at all. He’s sitting in the front lawn across the road, and he’s not alone. The girl sitting with him isn’t someone he’s seen there before, but he assumes she lives there. His dog is all but in her lap, soaking up the attention she’s giving him.

Walking across the street, Matt calls out to him, and Zeus pops his head up, wagging his tail at the sight of him. The girl waves at him and stands up, keeping a hand on Zeus’ collar so Matt can clip on his leash.

“I’m sorry, he came running right over as I was coming out of my place,” she explains. “We kind of have a ritual, he and I.”

“He staged a prison break, he’s not usually supposed to be off leash out front without me. Did Clay let him loose a lot?”

“Oh no, not at all! I’d just say hi to him on his walks, maybe sneak in a treat or two,” She holds out her hand. “I’m Zephyr.”

“Matt,” he shakes her hand, and then looks down at Zeus. “This little criminal is Zeus, in case you didn’t know that already.”

Zephyr smiles brightly, reaching down to pat the top of his head, “Yeah, I read his tags.”

Matt feels himself blushing a little, and he nods, “Well, thanks for making sure he stayed put. I’m gonna have to secure the back gate better so he won’t get out again.”

“If he does, I’ll be sure to bring him back to you.” 

He thanks her again, and takes Zeus home. The gate is an easy fix, and both the dogs stay put. But now he sees Zephyr every morning, and every night when he walks the dogs. He feels like it would be rude to ignore her, so they stop and chat with each other. Boo and Zeus both seem familiar with her, and that itself is a green flag for him. He thinks it’s cute that she does have a bag of treats on her to sneak the dogs, apparently she does it for every dog in the neighborhood.

Eventually, it progresses to Zephyr coming on the walks with them, her holding onto Zeus’ leash and Matt with Boo’s. He tells her about touring, she tells him about her catering business. Somehow, these walks turn into her promising to make him dinner. Matt can’t believe that it’s happened as fast as it has, but time seems to slow down when they’re off tour and he has to get used to moving at a normal pace again. So, he agrees to dinner after Nicholas, Jolly and Noah all bully him into it via text messages when he tells them about Zephyr.

He tells himself it’s not a date, it’s just dinner between neighbors. Even though he doesn’t think that Mr. Birkhoff from next door has ever invited him over for anything ever. It’s been a few weeks of evening walks and long conversations, a few shared beers on his back porch while the dogs run around in the yard. And yeah, he’s thought about it being more, even when his mind is normally consumed with work and touring. This is the longest break they’ve had in a while, and he knows that everyone else is using it to their advantage. He should be too.

Matt almost talks himself out of it twice before he’s standing on Zephyr’s front porch one Friday evening. He rings the doorbell and waits, second guessing himself until the door opens and he sees her. She’s wearing a shirt that says #yeetisildur in elvish and he really hopes she can’t see the sudden hearts in his eyes right now. Smiling that bright smile of hers, Zephyr steps aside to let him in.

“Whatever you’re making smells great,” he compliments as she leads him into her kitchen.

“We’re having homemade mac and cheese, sriracha maple brussel sprouts and grilled chicken breasts.”

Matt leans against the counter, accepting the Dr. Pepper she offers him from the refrigerator. “Are you interested in locking me in your basement and making me your personal guinea pig?”

It sounds ridiculous when he says it but she still laughs, knocking her bottle against his. “Just so you know, there’s a homemade dessert for after.”

“No seriously, the band can figure out the sound without me.”

“It’s called sex in a pan.”

Obviously she was waiting to seize her moment, because she says it the second he takes a drink, and predictably, he chokes. Soda nearly shoots out of his nose, and Zephyr just giggles and pats him on the back before she passes him a paper towel.

“I couldn’t help it, I’m very sorry,” she says, “I promise to behave the rest of the night.”

Matt doubts it.

Dinner’s great, and Zephyr blushes every time he tells her how good it is. The conversation over dinner gets a little heavier than their usual night time walk chats; for a brief moment Matt thinks she’s eventually going to ask about how the band is handling the break. He didn’t miss seeing the familiar vinyls stacked by her record player, even though she’s got a whole bunch of random stuff there. But it wouldn’t be the first time. She doesn’t mention them once though. Instead, they’re talking about her dad who taught her how to cook before he passed away, and Matt’s got a feeling she doesn't talk about him often. 

After they eat and he has two pieces of the dessert that she made, Matt helps Zephyr with the dishes despite her protests. And when the night is over, she walks with him out onto her front porch, kisses his cheek softly to say goodnight, a barely there brush of her lips that he feels more than he should. She’s still standing there when Matt lets himself into his place, waiting for him to get inside.

Matt hasn’t done this in a long time. He doesn’t really know how to go about it with someone like Zephyr, who has no expectations of him. The longer he knows her, the closer they get. The more open she is with him. It’s a new feeling, becoming friends with someone and the crush just hitting him smack in the middle of his chest while they’re watching Chopped reruns at his place, a dog on either side of them.

They’re playfully arguing about which dish was going to make it through to the next round when Matt turns his head and leans in to kiss her. She doesn’t seem as if she’s expecting it, and he likes catching her by surprise. He starts to pull back but she reaches out and curls her hand around the back of his head, pulling him in and kissing him again. She sinks her fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. They break apart once, to catch their breath, before she’s pulling him back in. Matt puts a hand on her thigh, trying to pull her closer. 

But then there’s a big problem, because Zeus realizes that someone else is getting attention, and leaps over Matt to worm his way between him and Zephyr. She lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around him and putting her chin on top of his head.

“Sorry, I think you have competition for my affections,” she says as Zeus’ tail keeps thumping against Matt’s chest. If he didn’t know any better, his damn dog was smiling at him. “Looks like you’ve gotta step up your game, Dierkes.”

Matt looks from her to Zeus, to Boo who seems content to just watch the steak being sliced on the screen. “Okay, who wants a treat? And to go play in the back yard where I can close the door for five minutes?”

Both dogs are up and running for the kitchen at the word treat and Zephyr grins, fisting her hand in Matt’s shirt to tug him closer for another kiss before they notice he’s not getting up yet.

⇉ taglist

@deathblacksmoke @ladyveronikawrites @circle-with-me @baddestomens

@dominuslunae @malice-ov-mercy @rumoured-whispers @cookiesupplier

@sorrowofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @thatchickwiththecamera @collidewiththesavannah

@th4t-em0-k1d @blackveilomens @illmakeyousaywow

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 2

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.8K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

I had a real rough time figuring out the proper voice for Pedro's dialogue and I hope I did him justice. Either way, the support I received for part 1 is astounding and completely unexpected! Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think :) I plan to continue until the story wraps up, but I don't know how many parts that will be. I hope to post every couple days, but with my work schedule it may be less speedy. Here we go!

You walk in the door, unclipping Skip's leash, slipping off your shoes, and dropping your keys on the countertop before flopping onto the couch and unlocking your phone. No. Fucking. Way. 

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk) replied to your message. 

You dissected each letter of the username, assuming it couldn't possibly be THE Pedro Pascal… but it was. It really, really was. You clicked the message, holding your breath.

Pedro Pascal replied to you: "Hey, you don't need to thank me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. That guy was out of line. You deserve happiness and I'm sorry for the harsh words you've been hearing. I appreciate you sharing your vulnerability with the world and hope that you will continue to be your genuine self and ignore the comments trying to make you be someone else. Don't listen to those people."

You stared in disbelief at his words, once again wondering why he would ever be so kind to someone he doesn't even know. Someone so childish and stupid to write a song about a man she doesn't know. I can't imagine he'd think these things if he knew it was about him…

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of yours and hearing that you're in my corner has me completely at a loss. I can't imagine why you would risk damaging your image by defending a girl…" No… don't say girl, it makes you sound like a child. You want this guy to like you! You backspace with a slight feeling of ridiculousness over the whole scenario. Ugh it's all wrong… calm down... calm down… it's just a conversation. He doesn't know you. He doesn't like you. Don't make it weird like you always do.

You try again.

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I really admire your work and for you to say such kind things to me… to think that you're in my corner, has me completely at a loss for words. I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment when you don't even know me, especially when coming to my defense could potentially harm your image… but thank you."

He read it almost immediately. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like you could throw up from the anxiety and adrenaline. After a few seconds, those stress-inducing dot-dot-dots appeared to show you he was typing.

He's actually replying to me?? Again? Doesn't he have better things to do? 

Your mind wandered to what he might be doing while he's messaging you. Sitting at his home, relaxing, taking the time to reply to you? Why? Maybe he's on a plane or waiting for something and killing time. Maybe he's- *ping*

Pedro Pascal replied to your message:

"Please, you can call me Pedro.. and as far as defending you, it doesn't matter to me that we don't know each other personally. You seem like a woman with a good heart, and all you did was share your true self. Nobody deserves to be talked poorly about for something harmless that they feel. If something like that hurts my image… then my true self wasn't being represented. I think we all just want to be seen, and I hope that you will feel comfortable to be yourself and show yourself more."

You don't know when you started crying, but you hiccupped with the overwhelming wave of emotions. He sees me.. you had just scrolled to the bottom of the long reply, when you noticed the "..." of typing again. He has more to say?!

Pedro Pascal: "As far as the subject of your song.. whether you choose to reveal that to him, or the world, you deserve love and respect. Being vulnerable and putting yourself out there is a terrifying thing to do, and I myself tend to close myself off from relationships to avoid that potential for getting hurt. But if that's what you want, you've already taken a big step and you should go for it. I hope that whoever he is gives you the respect and love you deserve."

Holy crap…

He doesn't… he doesn't know it's him right?? No. There's no way. He's just being nice… he's too nice. He's too genuine..??

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, doing a little dance in the air, pondering what to say. How much can I share with this man? Between this crush and his kind words, it's feeling tricky to hold back from spilling too much information.

You: "Thank you Pedro. You're too kind and I can't properly explain how much I really appreciate it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with all the sudden attention, and finding it hard to ground myself. But your words are helping me a lot. I - "

You hesitated over your next words, wondering if you should open up or just leave it. Don't be weird… don't scare him away like you always have with everyone else. As much as you think of disclosing your hesitation and lack of experience with relationships, as well as your reasons for trepidation, you decide to spare him of your self-hatred. Instead, you delete that last letter and hit send. 

Then you send another message, like he did. "And as far as the guy… I know I don't know him personally, we've never met, but I can already tell he would treat me right. I just hope maybe someday he will love me back."

Immediately after sending it you regretted it. That felt way too open and vulnerable. What are you thinking!?! Shit… what if he sees through you!?

You hold your finger down on the message, ready to hit unsend before he sees it. But it's too late. He's already replying.

Pedro: "He would be stupid not to love you back."

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

You: "Thank you, Pedro. 🥺" Play it cool… Play it cool…

Pedro: "Of course, sweetheart. Feel free to message me if anyone else gives you trouble or you just want to chat. I enjoyed talking with you."

???!!!!!?????!!!!! SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart

You grabbed your nearest pillow and screamed into it. "SKIPPPPPEERRRRRRR!!!!!! I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH PEDRO AND IT WAS MAGICAL AND AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!" You squealed.

Skipper lifted his head at you and sighed before setting his head back down. He was no stranger to your shenanigans. Napping after a good walk was a better use of his energy than to deal with your drama. He closed his little brown eyes again.

You lay back on the couch, kicking your feet and squeezing your pillow to your body.

Fuck, this is going to hit me like a truck if it goes sour. If he even realizes it's about him, probably. Crap… what am I going to do?

The next day, you woke up and checked your emails before work. Thankfully nobody at your workplace has seemed to place your singing voice to your speaking voice, or pieced together the fact that several people know you have a crush on a certain celebrity and are a musician. Thank goodness. That’s the last thing you need.

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, trying to calm your breathing, your nerves, and your heart rate, before relaxing and shaking out your body. Finally, you decided to get ready for bed and see what tomorrow brings.

Your emails come in, one by one, with one intriguing email at the top, from a well known pop-culture show called The Jazz & Ally-Kat Show. They want to do an interview with you, live, as soon as possible. 

Great. They probably just want to see what I look like or have me spill my guts about my crush. You roll your eyes, and you can’t help but feel like the Mandalorian with his lack of face reveals. If only you had a cute little space baby to accompany you. I guess Skip is my own precious cargo in a way, you think, while looking at your still sleeping pup. You're being silly… Not everything needs to relate back to Pedro, you think with a sigh to yourself. 

Yet despite your anxiety, you agreed to their interview, with the exception that it was done as a podcast style interview, where simply your voices are featured. Surprisingly, they agreed. I guess everyone likes some drama, and what better way to get views than by having a little mystery.

The interview was scheduled for three days from then, and in the meantime you focused on work and your album, which was mostly finished after years of writing songs. All it needed was some editing.

As the days went by, you wanted desperately to message Pedro again. You wanted to tell him your feelings. Have him confess that he loves you too. Ask him about his family, his friends, his favorite things. Meet him, kiss him, fall in love, and finally be happy. But ultimately you knew that was silly. You had one little conversation, and although it was nice, you still didn't know each other. There was no way he loved you back. Yet…? you asked yourself, hopeful, almost asking for permission to let yourself try and earn his love. 

Despite Instagram drawing you in like a magnet, you held back from messaging him. You didn't want to come on too strong. You messaged him first last time. He doesn't know you. Literally… he doesn't even know your real name, or what you look like. But maybe that's a good thing…

_____The day of the interview:_____

You woke up around 9:30 in the morning; nervous, slightly nauseated, restless, and jittery. Why did I agree to this??! 

You decided to pass on the coffee this morning, figuring it would make things worse, and instead decided to take Skipper for a walk. After some fresh air followed by a refreshing shower, you looked at the clock. 11:30 AM. With the interview at 1PM, you still had some time to kill and sat down at the piano, letting your mind wander to Pedro while you plunked chords out with nimble fingers. I wonder if Pedro has ever wanted to learn any instruments… I could teach him, you daydream.

Your hands dance across the piano while he reads through a script in the other room, eyebrows furrowed as he highlights another line. You look up over the grand piano and see his soft brown curls blowing under the fan haphazardly. The sun is shining in through the window, which Skip bathes under, and reflects a golden brown undertone with gray streaks in Pedro's hair. He really is beautiful, you think. His tongue swipes across his lips as he makes notes and erases, before finally feeling your eyes on him. He glances up from the script, giving you a soft smile and a wink; with those chocolate brown eyes that frequently cause you to lose your train of thought. Your eyes drift down to the keys again, feeling a soft blush creep over your cheeks. 

"That music sounds beautiful, baby.." he says softly while padding up to you behind the piano. He places his large hands on your shoulders, sweeping them down over both your arms before settling on your hands, still resting over the black and white keys. You look over your shoulder and he leans in, closing his eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Just like that scene in Narcos… you think. Yikes, I really am obsessed… anyway… you think back to your daydream…

He sits down at the chair next to your piano bench, kissing your lips again gently, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw. Your stomach gives a wave of butterflies and you lean in more to kiss him deeper, tugging on his hair while his hands find the small of your back, gently running his palms up your spine. A chill overcomes you and he-

~Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.~

Fuck. You snap out of your fantasy and turn off the alarm you set to go off ten minutes before the interview. At least I gave myself time to use the restroom and wash my face, you think, hoping to clear your head a bit now that you're slightly frazzled.

Unfortunately the feeling that replaced it was nerves as you sat down at your desk, typing into your keyboard, turning on your mic, and hoping that Skipper doesn't throw a fit over the wind or something while you're on this call.

Jazz: "Hi there listeners! We're joined by the artist of the moment, our favorite lovesick lady, the singer responsible for "Imaginary Love!"

Both women on the other end of the call applaud.

Well… not sure I like being called a lovesick lady but what else did I expect, really?

You: "Thank you guys for having me, I appreciate you wanting to get to know me better."

Despite the rough start, the ladies turned out to be really respectful and fun. You think that if the circumstances were different, you could actually be friends with them. You discuss casual things like your dog, your favorite activities and favorite pop culture topics (careful to avoid mentioning Pedro or any other actor that could be perceived as your lyrical subject), and they even mention celebrity crushes they've had growing up. 

At the mention of their celebrity crushes, you can feel the interview funnel into a dangerous alley with little to no escape. Jazz was the first to broach the subject. "So… we've just discussed our celebrity crushes, and I think I speak for all of us here when I say we're all very curious to know who-"

-an air horn blares-

What the hell is that? You wonder, both thankful for the interruption, yet startled by the disruption.

They both chime in: "Viewers!!! Do you all know what that sound is!?! We have reached 1 million listeners!!!!"

To say you were astounded is an understatement.

You: "You're kidding!? 1 million people are listening to us right now?"

Ally: "You bet they are! And listeners… I don't know about you guys… but I can't help but wonder if our celebrity heartthrob is one of those million?"

They turn their attention to you again. "What do you think? Think he's listening?"

You're thankful for the lack of a camera, because you can't help but blush at the thought. You'd be lying if you hadn't already considered (hoped) that he was listening too. 

Jazz: "So as we were saying… I think we all are in agreement that we want to know who he is. You sound like a nice enough girl, so what's holding you back? You've made it. You can contact him now and he'll probably reply."

I already have… you thought with a smirk.

Jazz continues: "Which brings me to the next point... I know you've had a lot of attention lately. You were signed to a record company, you were contacted by us, you've been mentioned by a few talk shows and celebrities. Pedro Pascal even publicly defended you. The radio has been playing your song nonstop and people can't get enough. What do you think of all this attention?"

You: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit surprised and maybe a little scared," you answered with a nervous laugh. "But I am so thankful for the kind words that I receive and I love hearing from people who can relate to my music."

Ally: "You've certainly received your fair share of criticism too. It sounds like you received that before your song was ever published as well."

You: "I have, and it's been challenging to try and not let it get me down. But I'm trying my best, and the positives seem to be greatly outweighing the negatives," you state, your mind thinking of Pedro and how his messages were really the only positive you needed to get you through the dark storm of criticism.

Ally: "I guess what I'm wondering is.. among all these people contacting you.. has he?"

You try to play dumb: "Has who?"

Both interviewers laugh before Ally continues. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Your stomach flipped. You were not expecting this question. Should you tell the truth??? It's not like they could know who has contacted you, short of hacking your account. You have had a lot of people contact you, after all.

You take a deep breath before answering. "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

They reply, and you can practically feel them leaning in. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

You consider your next move, your heart really working overtime since this whole thing started. Finally you decide your answer.

"Yes. We've talked."

Looking for Track 1? Read it here!

Next chapter: Here!

~Thanks for reading! Stay ~tuned~ for more!

Taglist: Let me know if you want in :)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

love bites, love bleeds

pairing: re6 chris x reader

cw: p in v (unprotected! wrap it before you tap it, folks!), mentions of blood, medical stuff, death, needles, mention of piers :(, brief mentions of body and weight, angsty sex

summary: very vague about how you met chris in fic (but imagining reader was experimented on in china during the events of re6, and is saved by chris), you patch up each other's wounds and then have sex

a/n: in my angsty era (always, mentally, this is what happens when i "write for myself"), also i played re6 not even that long ago but i straight up forget half of what happens so hopefully this makes sense still, and yes, title after the def leppard song 'love bites' (which oddly enough reminds me of my irl father, but we're going to ignore that bc it slaps)

wc: 2.7k

I feel sorry for all the men who died believing in you.

Piers, I feel sorry, too. Chris sighed, fist hitting the wall softer than the last time. 

“I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault,” you say.

“It’s not.”

“If you hadn’t stopped to help me, you could’ve-”

“Don’t. This is the job. We’re supposed to protect people.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. He was right, at least in theory, the BSAA’s mission is to stop bio-terrorism, and the agents who go into the field know that they might not come back, but it doesn’t make their lives disposable. They were just as valuable as you. It could’ve been you, maybe should’ve been. Chris lost the last member of his team to save you, a woman he doesn’t even know. 

Once he calmed down a bit, finally taking a seat next to you, you held out your hand, unsure of its use, and said, “I know I’m not… anyone to you, but I owe you my life and if I can do anything to help, I will.”

“Thank you,” he said, grabbing your hand in acknowledgment, “I appreciate your kindness.”

He let go of your hand and stood up. 

“Chris?” You said. 

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said. I know you’re more experienced in these things than I am, and I don’t know how much help I can be, but at the very least, if you want someone to talk to, I’m here.”

He smiled, small, but real. “Me too,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if it was just a courtesy, but nonetheless, you accepted. 

“We should get out of here,” he said, “Get to some place safer. We can get patched up while we wait for evac to come.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He held out his hand to help you up and you took it like a promise, a token of friendship. 

Staying in Lanshaing was not an option. Chris was able to get you both to Beijing where it was safer. You found a place to stay the night in a tourist-friendly area, since neither of you spoke any dialect of Chinese. As it turned out, Chinese McDonald’s is different from American McDonald's and quite tasty, especially after not eating for at least 24 hours. Its hours are similar to that of the operating hours in America, though, which was convenient. 

You assumed the language barrier would not be as much of a problem since most of the people in the city spoke quite a bit of English, but somehow your words got lost in translation and you ended up in a hotel room with one bed, rather than two. With all the hotel staff had gone through that day, you felt it would be rude to complain and ask for another room. Chris agreed. All you both wanted was sleep. You’d sleep on the floor if you had to. 

“How about we wash up a bit and then patch you up?”

You stood up—or tried to—limping towards the bathroom to shower. 

“You need help walking?”

“Do you mind?” you asked, holding onto the wall to keep yourself steady. 

“It’s not a problem,” he said, swiftly making his way to your rescue. He let you put your weight on him. He didn’t even break a sweat, and taking one look at his muscular physique, it made sense. You barely weighed anything to him. Especially since you’d been surviving off scraps for the last few weeks.

“Are you able to shower on your own?” he asked. 

“I think so.” Really, you didn’t think so, you just hoped so, feeling awful about the thought of Chris having to wash your naked body after all he’d done for you. Guilt flowed through your veins along with whatever they’d injected you with to stop the infection that tried to take over your body. You didn’t need shame to accompany it. You felt like a middle-schooler again, scrutinizing your acne in the mirror, except the marks on your body were gashes from claws and bruises from a fall you barely survived.

“Okay. I’ll wait out here for you.”

You shut the door, but didn’t lock it, preparing for what you knew was inevitable. You slipped on the tile, knocking over the shampoo and conditioner and making a ruckus. 

“Are you okay?” Chris called, somewhat panicked. 

Hearing you whimper in pain, he opened the door. 

“I’m sorry for barging in, but-”

“It’s okay,” you said with tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m basically helpless on my own.”

Chris helped you up, trying not to touch—or even look—at the most intimate parts of your body. 

“It’s okay to need help. I shouldn’t have let you go in here alone. I just wanted you to have some privacy, but I think I made the wrong call.”

He left out the ‘as usual’ part of the statement, but you could hear it in his tone. He’d lost so many men, some he couldn’t recall the names and faces of, that you were a consolation prize – not even a prize, really, saving your life was something that allowed him to pretend it was worth the sacrifice. You knew, counting the numbers, that you were not worth the sacrifice.

“It’s okay. I hope it’s not too awkward for you.”

“No, no, with the things I’ve seen, a naked woman is not even close to the most gruesome.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be an insult.”

You tried not to let yourself get flustered. But what else was there to feel? You swore you saw a hint of attraction peek through the grief in his eyes.

“How about I hold you up while you scrub yourself down?”

“Sounds good.”

Your team effort was successful. You were much cleaner than before. Chris grabbed you a towel and wrapped you in it before walking you back into the bedroom to get you patched up. 

“Do you not want to shower first?” you asked.

“No, my mission is to get you to safety, so you’re my priority.”

You felt guilty, but knew Chris well enough by now—even though you’d only met him hours ago—to know that he wouldn’t back down on this one, so you didn’t argue. He refused to acknowledge that his stubbornness was his fatal flaw.

He grabbed an antiseptic and a cloth and said, “This is probably going to hurt a bit, but it’ll just be for a second.”

“Okay,” you said, though you knew your wavering tone made your nerves known. 

He pressed the towel to your skin, being as gentle as possible, but it stung. You winced, unable to control your reaction to the stinging pain.

“You’re doing great,” he reassured you, and it should have gone to your brain or your wounds or your heart, anywhere else than where you felt it. Between your legs.  

Chris wrapped your wounds in gauze and gave you over-the-counter painkillers, the best he could manage. 

Chris was able to shower on his own, and you couldn’t help but be a bit jealous that he got to see you naked, and you didn’t get to see him in the same state. 

You waited for him to come back, sprawled out on the soft duvet, still wearing your towel when he returned. 

“Do you need help treating those wounds?” you asked.

“Not sure. I’m going to try to do it myself, but I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. I’ll be right here. I’ll turn away, though, for privacy.”

“Appreciate it.”

You could hear him grunting in frustration, trying to patch himself up. 

“Are you okay?”

“Any chance you can help me? I’ve got most of it done. There’s just a spot on my back that I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, of course. Mind if I turn around?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ve got underwear on, so you don’t have to see anything too graphic.”

“I don’t think looking at a naked man would scare me, but this is probably less awkward.”

He directed you to the spot on his back in question, and you helped him bandage it. 

“Do you have a medical background?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said as you finished up.

“Thanks. I think it’s all the years I spent taking care of kids. They get a lot of boo-boos.”

“Are you a mom?”

“No, no way, not ready for that yet. I’ve just had jobs as a nanny and a teacher.”

“Saving the world one boo-boo at a time.”

“Well, it’s a little bit easier with them. You just put a bandaid on it and kiss it all better.”

“If only you could kiss it all better.”

“I can try.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome to give it a shot.”

You couldn’t tell if he was flirting back or joking in a friendly manner, but you gave him a kiss over his bandage regardless.

“All better?” you asked. 

“A little, but if you could hand me the Advil, that’d be great.”

You obliged with his request, handing him the bottle. He took two down his through without any liquids to wash it down.

“Do you have any extra clothes?” you asked.

“Unfortunately, no. Do you?”

“No.”

“They might have robes somewhere in here… or we can try to wash your other clothes. It might take awhile, though.”

You sighed. “I think my underwear is the only thing without blood on it.”

Ironic, you thought, considering how often your underwear was the only bloody article on your person. Finally, a pair was spared. 

“Did you leave it in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was going to go get it for you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

You were a little bit nervous about the idea of Chris holding your used panties, but this was a unique scenario. He returned with a pink thong, which he handed to you, clearly trying not to touch it too much. 

“You act like it’s a biohazard. It’s just panties.”

“I’m not afraid of your panties. I just wanted to be respectful.”

But, Chris, would it really be so disrespectful if you just-? 

You slipped on your underwear casually with a ‘thank you’ thrown his way. 

You were already in the sheets when he came to bed. He climbed in hesitantly, making sure to keep an appropriate distance between the two of you. There could only be so much distance, though, when Chris took up such a significant portion of the bed—he’s a large man, nothing he can do about it. 

You found yourself getting closer to him, until you were breathing in the same air, mouths nearly touching. He captured your lips in a kiss. And you accepted it like a gift. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he said.

“I don’t want you to stop. I wanna forget about everything right now.”

Me, too, he thought.

“Fuck me until I forget,” you said. Fuck me until I forget the fluorescent lights of the lab, fuck me until I forget the man’s face when he tied me down, fuck me until I forget the prick of needles and the smell of death.

Chris laid there, silent, mouth moving, but unable to form words. One of his hands cupped your cheek and the other trailed down your arm—respectfully. You didn’t want it respectfully. You hooked one of your legs between his, entangling yourself while you prompted him to come closer. I want you on top of me. I want your body to encase mine. I want to feel small, weightless for a moment. Fuck me until I forget.

When his hands wrapped around your waist, he noticed how much of you he could fit in only two hands. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. Still too respectful. 

“Very. I wouldn’t have asked for something I don’t want.”

He mumbled an affirmation into your neck. He was already kissing you. You felt a scrape of teeth against your skin and received an apology when you gasped. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No,” you said, “I want more.”

“I don’t want to leave marks on you.”

“I want you to.” Cover the ones I already have. Fuck me until I forget.

You made the orders in bed. He nipped and sucked at the flesh on your neck and collarbone until you got antsy and pushed his head lower. 

“Relax,” he said. “Do that again and I’ll pin you down.”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

His breath was warm against your skin when he laughed. The sensation trailed down to your breasts. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, flicked his tongue over it, while he used his thumb to play with the other one. The soft suction of his lips had you writhing against the sheets—it was the only thing you can do to avoid moaning. The language barrier didn’t mean shit when it came to sex noises.

Soon, Chris pressed one finger into you, then two. 

You hadn’t shaved in a bit—it wasn’t necessary, nor possible, really, in the past week or so. “Sorry I-” But you were cut off by your own moan when Chris’ lips latched onto your clit. You forgot about the embarrassment you felt over the hair that was growing back when you felt Chris laugh into your core when you moaned. That was far more embarrassing. He came up for air and lazily ran his fingers up and down your folds. 

“Stop teasing me and fuck me already.”

Chris scoffed and stripped himself of his underwear. “Thought I was being nice by getting you wet enough before I fuck you.”

Looking down at your naked body, before lust took over his mind entirely, reason stepped in. 

“Shit—uh, do you have a-”

“I don’t want one anyway.” I want to be full of something other than poison and its antidote.

“Fuck, okay.” He took a sharp inhale of breath. A nagging voice in the back of his brain told him this was a terrible decision, but he was just a man being led by his dick. 

Chris was pushing 40, he hadn’t completely lost his sex drive but he wasn’t a horny teen anymore. It had been a while since he’d been this hard. His dick twitched when he attempted the first thrust inside you, making the head of his cock rub against your clit.

All sex is rough sex when you’re injured. You couldn’t do anything fancier than missionary, but when Chris grabbed your ankles and wrapped your legs around his hips so he could fuck you deeper, you thought you might pass out – for all the right reasons. He sat back on his knees so you could see the bulge in your tummy with every thrust. His tip was pressed firm against your cervix as his palm was on your abdomen. You choked out a sob, all words had left your mind.

Chris cradled your head as he increased the pace of his thrusts, so that your head didn’t hit the headboard, which knocked against the wall behind it. Fuck me until I forget meant temporarily. He wasn’t going to leave you concussed. He knew what amnesia felt like and all it meant was reliving the horrors you’d forgotten.

You’d bled and been bandaged. The pain had mostly subsided, and whatever was left- you cried it all out while you were being pounded into the mattress.

Your screams were echoes from that morning. “Help me!” turned into “Fuck me!”. “Please, I need you, fuck—oh my god—I’m coming” you overwrote the pain with pleasure and the meaning of it all changed. All the panting, groaning, cries of each other’s names, his arms wrapped around your fragile frame as he carried you out into the sunshine before the explosion. The relief and then the realization.

The pounding of your heart at a record rate was reassurance that you were alive. You placed your hand on his chest to make sure he was real and this wasn’t really the afterlife, despite feeling like heaven. You’re alive. Fuck me until I forget everything except for your name, except for your warmth, except for the smell of sex. Shaking and sweating in the corner of a burning building, his steady hands lifting your tiny body. Trembling legs as your orgasm approached in the comfort of a hotel bed in Beijing. You screamed his name to let everyone know of the man who saved your life.

You held each other in grateful silence.

[jebewonmorelike]

Your Wish Is Granted

(part one) (part two) wc: 2.6k warnings: light swearing, a bit of angst, fluffy ending pronouns: none used; n/a (reader is a trainee on boys planet, but it's just a story-- you can pretend any gender is allowed to compete, it doesn't affect the story!) summary: it's been radio silence from park hanbin ever since his favoritetrainee!reader left after the second elimination. did hanbin forget about them? is he interested in someone new? and will this potential couple be able to reconcile at the finale? 👀 ~bp masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ i KNOW y'all didn't see this coming but... my pal bp-zb1fics kind of convinced me like a week ago lol everyone say thank you lexxxx. i LOVE how this turned out. this is a text AND written fic and i think it's super fun this way. i hope you enjoy this final installment of phanbin x favoritetrainee!reader :)

╭──────────.★..─╮ april 7th ╰─..★.──────────╯

~

"BITCH WHAT!?" Woongki shouts into the phone immediately after you pick up. "What happened!?"

You sigh. "Nothing happened... I guess that's the problem."

"But you kissed him!" He exclaims. "And he said he wouldn't forget about you!"

A sad laugh escapes your lips. "I thought maybe you were all just super busy preparing for the Artist Battle, and I totally understand that. But the more you texted me over the last two weeks and the longer I went with radio silence from him..."

Woongki is uncharacteristically quiet on the other end of the phone.

"What?" You ask, a little seed of worry sprouting in you. "What's wrong?"

"But I saw him on his phone every night," he says softly. "I thought he was texting you."

Your heart sinks to your stomach. Was it true? Had Hanbin really moved on to someone new?

"I'm so sorry, babe," Woongki comforts. "I don't know for sure that he was texting someone else, but..."

"But what other explanation could there be?" You finish his thought for him.

"Ugh!" He groans in frustration. "How could Hanbin do that? I never could've imagined that he'd play with your feelings like that."

You're not quite sure what to say. A lump growing in your throat, you try to force out some nonchalant response but you just can't.

"Hey," Woongki coos, clearly just as upset as you are-- if not more. "Do you want me to go beat him up for you?"

The thought of Woongki and Hanbin in a fist fight is enough to make you reluctantly laugh. "Are you sure you'd win that fight?"

"Okay, rude," he responds, a pout audible in his tone. "Seriously though. Should I go talk to him? Ask him what his deal is?"

You have to admit it's a little tempting. The past two weeks were hard enough wondering when Hanbin was finally going to send you a message. But now, thinking that it could be because he isn't interested in you anymore-- and didn't even have the decency to let you know.

"I don't think it's a good idea," you decide finally. "I don't want him knowing I've wasted so much time and energy thinking about him when he didn't miss me at all."

"(Y/N)," Woongki sighs sadly. "You don't need to feel bad for any of this. He deserves to feel bad for this!"

"I knowww," you respond softly, trying to force a smile back on your face despite the situation. "I love you, Woongki boy. You're literally the best."

"Are you free tomorrow?" He asks excitedly. "We can get boba with Seowonnie and shit talk Hanbin!"

"Count me in."

~

╭──────────.★..─╮ april 13th ╰─..★.──────────╯

~

"(Y/N)!"

The sudden call of your name as you're walking down the busy street to your favorite coffee shop. You turn back around in the direction of the sound, your eyes landing on two familiar faces standing outside the salad shoppe.

"Yo, what the hell?" Kamden calls as you walk towards them slowly. "I thought you were busy this afternoon!"

Unsure of what to say as you approach Kamden and Matthew under the shoppe awning, you try not to let your uncertainty creep onto your face. "Oh hey guys!"

"Liar," Matthew mumbles, a little suspicious pout on his lips.

You roll your eyes, a laugh now escaping you. "You guys are so needy. I'm just grabbing coffee quickly before I get back to studying."

"Look at you, smartypants," Kamden teases, taking a sip of his iced tea.

"Why are you guys all the way out in this part of the city?" You ask curiously. "Had to be a bit of a bus ride."

"Hanbin wanted to come here actually," Matthew explains with a shrug. "He said he and Taerae had been talking about it."

You frown. "Oh."

Your eyes widen when Matthew's words finally register in your brain. The whole reason you'd said no to lunch with the boys in the first place was because Hanbin would be there.

"Um, where--... Where is Hanbin?" You ask, looking around nervously.

"I knew you'd want to get a glimpse of your boyfriend," Kamden says, smirking.

Matthew shakes his head uncertainly. "Taerae and Hanbin have been attached at the hip lately. Every time I see them, they're always whispering about something."

Your eyebrows raise as you consider this. Could the person Hanbin's been texting every night be... Kim Taerae?

"Really?" Kamden asks, frowning. "I haven't noticed."

"I mean, even right now," Matthew continues, pointing to the salad shop behind him. "They're both still in there after they told us to wait outside for a minute."

Your stomach flips a bit at this revelation. Taerae had always been so supportive of your little crush on Hanbin-- even when you weren't ready to admit it yet. Had he secretly been plotting against you this whole time?

"I'm sorry guys," you apologize quickly, starting to back away from Matthew and Kamden. "I really have to get going now. Text me next time you're going out-- I'll try to make it!"

"Good luck with your schoolwork!" Matthew calls, waving at you.

Kamden smiles, but you can see the slight suspicion in his eyes. "See you soon, (Y/N)!"

You walk back in the direction of your apartment, giving up on your coffee for today.

~

╭──────────.★..─╮ april 19th ╰─..★.──────────╯

~

"Who are you texting?" Woongki asks, lying upside down on your couch-- his hair gently scraping the carpet as his face grows a bit redder every minute.

You groan, "Taerae."

"NO!" Woongki screams, haphazardly maneuvering himself until he's sitting upright. "Oh my god, what did he say?"

"He asked if I was coming tomorrow," you answer, rolling your eyes. "Obviously I'm coming tomorrow. I have to. Everybody has to."

"Yeah, right? I wonder why he'd ask you that," he muses, pushing his lips into a pout. "Maybe he wants to confront you publicly!"

You think about quiet Taerae for a moment. His big, dorky glasses, his broad, dimpled smile... his incredibly endearing loser energy. You couldn't imagine that Taerae was planning to humiliate you in front of all of your friends. On the other hand, you couldn't have imagined before a week ago that Taerae would potentially steal your crush from you.

"I doubt it," you respond.

"Hmm," Woongki hums. "I guess he could be asking for Hanbin? Being his little spy."

"Maybe," you agree, picking up your phone again and scrolling to Hanbin's contact. "You don't think this is my fault right?"

"Your fault!?" Woongki exclaims, outstretching his arms to you. You take both his hands in yours as you sit on the floor in front of him. "How would it be your fault!?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to date a loser," you say, sulking dramatically.

"Well who would?" Woongki asks, grinning. "Good thing you're not one."

"What would I do without you?" You ask rhetorically, resting your chin on his leg.

"Die," he says matter-of-factly. "You'd die."

"I'd also have no one to paint my nails for the finale."

"Exactly as I said," he responds with a grin, sifting through the container of your nail polishes before pulling out a steel blue color. "You'd die."

~

╭──────────.★..─╮ april 20th ╰─..★.──────────╯

~

You're surprised your bottom lip hasn't started bleeding yet considering how much you've been chewing at it. Your blazer constricting you slightly, you roll your shoulders back hoping to stretch the fabric slightly and relieve the binding tension.

Hwang Minhyun is about to finally announce P09 after an absolutely nail-biting four hours. Poor little Yujin has to go home in literal minutes, so Minhyun has started rushing like crazy.

You watch as Hanbin presses his lips together, wringing his hands as he waits nervously-- Minhyun speeding up the reading of the result greatly as compared to P08-P01.

"The trainee in Ninth Place and therefore taking the final spot in ZeroBaseOne..." Minhyun pauses, because he just can't help himself. "Is..."

"Han Yujin!"

You jump to your feet as all of your fellow trainees do, showing your support for the young boy. But your eyes are still fixed on Hanbin. He's smiling, nodding as he accepts his fate. You think that maybe he knew the chances were slim...

But, as you know all too well, preparation doesn't make it hurt any less.

Seowon rests his head on your shoulder from behind you. "Are we happy? Are we sad?"

You sigh. "Both."

The finale ends and all of the trainees start making their rounds; congratulating your friends or consoling them. You give Kamden a huge hug, joking that now you both can debut together.

The celebration moves backstage as the arena begins to empty. You're jumping up and down with Matthew when you feel a buzz in your pocket.

~

~

You look up at Matthew, sighing as you smile apologetically. "I've been summoned."

"Go talk to your boyfriend!" Matthew encourages, pushing you off down the hall. "I'm sure he's eager to see you."

"Right," you mumble, making your way to the door labeled 'East Wing'. "Boyfriend."

You pull the door open, surprised when the hallway is completely empty. You walk forward cautiously, wondering if Hanbin is actually playing some mean prank on you.

"Boo."

You jump, your hand clutching your heart as you try to catch your breath. You turn around to find Hanbin grinning at you.

"Am I really that scary?" He teases. You look down to see a little purple gift bag in his hands.

But the adrenaline is pumping through you now as a result of his little entrance. Not stopping to think it through, you find yourself suddenly laying into him:

"Are you kidding me!? You don't text me for a whole month and you think you can just walk up behind me, give me a heart attack, and then act like nothing's happened?"

Hanbin's head tilts to the side confusedly. "What do you--?"

"I get it-- believe me!" You cut him off. "You don't like me anymore. You like Taerae. That's fine."

"I like Taerae!?"

"I know! I just said I get it. You can like each other all you want. But you could've at least done me the courtesy of texting me and telling me. I was..."

You falter, a lump beginning to build in your throat. Hanbin's just blinking back at you, eyes wide in surprise. "I was really worried about you," you manage to say. "And I missed you. And to find out you didn't give a shit about me the whole time!? I can't believe you, Park Hanbin!"

Taking a breath, you look at Hanbin now. He's biting his lip, corners of his mouth turned up-- clearly trying to keep himself from smiling.

Your brow furrows confusedly. "Why--... Why are you--?"

"God I like you so much," he says, finally breaking out into a grin. "So, so much."

"What?" You ask, taken aback by his unexpected sentiment. "No you don't. You didn't text me for a month!"

"No," Hanbin responds, pressing his lips together. "You didn't text me for a month."

You blink back at him; unsure of what to say. "Wh--... What do you mean?"

"You never gave me your number."

Oh fuck.

"I put mine in your phone before the second elimination, but... you never gave me yours," he explains, visibly enjoying the look of horror and shame that is playing out on your face.

After a long moment, all you can manage to squeak out is: "Oh."

Hanbin's brow raises expectantly. "So is there any of your little spiel before this that you'd like to take back now?"

You nod pitifully. "Yes."

"Which part?"

"All of it," you mumble. "I'm so sorry."

"That's what I thought you'd say," he says with a smirk before his expression softens. "And I'll forgive you."

"Really?" You respond hopefully.

"Of course," Hanbin affirms with a nod. "But..."

"Oh no."

"I just think that if you got to tell me off," he says, giving you a mischievous smile. "Then I should get to tell you off, too."

Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you smile sheepishly. "I guess it's only fair, yeah."

Hanbin smiles at you fondly before a melodramatic dramatic anger suddenly shifts his expression. "HOW COULD YOU NOT HAVE TEXTED ME FOR A WHOLE MONTH!? I kept waiting for you to text me or call me or, god forbid Facetime me so I could see your adorable face! I was so worried about you. Not to mention, I missed you so much."

Your heart melts at his words; so ashamed you'd been so silly.

"AND THEN," Hanbin continues, his eyes narrowing. "To hear that you had the time to text Woongki and Kamden and Taerae but not me!? I thought you didn't like me anymore. I was devastated."

He pouts, his brow furrowing cutely as your heart pounds in your chest. You ask quietly, "Why didn't you just ask someone for my number?"

"BE. CAUSE," he sighs dramatically, emphasizing each syllable. "I didn't want to seem clingy or anything."

You throw your arms around Hanbin, unable to hold back any longer. Squeezing him tightly, you feel him reciprocate the embrace-- one arm snaked around your waist and the other holding your back comfortingly.

"So you're not dating Taerae?"

"Ew, no. I'm not dating Taerae," he says with a laugh, pulling back from the hug to see your face. "Taerae's just the one person I was confiding in about you. I didn't want any of the other trainees gossiping too much about you."

"Of course," you say sadly. You should've known Hanbin had actually just been trying to protect you.

Hanbin holds out the purple gift bag to you now with a smile. "Taerae actually told me that you'd mentioned you liked that salad shoppe we went to for lunch last week. I actually got you a gift card after we ate when Kamden said you couldn't come that day."

"You are the sweetest ever... and I'm an idiot," you say, shaking your head as you continue to grip onto each other for dear life. "But I have to go now."

"What?" He asks, brow furrowing confusedly. "What do you mean? Where are you going? I'm coming with you."

Lacing your fingers in his, you begin to pull him with you down the hallway and back towards the dressing room area.

"I owe the new main vocalist of ZeroBaseOne a little apology."

“Eh, I think he can wait,” Hanbin says suddenly, smirking as he stops walking. You try to keep pulling him forward, but he’s fixed to the floor like a stone statue. Curse those perfect dancer muscles.

“Hanbinnie,” you whine, stepping towards him with a pout.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, giving your arm a small tug until your faces are inches apart. He seems to admire you for a moment, studying every inch of your face until his lips are on yours.

You’re lost in the moment, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer to you. You don’t even consider where you are or who could see you and take a picture and ruin both of your careers. You’re too busy finally kissing Hanbin after a whole month of absolute insanity. And it's everything you'd wished for and more...

“Oh my god,” a voice calls behind you. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

Entirely caught off guard, you’re immediately set into panic mode. You detach every part of your body from Hanbin’s and jump at least two feet away from him.

“APOLOGIZING TO TAERAE!” You shout the first thing that pops into your head before turning around to see who is watching you.

Taerae frowns, brow furrowing nervously. “You… You’re apologizing to me by making out with Hanbin?”

You and Hanbin turn to look at each other, equally shocked by being caught. After a moment, you both turn back to Taerae and nod; simultaneously answering, “Yes.”

Taerae stares at you for a second before finally shrugging:

“Apology accepted.”

[smoshmonker]

2023 x 2017/2018 fic under the cut. this is meant to be platonic (but interpret however you want) and pls be kind to me as im somewhat self conscious about posting this

hurt/comfort, 2284 words

enjoy <3

August, 2017.

Anthony wakes up slowly.

His eyes feel heavy, like they’re glued shut, and he has to do his best to pry them open. Blinking blearily, he finds himself splayed out over his desk, pencil still in hand and cheeks stained with tears. He can’t help but feel incredibly pathetic as he presses his palms to the desk, unsticking his cheek from the wood to sit up straight.

He glares down at the entry he wrote for a moment before slamming the journal shut. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t help to write all of that out, but the last thing he needed was anyone seeing it, even though he’s alone in his apartment now. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s near 4 in the morning. He wants to just forget. He wants to get in bed and not move for a few days, but he knows he has to start planning what to do next. He’s so angry he feels his chest burn.

Suddenly, in the corner of his bedroom, a blue, glowing portal rips through the air, buzzing softly. A man falls out of it, ungracefully stumbling on his landing. The portal closes. The man looks up. He looks familiar and unfamiliar all the same, but when Anthony meets his eyes, he just knows.

His heart stops. He can’t breathe. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, so the man speaks first, seemingly also breathless.

“Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Ian runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. He glances toward Anthony and his eyes soften. “Hey, don’t forget to breathe. You’re okay.”

Anthony sucks in breath, not because he was told to, but because he needs to. He blows it out forcefully, getting to his feet on shaky knees. Logically, he knows this isn’t really Ian. At least, it isn’t his Ian. He looks older, more mellow. Happier.

“What…What’s going on?” His own voice is the complete opposite of that, devoid of life, notes of fear and anger and sadness all rolled into one.

Ian’s eyes, soft and blue and frustratingly kind behind silver glasses, make Anthony want to throw something. Who even is this? The last time he’d looked at Ian, there had been nothing behind his eyes. Nothing warm, nothing kind, nothing to indicate that the boy he’d become friends with all those years ago was still there. Here, now, he gets some semblance of it. It makes his knees shake, and he has to hold onto the back of his chair for support.

“I’m sorry, Anthony. I can’t tell you. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

Anthony scoffs and looks away. His fear and confusion over the situation is immediately overtaken by anger. “Of course you can’t. Are you here to tell me I made a mistake? That I shouldn’t have left?” He curls his hands into fists, trying to hide the way that they’re shaking. “I don’t want to see you. Why are you here?”

A part of him regrets saying it as he sees Ian’s expression change to something he’s never seen before. It looks like a mix of hurt and understanding. He exhales and takes a slow step forward. “No. You made the right decision. You had to leave.” Ian’s gaze flicks toward the desk where the journal sits. Something like recognition swirls in his eyes for just a moment, not long enough for Anthony to think about it too hard. “I guess I’m here to tell you that…everything’s gonna be okay someday.”

Anthony’s chest heaves as he stares at the slightly older version of his childhood friend. For a moment, he feels like he’s going to throw up. This isn’t right. This isn’t Ian. It can’t be. If it was, then he wouldn’t have left at all.

“What…year are you from?” Anthony whispers, feeling faint.

Ian smiles sadly. “I can’t tell you.”

Not even realizing that the tears had started until one of them plops on the floor beneath him, Anthony wipes his cheek hastily, expecting some rude remark. Ian reaches forward, gently pulling him into a hug, light enough that he could pull away if needed. Anthony’s heart stops, standing completely rigid in place, his exhausted brain slowly trying to process what the hell is happening.

Ian speaks softly. “I know it sucks right now. It’s gonna suck for a while, but it’s gonna be okay, Anthony. I promise.”

He’s standing in the middle of his bedroom in the small hours of the morning, being hugged by the man that has been the reason for all of his pent up anger, and all he can do is break down. He leans into Ian, not bothering to hold back the tears, and holds on tight. Ian’s grip is tighter, practically holding him upright. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of cedarwood, and clutches onto his words. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

The next thing he knows, he opens his eyes to morning sunlight streaming in through his windows. He’s laying in bed, the blankets pulled over him, and everything is as it should be.

Anthony rubs his eyes, noticing how swollen they feel. “What a weird dream,” he mumbles, almost certain he can still smell the cologne from before.

What hurts the most is when he sits up, he finds himself looking for Ian again.

***

November, 2018.

Ian’s ears are ringing.

He sits on his couch in complete silence, mindlessly sipping at a drink. Having returned home from the party thrown to make them feel better about not knowing the future of Smosh and themselves, Ian immediately went to his cabinets to pour himself a drink, despite already being relatively tipsy.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting here. It was dark when he got home, and it’s dark now. Staring at a crack on the wall that looks relatively like a spider is how he’s been spending the last hour, at least. Probably longer. His mind is devoid of thought, with just a pleasant buzz accompanying him in the back of his head. Staring at the wall keeps him from thinking. He prefers it this way.

Suddenly, the ringing in his ears grows louder. As if awakening from a trance, Ian blinks and pulls his gaze away from the crack in the wall, looking around the room. It continues to grow louder, so much so that it almost hurts as his bookcase in the corner begins to shake.

He hadn’t been expecting an earthquake tonight, but he most definitely hadn’t been expecting to see a giant blue portal sizzle through the air with a man falling through it. No sooner had the man hit the ground did the portal disappear, leaving him breathing hard on all fours.

Ian drops his glass on the floor.

As it shatters, the man scrambles to his feet, and wide brown eyes fill with recognition and guilt. He seems to find his voice first as he gives the other a once-over. “Ian?”

That voice makes Ian’s chest tighten. He hasn’t heard it in over a year, maybe longer. This Anthony looks different. His hair is a little shorter, still curly, and Ian wonders if, in the dark living room, he’s imagining the dark lines that snake from Anthony’s hands all the way up his arms. He’s a little older, Ian thinks.

He quickly stands up, immediately greeted by vertigo, finding that he’s perhaps a bit more buzzed than he had meant to be. But he’s not imagining this. Anthony is in his living room, but there’s something different there. It isn’t his Anthony. His Anthony probably hates him. He hasn’t reached out in a while. He wonders what he’ll think about Defy collapsing.

Realizing they’ve just been staring at each other and he hasn’t said anything, Ian clears his throat. “Why are you here?” His words slur a little. He tries to play it off, but he notices that slight furrow to Anthony’s brow.

“I don’t know,” Anthony answers honestly, looking Ian up and down with a concern that almost makes him lose his footing. Where did that come from? The few times they’ve tried to catch up, it’s been awkward, like they were strangers. This doesn’t make sense. “Are you okay?”

Ian huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Why do you care?” He feels guilty the moment the words leave his mouth. Anthony nods solemnly, perhaps knowing where he’s coming from, and opens his mouth to respond, but something catches his eye. Right on the coffee table, Ian had placed some of the props he’d stolen from the office, with the Easy Step on the floor beneath it. He’d just thrown them all there when he’d gotten home, not bothered to find a place for them yet.

Anthony glances toward the shattered glass on the floor, then looks back up. “You just got an email from Defy, right?”

Breath leaves Ian’s body in a whoosh. He can’t answer besides a nod. The question makes his eyes prick, but he quickly blinks it away, unable to ask how on Earth Anthony knows this.

Carefully, Anthony steps forward, trying not to step on any of the glass. He reaches out to touch Ian’s shoulder. “You don’t look so good, dude, maybe you should -”

“No! No, this is wrong.” Ian shrugs him off, taking a shaky step back, his heart racing. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t your problem. I really can’t take any more bad news, Anthony. You need to go.”

That concern he’d seen before returned to Anthony’s expression then, and Ian remembers, just for a moment, that worry on Anthony’s face whenever Ian would get sick in high school, whenever he forgot to eat, whenever he didn’t take care of himself. It’s almost like nothing has changed until reality crashes down around him again.

“You’re right. It isn’t my problem,” Anthony says softly, not unkindly, “but I’m here anyway.” He takes another slow step forward, but Ian doesn’t move. He continues. “I don’t have any bad news, Ian. I’m just here to listen. Okay?”

Ian’s thoughts jumble together as he tries to make sense of it. He can’t. When did they ever spend time just listening to each other? He can’t remember.

Before he knows it, Anthony’s guiding him to the couch, and they both sit down together. He looks at him, his eyes so full of concern and kindness that it almost makes Ian want to faint. “Tell me everything.”

Perhaps, if he were sober, he’d brush it off, push Anthony out the door and tell him to continue with his own life. Perhaps, if he were sober, he’d laugh at the idea and tell Anthony everything was gonna be fine, and he’d make it through just like he always did.

But he isn’t sober. So he opens his mouth and talks.

He talks about it all. He talks about how it felt opening that email, he talks about how it felt breaking the news to everyone, he talks about this crushing weight of all of his employees' livelihoods resting on his shoulders, he talks about the fear of losing the thing that they created together. He talks until his throat is dry, and he isn’t even sure how coherent he is. But no matter what, Anthony stays by his side, nodding, listening, interjecting every now and then.

A silence falls between them. Anthony hesitates. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you,” he says softly. Caught off guard, Ian furrows his brow. In the moonlight streaming through the window, he can tell this Anthony is definitely a little older than him. He wonders how much older. Shrugging, Ian looks away. Anthony continues. “I want you to know that everything’s gonna work itself out. It’ll be really hard for a while, but it’ll be okay.”

Ian looks up again, noticing his vision is slightly blurred. He can’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or something else. “How do you know?”

“I’m from the future.” Anthony cracks a small smile and Ian scoffs, despite knowing it must be true.

Birds begin chirping outside, and Ian knows the sun will be rising soon. He has a lot to do tomorrow, to figure out where to go from here. He makes peace with the fact that he won’t be sleeping tonight. Surprisingly, he feels better than he did an hour ago. He supposes Anthony just has that effect on him.

He closes his eyes, trying to savor whatever familiarity he has left. He isn’t sure how much time passes until he feels gentle hands beneath him, moving him to lay out on the couch. He squints, trying to stay awake, trying to take in Anthony again, knowing full well he won’t be here later.

“What year are you from?” Ian mumbles. Anthony chuckles softly as he gently places a blanket over him. Ian hadn’t realized how much he had missed that sound.

“It’s a surprise,” Anthony whispers. “Now get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Ian’s eyes fall closed again, his body feeling heavy. “Thanks…” He isn’t sure if he manages to say it, or if he just thinks it.

Anthony’s voice sounds far away, but he’s pretty sure he can hear a faint, “I love you, buddy,” as he drifts off.

When he wakes up a few hours later, his living room is empty. The glass has been swept up off the floor. He sits up, staring at the props on the table through a terrible headache, and tries to recall Anthony’s voice as he tells himself everything will work itself out someday.

[thatoneguy56fanfic]

Day 14: Creepy + Left For Dead

For @orangepanic’s Whumptolktober! I know I missed a lot of days, but I finally had an idea for this. Also, trigger warning: this fic includes talk of stalking and mental health disorders, plus a mention of drugging and kidnapping. So don’t read if you don’t like that kind of thing. I’m sorry in advance for my fellow Asami-lovers.

I woke up feeling confused and groggy. How much had I drunk at that party? I wondered, reaching up to rub my face. That’s when I noticed that I couldn’t really move. My body felt strangely heavy and sluggish. What the fuck?

“Oh, good. You’re awake!” The voice made my body stiffen, and I looked up to see my ex-girlfriend, Asami Sato standing in the kitchen of my apartment. This couldn’t be happening! How had she found me? I had been so careful. I had no social media anymore and I’d even gotten my lease under a different name.

“Still feeling a bit groggy, huh?” Asami said, a creepy smile on her face. Her voice sounded way too sweet. I knew that tone, and it made my heart race. “That’s okay. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in a few hours.”

“What will?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

“Oh, I just gave you something to help you relax, that’s all.” Asami said, walking towards me. I could only watch helplessly, my body refusing to listen to my brain's commands. “You know how emotional you get, sweetie. I just wanted to have a conversation without you doing anything unreasonable, you know? You understand, right?”

Okay, so she seemed to be having one of her episodes. She was probably off her meds too. I could handle this, I just had to be careful and calm until whatever she’d given me had worn off. Then I’d get away or call for help.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for being unreasonable before.” I said, choosing my words and tone carefully. Asami’s smile widened.

“See! I knew you’d understand.” She said, climbing onto my lap, straddling my legs. I felt my heart skip a couple of beats. “I just wanted to talk, Korbear. I knew if I could just talk to you, I’d get you to understand my side. But you were being so unreasonable.” She ran her fingers over my cheek gently. The use of her old nickname for me made me tense even more. “Moving out without telling me. Getting that pesky restraining order. But what really hurt was you convincing my dad to put me in that psychiatric hold. That really hurt my feelings.”

“I’m sorry, Asami.” I said, feeling proud of how steady my voice sounded. I just had to stay calm. “You’re right. That was really rude of me. I should’ve just let you tell me your side. It wasn’t fair of me to do what I did.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” Asami said, placing a hand over her chest in relief. “I was so worried that those irksome friends of yours had put lies in your head again. Like they did when they convinced you that I was isolating you. I mean can you believe that? Me? Isolating you? Come on, that’s just ridiculous!”

“You kind of did, Asami.” I said gently. “You didn’t let me leave our house.”

“You didn’t need to! That’s not isolation!” Asami said, her voice rising defensively. “I love you, Korbear. I just wanted to take care of you, that’s not a bad thing right?”

“But what about my job? Or my friends and family?” I replied. “You tried to take those from me.”

“You didn’t need to work!” Asami said, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I’m rich, you could’ve just lived off my money. You’ll never have to worry about working when you’re with me, you know that. As for your friends, well they’re just jealous of what we have.”

“And my family?” I asked.

“They never really liked me anyway. So who cares what they think. They’re obviously going to say anything to make me look bad.” She replied, pouting. “Don’t tell me that you’re believing their lies again are you, Korbear?”

“Asami, I need you to listen to me.” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Have you been taking your meds?”

Her eyes darkened and her smile dropped slightly. I felt my heart plummet. Did I push too far?

“That’s not very nice of you, Korbear.” Asami said, her tone slightly less cheerful. “Here I am, surprising you on your birthday, and this is how you thank me? Of course I haven’t taken them. I don’t need them, sweetie. You know that! Those stupid doctors don’t know anything. I’m perfectly sane. They just can’t understand how much I love you. We were meant for each other, Korbear.”

I couldn’t help it any longer. She was clearly in some kind of mental distress, and I could feel my patience growing thin.

“Asami, you can’t just stop taking your pills.” I said, slowly. “It’s dangerous-“

“Of course I’m not taking them!” Asami shouted, cutting me off. “Because I’m not crazy! I don’t need any pills, I keep telling everyone that!” She got off of me, breathing hard and pacing. Spirits, she was more unstable than I’d realized. Cold fear started to claw at my chest. Suddenly, she stopped pacing and marched back over to me. She leaned down and gripped my chin tightly.

“That was very rude of you, Korbear.” She said, her voice low and dangerous. “I am not dangerous. You know I’m not. I would never hurt you, I love you!”

“You’re right! You’re right!” I said, genuinely afraid now. I’d never seen her like this before. Sure, she’d always been extremely possessive and stalker-level obsessed with me. But this was new, and far more intimidating than her previous behavior. “I’m so sorry. Of course you’re not dangerous. I shouldn’t have said that, please forgive me, Sams.” I added, using my old nickname for her in an attempt to appease her.

“Of course I forgive you, silly girl!” Asami said, her face brightening again. She smiled broadly again, patting my face affectionately. “I could never stay mad at you, you know that. But don’t ever say anything like that again, okay? That really hurt my feelings.”

“I won’t, I promise.” I said.

“Good. Because the ride home would be so awkward if you did.” She replied.

“Ride home?” I asked in confusion.

“Of course! You didn’t think I’d let you stay here, did you?” Asami scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. The thought of her taking me anywhere filled me with dread. “It was such a pain in the ass to find you, Korbear. You really didn’t make it easy on me. But you should know by now that I’m so much smarter than you. You didn’t really think that you could ever hide from me, did you?”

[dezyj1205]

No Cut Strings News

I have made my fic a user only, moderated comments story. I’ve continuously been receiving a slew of hate comments from Guest accounts, so I’ve decided to make it less easy to leave such comments. I do delete them as I see them, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t read them. Reading such comments makes me want to delete my fic. Reading that my choice to change relationships, how certain characters are viewed, and so on is “wrong” “disappointing” “story-ruining” and whatnot isn’t conductive to writing. Having to repeatedly defend the way I’ve written certain things, like Legacies and Artemis, is not conductive to my writing. I understand it doesn’t make sense yet, but that doesn’t mean it will not make sense yet.

I’m tired of passive aggressive and hate comments. It takes a lot to write long chapters with intricate sub plots. I could have just deleted my fic since it was my first thought but I decided not to punish the people who have left good comments and kudos. I know that there were some guest readers who weren’t anywhere close to the issue but there were plenty of guests who did participate. Deleting comments doesn’t mean I don’t remember what they say. I’m sorry for the guests who did leave kind comments, but this is the only way my fic stays up.

Furthermore, the next chapter will not be coming out until the end of August or the beginning of September. This is due to the fact I will be going through the previous chapters and editing them. Since I’ve had to deal with health and family issues my editing wasn’t a priority. I have the time to actually edit now and want to take advantage of it.

EDIT: I didn't think this would have to be said, but please do not go onto my other fics and comment about this one. Do not go onto those fics and ask when I'll update, why I chose to private the story, or if I'll undo what I've done. It's private. As are my other stories thanks to the slew of comments I just had to delete. I'm not going to apologize for looking after my mental health. I'd rather make the stories private than deal with the constant want to delete the story and I feel like that's mutual.

From now on I have a few rules, if they aren't followed I will delay the next chapter's post.

Don't ask for updates in my comments, DMs, or Discord

Don't post under one story about the other- especially when they're two different fandoms

Don't post rude comments in reply to someone else, it will get deleted and I will Block you. (You'll still be able to read it but can no longer comment.)

If you leave a hate comment I will Block you, delete the comment, and report you to AO3

I'm beyond done with everything I've listed above. I used to write more than I do now, several fandoms going on at once, but stopped due to how toxic fanfiction can be. I don't want to be rude, but I do want to make sure everyone who reads my stories understands: I'm not going to continue to be treated this way.

Thank you to those of you who don't act like this. I'm sorry if you're being punished due to your fellow reader's behavior.

[lightlycareless]

So HOTTT of Naoya to be an equestrian champion... *bites lip*

Heya anon! Sorry for the late reply, oof. I wanted to post this a while ago but in-between me just lazying it up, working on the main fic, and dealing with other emotional things I just... didn't lol.

But I'm here now! And I gotta say, I enjoyed writing something different from the usual :> I'm actually working on something else, which I hope to post soon... we shall see.

Anyways, your ask reminds me of this one fic I absolutely love 😭!!

Just to hear someone being the champion of something, regardless of what it is… I don’t know, fascinating. I’m like wow they’re the best in the world in that particular niche. And it makes you wonder if they’ve always been inclined to that, if they’ve always been good and whatnot. Wow.

But moving forward, here are the warnings for this 2-part (yay!) oneshot: explicit content, a bit of smut, Naoya is in it so either expect him to be a complete a-hole, misogynistic, objectifying, rude, yadayada, the usual lol.

Now onto the good stuff:

Let’s imagine that you were somewhat related to the “equestrian/horse jockey/racer” lifestyle since you were a child because you come from a long line of racers. Your dad was a horse jockey, your mom too, your grandpa, so on and so forth. You’re kind of royalty at this point, however, none of your relatives held the title of champion until your brother (Ren gashgkjhasjk) came along, that finally put your family on the map, cue your somewhat of a celebrity status. A… D-list celebrity, compared to your B-list almost A celebrity of a brother, in a universe where horse racing is very, insanely popular.

You were never forced to partake in the family tradition, after all was said and done, they were competitive but not a-holes when it came to their own relatives, so instead you decided to pursue somewhat of a normal lifestyle, get a career, whilst supporting your brother.

Cue rising star Naoya Zen’in, heir of the prestigious Zen’in clan that everyone suspected to be involved in shady business and often kept to themselves, so who would’ve thought they also liked to partake in competitions?

Because of his sudden apparition, as well as his exceptional skills, you’re naturally attracted to know more about this mysterious man who seems to give your brother a run for his money when obtaining the title of champion—or at least, that’s what the tabloids want it to appear, of course, until he inevitably does.

Having achieved what no one has ever done before (or at least as close as he had, since other racers like Gojo and Geto often take more of a… calm approach towards the competition, as if this was a pastime rather than a career), your interest in him reaches a new record high.

And you couldn’t be blamed—the more interviews you saw of him, the more you found him fascinating. The way he expressed himself when talking about his work gave you the impression that he was highly dedicated to his career, and you’d only seen that once or twice in your life.

But what caught your interest the most… was his charisma, and handsome appearance.

Naoya just carried an aura which forbade your eyes from straying away, even with the warnings your brother gave you, you just… couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“He’s a complete asshole— arrogant, snarky, and overall petty. I don’t want you getting near him.”

To which you quickly disregarded, telling him that: “Well, he’s obviously like that with you because you’re his direct competitor!”

You’d go against his warnings by attending his training sessions, which were only made available to other competitors or close relatives—you, being sister of the past champion, gave you the necessary access to see him up close and personal, although there wasn’t much closeness when it came to it, because although these interactions weren’t prohibited, they weren’t encouraged either, limiting yourself to observe him from the bleachers instead.

That, of course, and the shyness that rendered you immoble whenever realizing how close he was to you settled in.

This distance wouldn’t last long, however, for it was only a matter of time that he’d notice he was being observed by his rival’s sister, and that fact did not sit well with him at all.

Naoya didn’t like your brother, for according to him, he was too arrogant, evidently because he believed no one would ever dare take the title of champion out of his hands, growing confident, sloppy even, until harsh reality came crashing down onto him when it finally occurred.

The look on his face when the score ended in his favor was one Naoya would never forget, nor the roaring screams from the crowd when the verdict was finally announced.

He doesn’t presume your brother to be having the time of his life, and desperate to retrieve the position he once held, he retorted to deploying all kinds of methods to find a weakness of his to exploit.

He’s highly aware of how the families of competitors tended to work, thanks to some nasty experiences and growing up in such treachery too.

Their means were simple: they’d either mess up with the rider’s equipment, bribe the judges, or to the worse felony yet, directly attack the horse. Some have even died through these dirty altercations, and all to ensure victory.

It would be hypocritical of Naoya to deny he hadn’t done something like that before, considering the reputation of his family and the extensive possibilities at his command, but he can confidently say that he’d never made use of them outside a few occasions, his talent doing most of the job when earning triumphs.

Taking all of this into consideration, he thinks you must be one of those schemes sent out by a jealous competitor intended to distract their rival one way or the other.

He thought of it adorable, really, as if he’d fall for something so silly as a honey pot.

Sure, you were good looking, but it would take much more than that to get him distracted more so when he could easily get what you offered from the flock of fangirls that followed him around.

For all he knew, you were probably getting trained to be a racer too, whether to replace your brother after his failure or to keep the championship within the family, he didn’t know—although he wasn’t so sure about his theory, since he hadn’t seen you around the competitions outside of cheering for your brother and friends from afar, or wishing them good luck backstage before going onto the field.

Well, whatever it was, Naoya didn’t like you, not one bit. He thought of you as an annoyingly consistent mosquito buzzing around his ear whenever he caught a glimpse of you.

Just what exactly were you doing? Trying to read his movements so you could go rushing to your brother and tell him all about it? Pathetic.

But what was more pitiful was the way you’d look at him, wide-eyed and astounded, cheeks red whenever passing you by, unable to even respond to his greetings whenever he acknowledged you, outside of a squeak and a hurried “excuse me” before disappearing.

You were the epitome of displeasure.

“—And not only that, but rude too.” Naoya would tell his closest confidant, the one that prepared everything for his training sessions, and a childhood friend. “All members of her family must be like that—If it were up to me, I would’ve disqualified them just by that.”

“I don’t think she’s acting like that because she’s rude, Naoya” Ranta dared to say otherwise, much to the current champion’s irritation who often, if not always, liked to be agreed with.

“What else then?” he hisses, twisting his face into a scowl.

“I think it’s because… she likes you.”

Now it was Naoya’s moment to be startled.

Like him?

Surely Ranta must’ve hit his head on the way there to come up with that stupidity. There’s no way someone like you, having such a close relationship with the previous champion, would find interest in him outside of contempt. That’s just not how these things worked!

But let’s say it wasn’t that— let’s say… you did hold some kind of attraction towards him.

Your shyness suddenly made sense, why you rarely spoke to him, why you’d always look at him with fascination, a smile on your face whenever you saw him accomplish particularly hard trick with his horse, silently cheering for him whenever doing the rest of his routine… all while keeping distance.

If you were in the supposed mission of discovering a non-existent weakness in him, you would’ve approached him by now.

But you didn’t, and Ranta’s speculation might be the reason why.

And from that point forward, as if by the work of a miracle, perhaps allured for having the sister of his rival seemingly head over heels for him, Naoya begins to look at you through a different prospect.

It wouldn’t take long before he grew tired of your aloofness, though, impatient of waiting to see when you’d dare approach him, so he thought he’d do you a favor and take the first step himself—much to your horror.

“Hey!”

You’d hear him call one day after his training was done; at first you thought it was just your mind making up things, victim of all the immeasurable scenarios you’ve made up in your head… However, when you heard his voice again, turning your head to corroborate your assumptions, you knew it was real.

You freeze for a quick second upon realizing he was approaching you, before your survival instincts kick in and make a run for it.

“Hey—Where are you going?! Hey!” Naoya yells, rushing to your side and getting a hold of your hand, rooting you in place. The suddenness of his movement, as well as having him touch you, makes you think you're going to faint. “Why the hell are you running off like that? It’s not like I'm mugging you!"

“I—I needed to—to go!” you shriek, tugging and writhing against his hold I'm trying to escape, all whilst keeping your gaze as far away from him. He notices that. “I'm running late to—to—!"

“At least look me in the eye if you’re going to dismiss me.” He says, a smirk on his face as he sees your struggling stop at the same time your ears turn red.

That would've been enough for many, having seen you embarrassed enough, but for Naoya there is no such thing as too much, as he proceeds to further ridicule you. “Is that how you treat your brother's rival? I thought that even after all that, we could still count on each other to have an amicable relationship…"

Your breath hitches as your worst fears materialize before you.

"I—I didn’t mean to… appear rude.” you whisper. The rumors surrounding your brother and him were already nasty as they were… the last thing you wanted was to be added into the equation. 

Although you were more concerned for not leaving a first bad impression—even if you envisioned this moment happening way differently.

“Well, that’s all you’ve been to me—staring at me from afar. Not bothering to say hello, even when I greet you… and now, avoiding me.” he laments, as if he cared for this before Ranta made it aware you liked him, and your eyes widened. 

Has he really been all that aware of you? If that was the case, then he really was impressive… to keep attentive to his training, while being aware of someone so irrelevant like you is something only talented people like him could pull off.

“…I… I’m sorry” you murmur “I…  know it’s not an excuse, but… I didn’t know what to say. I guess I was surprised you… noticed…. Me” you drift on the last part, voice growing smaller and smaller as hotness settles on your cheeks.

“Why?” he asks, tilting his head a bit to the side, a gesture that makes you feel silly, put on the spot. Exactly where he wanted you. “Am I that… unapproachable?”

“I didn’t mean that!” you gasp, rushing to reassure Naoya upon seeing his face gloom. A reaction that would instantly infatuate Naoya, prompting him to tease you whenever possible to get that flustered face out of you. “…I just… admire you. And I… was too ashamed of telling you. I mean, you must hear it from everyone already, so why would I make any difference…?”

“You? Admiring me?” Naoya blurts, a bit too loud for his liking. Fortunately, you take his response as an act of humbleness, not him reflecting on the doubts Ranta planted on his mind. Doubts… he was ready to discard, until he received direct confirmation from your voice.

Quite unexpected, but welcomed nonetheless.

“Surely your brother was far more impressive. He was the champion… until I came along of course”

“Oh—I, I mean I guess so.” You chuckle nervously,  “But… I like your technique better.”

“You ride?” by your selections of words, he has to inquire. Had it been a casual watcher, they probably would’ve said something redundant such as “you look cool” or “how do you get the horse to do that?”

But coming from you and your background, his theory of you being trained to be a jockey, if not one already, rises to the occasion, alongside the idea of you being sent to spy on him—

“No” you respond, and it’s his time to be surprised.“Not really, the rest of my family are the ones that know all that stuff, but of course, you already know that” you laugh, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Then what? Are you afraid of horses or something?”

“It’s not like that!” you laugh, shaking your head. “I just… I don't like the sensation, that’s all. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? Considering everyone around seems to love it.”

Naoya doesn’t ponder on your answers too much, outside of what he can take to his advantage, of course. Judging by your reaction, the way you were referring to him, and your words, he comes up with two conclusions:

You’re telling the truth. And that you’re undoubtedly, irrefutably stars-truck by him. If not enamored at this point, by him.

A succession convincing enough to hitch him to you, believing he can get his fair share of fun from it, see just how far your desperation to please him will get you, and who knows? Even drive his rival crazy while at it.

Oh, he can already imagine the look on his face once your brother knows about it…

Partially made possible by the tabloids, who didn’t take long to notice something was up when they saw the two together getting dinner at some nearby, luxurious restaurant, courtesy of Naoya after a few days of insistence.

“I can’t, I don’t think it’s right” you’d try to reject him, and while he found your coyness adorable, the fact that he had to insist was annoying the hell out of him.

“Come on” he persists, eyes softening and lips pouting so as to pull your heartstrings “It’s the least I could do after the support you’ve been giving me”

You end up accepting, and the rest is history… recorded on the articles that began to circulate across the internet, the words “Naoya Zen’in in a relationship with his rival’s sister?!” their main, eye-catching title.

He didn’t care about it, in fact, he thrived on the attention, fed his ego and gave him the impression of invincibility, much to his manager’s displeasure, who had grown exhausted of telling and begging Naoya to be careful with his public persona…

You, on the other hand, never being one to be under the limelight, began to suffer the consequences of said thing. Starting by your mother, who reminded you that your actions not only affected you, but your brother’s reputation, which… “You are going to be in charge in a few years, once I retire from being his manager. Remember, it’s easier to maintain than to improve.”

To your brother, who stormed through your bedroom door as soon as the rumors graced his ears, with a newspaper in hand serving as evidence, intending to seek an answer.

“D—dating him?!” You flinch upon hearing his booming voice, a tone rarely used by him, if not to express his great happiness after a successful competition. “Of all people, you’re dating him?!”

“Who?!” you gasp, heart thundering against your chest as you drop what you were doing—nothingless than paperwork, for your almost due project. If you hadn’t been distracted by Naoya, this wouldn't be an issue… “What are you talking about?!”

“Who— Who else am I talking about, Y/N, if not the man you went to get dinner with yesterday??” he frowns, shoving the newspaper to you, giving it a quick reading before jumping back to Ren. “Why the hell would you go and fraternize with the enemy after the warnings I gave you?!”

“I just… went to get something to eat… it’s not a big deal.” And maybe that’s all that it was, although you wouldn’t tell him that you’d been fantasizing with the idea of being something more, thanks to the fact that you’ve kept contact with him, already received another invitation to go eat with him.

“… did he do something?” He asks, referring to his crude nature and another rumor that circulated between racers. If he hears, even if it’s the smallest, briefest implication that he had taken advantage of you—!

“No, of course not! You know that as soon as he does something I don’t like, he’s gone!” you reassure him, or attempt to anyway, for your brother is… quite stubborn when it comes to changing his mind on something he doesn’t like. 

Well, it’s not like he can do anything about it now, outside of hoping Naoya will keep his hands to himself, if not out of respect for you, at least for the sake of their “friendly” competition.

A sentiment that would struggle to remain, for that point forward the tabloids would just get crazier and crazier with their titles the more they saw the two together.

They always presented the same thing, of course, that the two were in some kind of secret relationship, probably to stir your brother (now introducing some kind of jealous rivalry between you and him) or that you’d jumped alliances to enjoy the privileges of a champion. 

All things that amused Naoya to no end, but greatly irritated you.

“I don’t like it” you’d confide to Naoya one night while he was driving you back home. “They’re saying nothing but a bunch of lies!”

“First time dealing with the tabloids?” he smirks, but far from being cheered up, your frown deepens.

“I don’t want this to affect my family”

“Then it won’t” he says, a free hand reaching over to your face and pinching your cheek “As long as you know the truth, who cares what they say?”

And you take his words to heart—after all, what you’re going through is nothing compared to him. So he must know how to navigate these situations.

You take his hand, turning around to see him and give him a smile.

“Thank you”

The two kept seeing each other, more and more frequently—always willing to join Naoya wherever he wanted to take you, to the point that’s all you looked forward to. Not even finishing your career, or helping out your mom with Ren’s upcoming PR events.

All that you wanted was to be with Naoya, see what kind of wonderful things he’ll show you on this occasion, and be overall happy.

And as things proceeded between the two… it naturally didn’t take long before things became a bit more serious.

There were never actual words muttered to imply the beginning of your relationship with him, but one day, it just made sense.

“Wow—it’s quite late, much more than what I expected!” you say upon noticing the dark sky, whilst holding his hand as the two leave the place both got dinner at. 

It was a miracle that there was no one to snap a picture of the two as they left the building, but that didn’t stop either from enjoying themselves to the best of their ability, being able to enjoy the quietness of the night for the first time in weeks. 

“And cold too!” you shivered, unwittingly squeezing his hand, a gesture he replicates. “Makes me want to get something warm…”

Naoya doesn’t respond, like he usually does. Back then it was because he thought your conversations to be a bit too silly to engage in completely, but now, it’s because he likes to listen to your voice. 

“Think we can go to a nearby coffee shop and get something?” you ask, stopping on your tracks, releasing his grasp and skipping ahead of him, turning to face him. 

The way you look at him is endearing, with big round eyes as if pleading him to consider your proposal, and a grin on your face he can’t help but feel warmed by it—maybe he’ll skip on the coffee. “You can get something too! I’ll pay for it, to make up for dinner, hmm? How about that? I know of a very good place too, you won’t regret it”

You continue to beam, and Naoya, by some strange reason, perhaps overwhelmed by your adorableness, leans down to your level and kisses you.

It’s a quick peck, nothing less than his lips brushing over yours in a sweet, loving gesture, but it’s enough to leave you dumbfounded during and after he peeled away from you.

Trying to understand what had just occurred, you blink rapidly, wanting to clear the image before you and debunk any possibilities of an hallucination—but the lingering warmth on your lips and cheeks proves you otherwise, more so when you look up to Naoya who was starting at you with the same startled look on his face.

Neither knew why the kiss happened, only that Naoya was suddenly inundated with the urge to do it, that you were a flustered mess, and that both liked it, feeling that regardless of why it occurred, it was the right thing to do.

The relationship between the two soon began to flourish into something deeper, more intimate, and quite intense too. You’d soon discover that Naoya was nothing of a gentle lover, but rather… passionate, desperate to get the new flavor you provided, whether it be stealing all of your kisses whenever possible, hoarding all of your attention on him when you were free —even if you were not…

Or exploring places where no one else had seen before.

“Am I really your first one?” Naoya mutters against your ear, appearing skeptic of your claims, as he holds you up against him, pounding and thrusting deep into your core as you hold back your moans, biting your lip to the point you’re sure it’s bleeding, but even with the pain you don’t relent, nor does the champion when it comes to wrecking your insides. “Tell—Tell me, princess” he groans; it’s always the same, whenever he teases you with one of his thousand pet names, your walls tighten, harshly squeezing him to the point he thinks you might cut his dick off—and he can’t get enough of it. He smirks at the sensation, thrusting sharper into you.  “Has anyone else—anyone else touched you like this?”

Not that he actually cares for actual confirmation—he just has to remember the stammering, heated mess you were when he implied the faintest need of wanting to spend the night with you to know you’d been a virgin all this time. As expected of a secluded, overprotected girl like you. Oh, he had so much to teach you…

“N—Nao—yaa” you whimper, unable to do anything else but chant the name of the man that is making you nothing but a drooling mess. “Mmmhmm!”

You cry, eyes rolling to the back of your head, when he hits that spot that has you a mumbling mess, whenever the tip of his cock touches it, you see stars—you never knew such thing could be possible, always thinking of it as nothing less than exaggerations of unattainable porn standards, but Naoya proves you yet again that whatever he sets his mind into, he obtains.

As his thrusts continue to attack your womb, you’re reaching your end, mind-numbing so, and all that you want to do is keep him there, deep inside you, and never let him go, evident by the way your arms tighten around his shoulders, hands crawling against his back, urging him to keep that pace, pleading:

“Naoya—Naoya…. Right—right there, Nao—” he smiles, giving you a rather harsh trust that has you jolting, squeaking just in his ear that has him moaning too—he can feel his seed itching to be released inside, and who was he to deny himself such pleasure?

“Y/N” he mutters hotly against you, nibbling your ear “Come—I want you to come with me—!”

And then, you do. Your release is a shower of sensations, from pleasure, happiness, satisfaction, a bit of tiredness to heat when Naoya finally spills inside you, filling your cervix up to the brim, to the point you feel him up to your throat—you want to run away from this overwhelming sensation, yet your core feels as if it’s demanding you to stay, be a good girl and take what he’s giving you.

But after you milk the last of his cum, deep inside your core, and he takes your lips, hungry, eagerly, as it was the norm whenever he kisses you and takes all your moans, is that the strongest sentiment comes to light: love.

“Naoya…” you breathe, chest heaving as he falls to your side, taking this opportunity to place your head on his chest and hear his rapid heartbeat. 

Getting to experience this closeness with your favorite person, and coincidentally, the man you undeniably love… makes you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

And you want to tell him that.

“Naoya” you repeat, low, uncertain, yet your heart is desperate to continue forward..

“What? Already ready for another round?” he teases, a sly smirk on his flustered face, and you pout.

“No… that’s not it.” You murmur, he chuckles.

“Good, I still have to recover from what we just did, for a minute I thought you were going to cut off my dick by how hard you were squeezing me.” he sighs, tired.

He’s always been blunt, a virtue you appreciate him for. But for tonight, it’s not what you were hoping to be with after being so close to each other, so… intimate, and just when you were debating whether to pour your heart out or not…

You give it a few seconds of thought, finally concluding that perhaps another day would be a better occasion. After all, you knew just how… intimidating it could be to hear someone’s feelings towards you, as well as how busy Naoya was to be for the upcoming season, and you don’t want to distract him…

So you don’t say it. 

You mean them all the same, but you don’t say them in that particular moment.

Every other day you’d be inundated with these same doubts and emotions whenever he’d take you—some of them spiking higher than the others due to the location of said acts, such as in the stables, quickly after putting his horse away.

You’d soon believe he had a knack for… taking you in public places, considering how intensely he’d ravage you, more so when given the faintest hint of another’s presence, which would always make you cower and squirm, or at least try to, because you were never be able to compete against him and his desires” 

“What? Afraid that they’ll see us like this? See you like this?” he’d husk, harshly thrusting his hips against you, hands on your hips as he sets a rough, 

“St—stop it” you’d say, to the best of your ability in between thrusts, for no matter how many times you’ve done this with him you could never get used to his roughness. “They—they’re going to see—!”

“Tell that to your cunt, princess” Naoya breathes, pulling you close to him, his breath is in your ear, hand hovering over your clit, squeezing it ever so lightly to get you just where he wants you. “The way you’re squeezing me—it’s— it’s like you—you want them to see”

He may say it with a worried tone, as if wondering if he'd be able to survive your seeming hunger for his cock, but his smile tells him otherwise.

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it? Let the world know how much you love fucking your brother’s rival”

You frantically shake your head, biting your lip when his words become too lewd, unwittingly tightening your walls against his cock. 

Your grasp lunges towards his hands, attempting to stop him from rubbing your clit and overwhelm your senses any further, or his roaming hand across your body which now settled in kneading and squeezing your breasts—although you always loved how crazy it drove you.

“Is my princess all needy for my cum?” he breathes, his trusts growing faster, erratic, while he harshly pinches your clit—he’s close.

“N—no…” is all that you manage to whimper through the knot in your throat, and the embarrassment that only makes you feel hotter and hotter when you begin to feel the familiar wave of blood rushing down to your pussy—you’re close too. “I don’t—I don’t—”

“Of course, not” he chuckles, leaning to kiss the side of your face. You moan at the contrasting difference of the obscene and the sweet, which only makes your heart skip a beat. “You’d never say that—you’re too much of a good girl to ever say that.”

And then, after a few more thrusts and moans of pleasure, reminding you just how much he loves fucking you, his hot seed spills inside you, painting every inch of your walls white and giving you that delicious, eye-rolling sensation that has you cumming immediately after— mind numb as your juices begin to gush onto him, mixing with his cum before sliding down your leg and onto the floor.

The stains of his cum leaves behind undeniably evidence of what transpired between the two, a sight that makes you flustered beyond limits, reminding you to clean up before leaving, but even then, all that you can think of is Naoya, and how much you truly, deeply, love him.

“Nao—Naoya…” you gasp, eyes watery, breath heavy, as your arms rise to wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer to you—he allows you, while doing his best to keep inside you. If there’s one thing he likes the most, outside of how you tightly grip him while cumming, is how you keep him warm afterwards. Said it felt like home. “…Naoya—”

“What?” he exhales, looking down to you as he tries to regain his breath. The person they heard approaching a few minutes earlier was completely out of his mind by this point, whether they’d seen them and left, or decided to stay and watch the show, it didn’t matter to him. Not anymore. Not when you were here. “You’re going to wear out my name.”

Maybe. You can’t help it after all—you just love how it rolls out on your tongue. Or how much you wanted to say it with the following words.

“I love you.”

You feel him tense up a bit, but you don’t think of anything else about it outside of being taken aback by your confession. He’s not very… affectionate when it comes to displaying it through words, sometimes even actions. Yet, you console yourself by the fact that he always comes back to you. You’ve become his home, and to you, that’s worth more than any “I love you”’s he could tell you.

At least for now.