#this is not all of what I have written down - I have four more longer paragraphs in notes apps
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âĄDear Lover - Hyunjin
MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST
pairing: fiancè Hyunjin x fem! reader
summary: Your parents have picked a husband for your sister and the two of them have been writing love letters back and forth for years before they meet on their wedding day. There is just one problem: you've been the one sending the letters to her future husband and now you're in love!
warnings: just fluff! some angst, drama, very soft hyunjin, lovesick reader
âMaybe start with why you were the one writing me the letters and not your sister?â Hyunjinâs nostrils flared as he spoke. But his tone wasnât angry, just confused. You looked exactly how he pictured you from your letters. A softness about you that translated through your words.
âShe asked me to. In the beginning, she didnât want to write to you. So, she asked me to do it instead to make our parents happy.â You pulled at the hem of your shirt, twisting it this way and that while your eyes stayed fixed on the ground. âPlease, don't be upset with her.â
Hyunjin stepped back for a moment. His eyes searched yours as the two of you finally locked onto one another. Eyes that he had pictured late at night. A face he had only seen in his dreams. Everything he had said in the letter was true. He was in love, just not with your sister. But the wedding was planned, the invitations sent out.
It was springtime when the letters first began. You remember the sound of birds chirping outside your bedroom window when your parents made the announcement that your sister was to be wed on the year of her 21st birthday.
âBut I donât want to marry someone Iâve never met!â She screamed. You were only partially paying attention. You were no longer the focus of your parents' attention. You were twenty-four now and practically a spinster. Your sister was going to have her wedding the very next spring. One year. She had one year to comply and accept what was happening.
âWeâve already failed with your older sister, we will not fail with you.â Your father boomed. His fat finger pointed sternly at you.
While your little sister protested for a few weeks, she ultimately agreed upon the marriage if she could at least see who she was to be betrothed to. But letters are all his family would agree to. A stern, traditional family that negotiated the terms of advised letters to be written once a week for one year until the wedding day. Meetings were held in secret by the patriarchs of the two families. Hands were shook and large cigars were smoked in celebration of the upcoming union. Then one cool spring night, your sister came knocking at your door with a favor to ask.
âYouâre a writer. Just write the letters for me and make me sound good okay?â She begged, her hands folding together while her eyes pleaded with you.
Reluctantly you agreed. One week after the other, you tried your best to sound like your sister. You wrote about her interests instead of your own. You included her favorite color and her favorite kind of food. But somewhere down the line, you slipped. Hyunjin had written about a favorite book of yours â Little Women. He had written paragraphs discussing the different characters and the depth of their description and diversity from one another. He had gushed about the writing style and the eloquent use of simile and metaphors. And your heart fluttered, fluttered and flipped in a way that was new and exciting. Your next letter was completely you. It was your voice, your thoughts, your ideas. The words just flowed out of you like wine and you would feel almost drunk by the time you signed your sisterâs name at the bottom.
Hyunjin would soon write about more personal subjects; his fears and insecurities. Of which you felt a kinship with. You would respond with words of comfort and love, thanking him for being so open and vulnerable with you. You would tell him about a beautiful sunset you saw or the lovely sound that snow made when you take a step early in the morning. Hyunjin would tell you how ready he was to hear that sound. How eager he was to hold you, to hear your laugh and touch your lips at last-
When everything was said and done, you knew the exact moment that things had gone too far. You had said âI love youâ in your final letter before the wedding. Hyunjin had responded that he was on his way and that he âloved you more that there were stars in the sky.â
You held that last letter tightly in your hands as the all black town car pulled into the driveway of your family home. You would see him, finally see him, and he would see you. Only you would be a shadow cast behind your sister. Hyunjin could never know that those words were not hers. He would marry her and you would go back to your life before. As Hyunjin slowly stepped out of the car, the sunlight shone through his hair like a beacon. His forearm flexed as he gripped the car door and closed it behind him. He stood still for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and your sister until his gaze finally landed on you. Your sister hastily stepped in front of you and introduced herself. Hyunjin shook his head for a second to break the stare between the two of you before smiling warmly at your sister. He held her tightly, his long arms sweeping around her waist and pulling her close to his chest.
âI am so happy to meet you in person, my love!â He exclaimed, his hand coming up to cradle your sisterâs face.
Dinner was a complete blur. The clanking sound of silverware and glasses swirled around your ears while your mind drifted further and further from the dining room. The voices of your family were distant, just an echo of a sound as you attempted to keep your food down. After dinner, Hyunjin and your sister snuck off somewhere in the house to be alone. You made your way up to your room and lied on your bed, willing your brain to erase the last year so the heaviness in your chest would subside.
âFine! Okay? I didnât write those stupid letters! But that doesnât mean anything, right?â your sister shouted from the other side of the wall. You stayed in bed and made your way to the wall that divided your two rooms to see if you could hear anything. âSheâs a loser! You donât want her!â Your sister screamed.
âIf she is the one that wrote all those letters, then I do. I do want her.â
Your heart dropped. You moved your head away from the wall and turned to face your bedroom door as you heard footsteps approach.
âPlease, donât be upset with her.â
âIâm not upset with her.â Hyunjin took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. âYou look just as I imagined.â He whispered, his breath brushing softly against your neck.
Your breath hitched as he moved closer. Your hands move instinctively to his waist. Your hips coming into contact with his as his hands move down your back and come to rest at your sides. He leans into your ear and speaks in a low tone. A secret shared just between the two of you. Something intimate that nothing in this world could penetrate. âYouâre the one I want to marry. Youâre the bride I have been waiting for.â
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âNo sleeping in, not even on my birthday. Thereâs too much to get done to waste the day in bed.â đâ¨
Happy birthday to my twst oc, Arlen Nox! I decided to do my spin on the new birthday card theme for Arlen even though they havenât released a Diasomnia character yet, so Arlen might not match Silver and the others when they come out. Trey and Floyd were big inspirations for Arlenâs card from his to his pajamas. Specifically for his pajamas I wanted to incorporate Kingdom Hearts elements since Arlenâs main inspiration is Riku, so I tied in some dream eater references.
If you swipe you can see how Arlen spent part of his birthday as well as what presents he received from his friends. Below you can read Arlenâs birthday vignette written in a similar style to the new birthday vignettes, which guest stars the character voted as Arlenâs duo partner on InstagramâŚSilver! I hope you all enjoy and if you have any questions about Arlen, feel free to leave them in my inbox! â¨
.â¨â¨â¨.
Arlen: Alright, I should be able to take these back to my room before track practice.
Arlen: Wait a secondâŚwhoâs that lying on the ground up ahead? Are they hurt?
Arlen: Oh, itâs just Silver. I donât have time to wasteâŚbut I hate to leave him in case heâs in a hurry to get somewhere too.
Arlen: Silver? Wake up, Silver. Nowâs not the time to be napping. Silver! SILVER!
Silver: Huh? What? Oh, Arlen, itâs you.
Arlen: Yeah, sorry about yelling in your ear. You were sleeping pretty soundly.
Silver: Sorry for the trouble I caused. I appreciate you taking the time to wake me up.
Arlen: Itâs fine. I was just on my way back from the post office and saw you laying there on the side of the path.
Silver: Post office? Not many students go there with all the technology available today.
Arlen: Unfortunately, Iâm not the best with technology, so I go there quite frequently. Today, I was picking up a card my stepparents sent me.
Silver: A card? Were they congratulating you about your performance in the recent track meet?
Arlen: No, they sent me a birthday card.
Silver: Birthday? Iâm terribly sorry if I missed it. Happy-
Arlen: Slow down, Silver, my birthdayâs not until tomorrow.
Silver: Really? I apologize for getting ahead of myself.
Arlen: Quit apologizing, birthdays arenât a big deal anyways. Just another day of the year.
Silver: Oh? Are you not a fan of big celebrations on your birthday?
Arlen: Not really? I donât know, I just donât understand the need to get so worked up about them. All youâre doing is getting older, whatâs there to really celebrate?
Silver: Hmm. I suppose people just like to celebrate that you lived another year, uplifting your growth and the memories you made in that short span of time.
Arlen: Sounds about right, I guess. The best partâs getting to eat cake.
Silver: Really? I thought you werenât a fan of sweets?
Arlen: Just ice cream, itâs way too sugary for my tastes. I enjoy cakes and pies just fine.
Silver: That explains Malleusâs initial reaction to youâŚ
Arlen: Huh?
Silver: Itâs nothing, justâŚhold on a moment, I just got a text from Sebek.
Silver: Oh no, I was asleep longer than I thought. I must be getting to the Equestrian Club. Farewell, Arlen!
Arlen: Bye, Silver.
Arlen: Guess Iâd better hurry on myself. Chatting with Silverâs nice, but I canât be late to practice or else Iâll have to run extra laps.
.â¨â¨â¨.
Arlen: Thereâs nothing like a hot shower after practice.
Arlen: Speaking of practice, I need to write down my new personal best. Canât believe I managed to shave off four seconds today. Maybe itâs some early birthday luck.
Arlen: The next track meet isnât for another month, so Iâve got plenty of time to cut down more time off my personal best. I wish I could shave off some more time from our relay record, it could definitely use some improvement.
Arlen: Competing individually comes easier to me than competing as a group. When itâs just me, I only have to worry about myself. When Iâm competing with others, I not only worry about myself, but I have to worry about the other guys as well. Itâs a lot of trusting one another, which doesnât come easilyâŚespecially in a school like Night Raven College.
Arlen: Luckily, Jack and Deuce handle their share of the relay just fine. Although, I wonder if by becoming closer it would shave off time for our relayâŚ.hmmm. Maybe Iâll treat them to dinner tomorrow after practice, theyâd enjoy that.
*Bzzt*
Arlen: My phone? Who could that be? Oh, Soren wants to FaceTime. Sure for just a couple minutes.
Soren: ARLEN! What took you so long? It took you like three rings instead of two! What-
Arlen: Slow down, Soren. I just got back from showering after practice. Iâm a bit sore today.
Soren: Oh, I see! Must be trying to beat my time from the track meet last week.
Arlen: Yeah right, youâre the one trying to catch up to me. Speaking of which, youâre going to have to work harder, I just shaved off four more seconds.
Soren: WAIT WHAT?! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! Kai wonât believe me when I tell him tomorrow.
Arlen: I could always send you a picture of my time as proof.
Soren: Ha ha, very funny. Laugh it up while you can, youâll be eating my dust soon enough.
Arlen: As if.
Soren: Oh let me tell you what happened in class today! So I was sitting with NeigeâŚ
*Time Passes*
Soren: I couldnât believe it when Chenya came out of alchemy lab with bright green hands.
Arlen: Well thatâs what you get when you mix aloe and pixie dust.
*Knock*
Lilia: Arlen, itâs past lights out. Off to bed with you.
Arlen: My bad!
Arlen: Sorry, Soren, weâll have to talk later.
Soren: Thatâs fine. But before you go, Iâve got one last thing to say to you.
Arlen: What?
Soren: Happy birthday, Arlen!
*Click*
Arlen: Huh? Is it really-
Arlen: We talked for that long!? So thatâs why he kept flying through topics, just to get to midnight.
Arlen: WaitâŚ
Arlen: Why was Lilia doing lights out checks so late!? What was he doing?!
Arlen: No use wasting time thinking about that. Iâve got to get to bed so I can get up early.
.â¨â¨â¨.
Arlen: Time to start the day. Itâs nice waking up early because the dorm bathroom is completely empty. Most people donât get up at the crack of dawn like I do. Sometimes I run into Sebek or Malleus, which is quite the jump scare as Idia would say.
Arlen: Alright, quick shower then itâs time to head out.
Arlen: I donât spend too much time on my appearance. Just combing my hair, brushing my teeth, the usual. No point spending extra time when itâll just get messy from the wind later.
Arlen: Some guys go all out with makeup and hair products, but thatâs just not my thing. Just some lotion will do just fine. Dry skin gets on my last nerve.
Arlen: Alright, next on my morning routine. Time to go get the feed from my room. I like being outside early, itâs a good way to clear my head. I feed the animals around the dorm while Iâm at, might as well since Iâm already out.
Arlen: I can see the birds waiting up in the rafters of the courtyard. They always wait up there, never getting close till I put the feed outâŚI hope theyâll grow to like me some day. Animals just donât seem to like me, I get it though.
Arlen: Hmm?
Arlen: A little sparrow is hopping right in front of me? Want something to eat little guy?
Arlen: Huh? Another birdâs come down? A rabbit too? I havenât even put down any food yet!?
???: Getting along with the animals, Arlen?
Arlen: Silver! That explains why the animals got closer than normal.
Silver: Iâm sure theyâre just finally coming around to you.
Arlen: As if.
Silver: You just gotta have more confidence in yourself. The animals can tell youâre nervous. Here.
Arlen: Huh? What are you doing with that bird? Silver, wait-
Silver: Just put your hand out like so and the bird will have a nice place to sit. Perfect.
Arlen: Silver, take it back before I hurt-
Silver: Youâre fine, just breathe. See? Itâs okay.
Arlen: âŚ
Silver: Arlen? Iâm sorry if I rushed you into-
Arlen: So what are you doing up so early? Doesnât a sleepyhead like you snooze through the morning.
Silver: Usually, yes, but I had something important this morning.
Arlen: Really?
Silver: Arlen, happy birthday.
Arlen: Huh? HaâŚha ha ha!
Silver: Whatâs so funny?
Arlen: Something important? Itâs just my birthday. You said that like it was the secret to saving the world from darkness or something.
Silver: Itâs important to me. I wanted you to know your birthday mattered to me, so much so I wanted to be the first to say it.
Arlen: Really? ThatâsâŚreally kind of you. Thank you, Silver.
Silver: Youâre welcome, Arlen. I hope you donât think thatâs all I prepared, I also made some coffee cake in the kitchen for breakfast.
Arlen: Pulling out all the stops arenât you.
Silver: Of course for a friend like you.
#arlen nox#soren is my sora oc#twst oc#silver#lilia vanrouge#malleus draconia#sebek zigvolt#idia shroud#jack howl#deuce spade#twst#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland fanart#twst fanart#ăă¤ăšă#ăă¤ăšăăăăŻăłăăźăŠăłă#fanart#my art#art#doodle
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wip wtuesday
tagged by @wispstalk :) tagging back @everybodyknows-everybodydies @jiubilant and @ervona
my current works in progress are all brainstorming and writing for summerfest, which will all be posted soonish anyway so I shan't post excerpts of any of that ahead of time. HOWEVER part of that is a slightly longer piece that I am making copious notes for whenever whim strikes. so this wip wtuesday is an insight into whatever the fuck my process is. very curious as to whether any of it makes any kind of external sense
#yes that is notes app on my computer - notes app on my phone - my wall immediately next to my pillow#it is not the only story note written on my bedroom wall#this is not all of what I have written down - I have four more longer paragraphs in notes apps#but they're a bit more revealing and you have to let a fellow have some mystery#a lot of my notes are just rough sketches of specific scenes. mostly dialogue outlines#I think of a great deal of dialogue while walking around in circles (powers the thinking machine) and then I have to#scribble out the main beats of it#lest I forget#this one is an idea I've had for a long long time and one of the prompts fit so perfectly I HAD to try to use it#here's hoping I can execute it as well as it is done in my mind!#I'm 3kish words in and I think it's turning out all right so far#fay writes#wip
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ex-conomics | csc
you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now heâs back after an injury derailed his career, and thereâs only one problem: youâre the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.
â˝ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader â˝ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff â˝ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. â˝ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. â˝ word count: 13.4k â˝ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. â˝ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3
You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.
âYouâve got to be joking.â
The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what itâs like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.
âUmââ
You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. âIâitâs fine, donât worry about it.â Your words do little to ease Freshmanâs nerves. Heâs still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way heâs squaring his shoulders. âYouâre sure about this, though? Like, Iâm really not being set up?â
âI donât think so?â he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. âDr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I donât think he wouldâve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and confââ
Good god, this kidâs anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. âNo need!â you interject. âIâll justâŚâ Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker youâre losing your resolve.
TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)
You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Leeâs does not come as a surprise. Heâs a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rateâmost students donât last more than a week in any of his classesâbut heâs also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.
That, however, was two years ago.
âDoes he know I donât tutor anymore?â Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I donât know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. âIâm Dr. Ahnâs TA this year. Iâve got my hands full with her bullsh⌠stuffââ
Immediately, you know youâve said something wrong, because the kidâs eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. âWait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?â
âNo, that one died,â you say quickly. Kid deflates. âAnyway, I donât really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can seeââyou gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your officeââtheyâve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesnât sum up this university I donât know what does.â
You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. âLook, Iâm sorry I canât help you. I tutored Dr. Leeâs students for, like, three years in undergrad so Iâm sure they just⌠forgot that wasnât my actual job here. Whoâs in charge of tutoring these days? Iâll shoot them an email and explain all this.â
Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but heâs still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. âYes?â
The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. âI justâum. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?â
You blink. âDonât you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?â He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. âFine. Whatâs your name, anyway?â
âLee Chan. Iâm a sophomore. Do you know that guy?â
âOh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but youâre gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.â
âThe guy they want you to tutor.â You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor isââChoi Seungcheol,â Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you knowâknew, you correct yourselfâsomeone with that name, once upon a time.
But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. Itâs been years since youâve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when heâd broken up with you toââI heard heâs a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess heâs pretty famous, but I donât know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.â
You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks youâd share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Choisâ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheolâs dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, thatâs what youâll remember for the rest of your life.
You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didnât really know any different, just that youâd look at him and feel butterflies. That youâd hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That youâd watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.
You think about all the football jargon you didnât understandâthe academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, Iâm thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just donât think thereâs much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.
You remember thinking it mustâve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.
You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheolâs face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.
You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So youâre just giving up? Is that what youâre saying? Think about, I donât know what else to do. It doesnât feel fair to you.
You think about all the places youâve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.
You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.
So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you canât tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.
âNo,â you finally answer. âNever heard of him.â
For all intents and purposes, your rejection shouldâve been the end of it.
A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you canât help but feel like youâve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls whoâd gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.
But you donât hear anything at all about it⌠until you do.
Sunday evening. You havenât moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you donât write many papers these days, so youâre out of practice. Feels like you havenât done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so youâre about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.
You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.
Your stomach plummets to the floor.
You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor⌠friend of his father⌠urgent matter⌠and your hands start shaking. Whether itâs from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you arenât sure, but itâs not like it matters. There arenât a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.
âMotherfucker,â you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.
Where did you go wrong to wind up here? Youâd followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. Youâd fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but thatâd been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.
The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. Youâd planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.
âDid you spill onion dip on the rug again?â You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. âOh. Were you watching porn?â
Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. âIn a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.â
She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. âSee, thatâs what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.â She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. âYou think this is still good?â
âDunno. Whatâs it smell like?â
She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. âVanilla, I think, which is concerning because itâs supposed to be strawberry.â
You shrug. âWhatâs the worst that can happen, you get extraââyou pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirelyââ...biotics?â
âMm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?â
Nose scrunched, you wave her off. âCouldnât pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if itâs expired. All yours, babe.â
Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before youâre groaning and slamming the top closed.
You donât even need to look over to know Kaoriâs staring. âWhatâs up with you?â she asks. Before she can answer: âWait, is this serious? Because I canât have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.â You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. âDonât breathe at me, I lost a bet.â
âAnd continued wearing it?â
She jokingly rolls her eyes. âGod forbid a girl has hobbies.â Nudges you with her foot. âCâmon, spill.â
Kaori doesnât know about you and Seungcheol. Most people donât, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long youâd been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasnât any evidence to delete, and he wasnât following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.
So, yeahâeven though you hadnât met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows youâve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and itâs why sheâs none the wiser when you ask, âItâs nothing, really. Justâdo you follow football at all?â
âNah, not really. The new guyâs pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but itâs so fucking boring? I dunno, I canât get into it. Not in real life, anywayâI binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?â
âStudent Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just donât have the time, you know? This semesterâs already killer, and Dr. Ahnâs been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out itâs some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, Iâm now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.â
Her face distorts. âGod, that guyâs such a prick. Like wow, youâre good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why donât you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!â
You also wrongly assume thatâs the last youâll hear of it from Kaori.
Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times youâll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.
âYou didnât tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.â
The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but itâs not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.
âExplains this weird text Ken sent me.â
She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:
doesnât ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her âur roomieâ like you donât know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No đ fine. can i come over later? Starting to think youâre using me for my roommate. Get your own job đ
You hand her phone back. âI didnât think youâd know who Choi Seungcheol even is.â Itâs the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. âYou said youâre not into football.â
âIâm not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.â She sighs, wistful and longing. âBabe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.â
You hadnât wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university youâd gone to for undergrad.
Youâd applied to schools all overâJapan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasnât a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheolâs relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. Theyâd waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.
And itâd just been⌠a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so youâd stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.
But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave booksâold paperbacks littered with notes in your writingâor papers, just to see if they move.
They never do.
And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When youâre halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahnâs exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you donât even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. Youâve always sensed him before you felt him.
âThere you are,â Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame thatâs always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch thatâs triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright theyâre nearly blinding. âIâve been looking all over for you.â
This time it is an accusation.
Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak youâll summon him closer and youâll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.
You plaster on a polite smile. Say, âAh, here I am, kyosu-nim,â and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.
Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but thatâs not the reason it feels like all the airâs been sucked out of the room.
Seungcheol looks⌠different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like heâs trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.
You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you canât tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.
â...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expectâŚâ
You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dreamâone youâd always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, tooâand, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years wouldâve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurtâindifference, at the very least.
â...as many hours per week as you both can manageâŚâ
But you shouldâve known better. Shouldâve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Shouldâve expected everything to feel upside-down. You shouldâve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.
â...you are responsible for his academic progressâŚâ
And that simply will not do. Youâve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. Youâve purged the thought of him from your mindâlet his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt heâd left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.
You cannot go there again.
So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, âAh, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, Iâm sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, donât you think?â
Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like heâs all of a sudden remembered heâs late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then heâs halfway out of the library with a terse, âDiscuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,â thrown over his shoulder.
You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you canât even bring yourself to care about it.
Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since youâve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. âHereâs my email. I donât have time to discuss this right now.â Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but thereâs not much you can do about that. âWhat? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. Itâll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.â
He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, âYeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,â and if you hadnât gone years without speaking, you wouldâve seen right through it.
But you did, so it stings all the same.
As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.
You grade Dr. Ahnâs coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though itâs pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaoriâs maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.
Other peopleâs embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, youâve come to learn.
Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesnât mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when youâre sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the âRecommended Tutoring: Highâ part for good measure.
He doesnât take your baitâelectronically, at leastâbut he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.
Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, âThey spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.â
âI know,â you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. âWhat can I help you with?â
âDepends. How long do you have?â
âWell, considering youâve shown up to my office hours on time, Iâm assuming you already know Iâm here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. Soââyou glance at the clock above the doorââassuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.â
Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. âI looked over your syllabus. The good news is thereâs only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is thereâs only a midterm and a final so theyâre weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.â
âThatâs why youâre here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.â
You huff a breath through your nose. âIâm here as supplemental help. I canât take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?â
He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which⌠is unlike him, you think, if youâre even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. âBusiness Accounting and International Trade.â
âCould be worse,â you note. âAt least those three courses are tangentially related.â
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. âEasy for you to say. I havenât taken a fucking math class in years.â
You return it. âYou remember how to add and subtract, donât you?â
âI ruptured my ACL, not myâŚâ He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he canât name a part of theââBrain.â
Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injuryâthe first youâre hearing of it at all, actuallyâand he says it like itâs a joke, like itâs not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation heâs found himself in. The unfairness of it all.
And there are so many questions you want to ask that arenât your place: if itâs fixable, if heâll ever play again, how heâs coping. But you donât really need toâyou canât imagine how youâd feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.
Not that the man sitting across from you hadnât already done that, but.
âRight,â you continue, as if he hadnât said anything at all. You know Seungcheolâknow he wouldnât want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. âI want you to take a look at this,â you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. âTell me what looks familiar, what doesnât; what does and doesnât make sense.â
He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. âWhat the fuck is this?â
âIâwhat? Cheol, itâs my old notes on recitation. Surely youâve already covered thisâthe syllabus says this is week one stuff.â He looks down at the paper again, and itâs so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someoneâs eyes.
You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.
You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.
He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that itâs not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.
Itâs the first time youâve seen him so excited since your tutoring beganâthe first glimmer of hope youâve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone youâve ever met, so youâre not surprised heâs doing well, excelling, but you are surprisedâ
âCan I ask you something?â Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. âWhy are you⌠uh. Here?â
âAt this university?â
âNot exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess⌠why business?â
Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No oneâs using it, and truthfully the two of you probably arenât even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. Itâs nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.
âAh, I donât know. You know how it goes.â
You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years youâve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didnât want to do. All that grit and determination. âWhat about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. Heâs a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.â
Doesnât take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheolâs father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last youâd heard from your mother, Seungcheolâs brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.
So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You canât blame him, even if youâve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his fatherâs company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he shouldâve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.
Doesnât stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesnât stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.
But you also know this isnât something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a jokeââI mean, business. God, whoâd wanna go into that?ââand go back to what he was willing to talk about.
Youâve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.
Deep in the throes of tutoringâwhen you canât tell if itâs week two or week twelveâyou make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.
The door flies open just as youâre about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than youâve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if youâre being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.
âOh, hi,â you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. âEverything okay?â
He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually heâs a talkerâyou havenât been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeksâso youâre a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and thatâs where Kaori finds you a moment later.
âYou gonna stand out here all night, orâŚ?â
âOhâyeah, right.â
You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show youâll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.
You donât have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the nightâthe way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.
I, uh, have an early class, heâd said. You know how it is.
Maybe you shouldâve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. Sheâll get attached if you donât tell her. She should know itâs different for you, if it is.
But youâd convinced yourself it wasnât your place. Kaori wouldnât want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldnât have known he left at all if you hadnât been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.
So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.
âIâm a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,â you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. Itâs a lieâyouâve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to knowâbut she contemplates it nonetheless. âAlso, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think theyâre in the fridge.â
âWhy are there cookies in the fridge?â
You huff a laugh. âThey were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I donât knowâjust saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.â
She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesnât mention a thing.
The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.
âNot bad, actually.â
Her smile doesnât reach her eyes when she says, âThatâs good. Iâm glad things are going well for you two.â
Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.
âCan I help you?â
He doesnât answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. âMaybe,â comes his cryptic retort. âI was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.â
You narrow your eyes. âNo, you werenât.â
He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he canât believe that didnât work. âYouâre right, youâre right. I, umâI wanted to come say thank you.â He pauses. âYou know, for that⌠email you sent.â
You blink. âNo, you didnât.â
Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like heâs wailing when he says, âIâm sorry! They put me up to it!â
What youâre able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheolâs tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Mightâve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.
âThey want to know about his girlfriend.â
âHis what?â
What youâre able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you donât know anything and, even if you did, you wouldnât put his business out there like that.
But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say thereâs nothing to reportânot that you didnât know, not that he couldnât get anything out of you. Seungcheol isnât dating anyone.
You donât know if itâs true, but you figure that if it isnât, he still deserves privacy.
Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.
âWhatâs wrong?â
Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.
What you settle on is, âSorry, I just⌠had an interesting meeting before you got here.â
âOh. Are you okay?â
You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. âIt was about you, actually.â
Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you canât make sense of. Says, âMe? Why? I passed my last examâI mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasnât your fault! I didnât study enough! Iâve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucksââ
âIt wasnât about your grades, Cheol.â
âOh.â Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. âHavenât heard you call me Cheol in a while.â
âSeungcheol,â you correct.
He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say youâll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much sheâd loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.
They were, but you canât seem to tell him that, either.
Seungcheol: sorry itâs last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?
Seungcheol shared a location with you
Youâre halfway to replyingâI donât think thatâs appropriateâbefore you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you donât have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment thatâs where youâll meet him.
You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until theyâre nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your exâs swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldnât know where he lives. Maybe you shouldnât even have his phone number or answer his texts.
Not that thereâs much you can do about it now, two stops away.
Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although itâs less âmessâ and more âhavenât finished unpacking,â but thereâs enough clear space to study at the dining table, so thatâs where you set up, determined to keep things professional.
âSorry again about this,â Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. âI had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.â
âOh. Howâs he doing?â
Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. âSame as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Canât get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.â
âThe business is doing good, though.â You cough, clear your throat. âMy, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I donât know if your father told you that.â
You donât know why you say it, because itâs clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheolâs face that he hadnât known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.
âHe didnât,â he admits, âbut Iâm sure he was happy to see him. He was, uhâhe was glad to hear youâre my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.â
You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. âWell, no need to prove him right. Come on,â you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, âletâs get to work.â
Everything is alright for a whileânearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.
The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesnât know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first heâs able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.
He snaps, you snap back, and you canât figure out why. Youâve survived this long in Seungcheolâs orbit even though you never thought youâd be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, butâŚ
Itâs the familiarity, you realize.
You and Seungcheol arenât friends, though youâve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You donât belong here. You donât want to be his friendâyou canât be, not for real or pretend.
âThatâs not what Iâm sayââ
âThen explain it better,â Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. âYouâre the tutor here.â
You roll your eyes. âIâm trying, okay? All I meant wasâyour answer isnât wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and heâs going to want more than that in a response.â
âRightânot good enough, like I said.â
âIâm just asking you to expand on your answerââ
âAnd Iâm telling you thatâs all Iâve got. Iâm not like you, all right? I donât have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. Iâm not smart, I barely have any idea whatâs going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.â
You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.
So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichĂŠs.
The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.
Another clichĂŠ: that itâs starting to feel like that all over again.
Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Canât fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whateverâs there.
Stupid, you thinkâboth to do this and to think itâd play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.
âCheol,â you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. Heâs typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. âSeungcheol,â you try again.
Also fruitless.
You have no claim here, you remind yourselfânot to his time, not to him. Heâs only here because someone else mandated it. Youâre only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.
And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldnât gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.
But it isnât, and youâre not.
âIf youâre not going to listen, thenââ
âI am listening,â he interjects, but heâs not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and itâs sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomachâs been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you donât want to be here anyway, donât want to do this anymore, and youâre wasting your time on someone who doesnât appreciate it.
Perhaps he never did.
âWhat are we discussing, then?â
Still not looking up: âConsumer theory.â
You laughâmore a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. âWrong,â you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. âIâm gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.â
It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. Itâs clear heâs pissed you off, that youâre itching for a fight. Itâs clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.
âLetâs talk about ROI. You know what that is?â You barely give him a second. âReturn on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, letâs say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?â
He nods.
âGreat, now letâs try something a bit more hypothetical.â You suck in a breath. âLetâs say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Letâs say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he hadâwent to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, letâs say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Letâs say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.â
The thing about pain is itâs not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it canât anymore, and thatâs where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption youâd never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.
So you donât even notice youâre crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheolâs hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad youâre sure youâre either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.
Until you say, âWhat, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?â and he has nothing to say at all.
Kaori invites you to a party.
Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmateâs birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing thatâd earn a second glance from campus security. I wonât even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.
After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.
So here you are, nearly eleven oâclock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You arenât thinking about your classes or how youâve been prioritizing everyone elseâs academic success. You arenât thinking about whateverâs going on between Kaori and Ken. You arenât thinking about Seungcheol.
At least you arenât, until he walks through the door.
Youâre going to continue not thinking about him at allânot about the fact heâs alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt thatâs a little taut in the shoulders. Youâre not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows heâs important and is willing to accommodate. Youâre not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god heâs so beefy at you.
Youâre not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesnât know, because if you do youâre certain itâll take over.
You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because thereâs a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.
You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.
Seungcheol finds you in your office.
Itâs not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesnât even bother knocking before heâs barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.
You havenât seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasnât bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if thatâs how he wanted to act, but it isnât until heâs brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize youâre still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.
So you donât mean toâtypically have much more professionalism than thisâbut when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, âThis is your fault,â the words come automatically and without forethought.
âFuck off, Seungcheol.â Itâs not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. âThatâs what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because youâre a coward.â
He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. âIâm aâIâm a coward?â
��Yes,â you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. âThis,â you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, âis all on you, but do please let me know if thereâs anything else youâd like to blame me for. Iâm all ears.â
You donât miss it: the way Seungcheolâs eyes grow wide at your âIâm all.â The way he thinks youâre going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, itâs that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from youâthe man that continues to leave before heâs left, always at your expense.
So, yeahâSeungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.
But he doesnât look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. Heâs always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasnât warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe thatâs why youâd thought heâd treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldnât just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and thatâs why it's been years and you still arenât over it.
Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.
Because not once since heâs been back have you been able to say what you mean. Canât seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that youâve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.
âI could never blame you for a goddamn thing,â he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.
You so desperately want to know. You donât want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if itâs guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first timeâyouâre not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because youâve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.
Today, though, it doesnât look like youâre going to get any answers.
Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then heâs gone just as abruptly as heâd arrived.
Again.
Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you canât come up with a good reason not to join her.
She doesnât mention Ken once. Not when sheâs sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when youâonly halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignmentsâsuggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Kenâs favorite place.
Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.
And thereâs respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever sheâs feeling is honest; at least she can admit sheâs sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, âCan I tell you something or is now not a good time?â
Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. âWell, I guess it depends,â is her answer, and she doesnât shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. âIf youâre going to tell me youâre a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if itâs anything worse Iâm not sure I could take it.â
âIâwhat? Who even are they?â She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. âItâs, uh.â Clear your throat. âDo you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasnât looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a hugeââ
She hides her face behind her hands. âEw, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.â
âRight. And I told you I wasnât looking for anything because Iâd just gotten out of something.â
âNot really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it shouldâve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.â
You nod. âIâyeah, that sounds like something I wouldâve said.â You suck in a deep breath. âListen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, butââ
âHey,â Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. âItâs okay. Thereâs a lot you donât know about me, too⌠most of which Iâm not sure you should, actually.â
A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation youâre about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe itâs not herâor anyone elseâsâbusiness, but you think youâve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.
Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.
You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didnât feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheolâs eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all youâd wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how youâd rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought itâd take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.
Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?
Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheolâs relationshipâthat youâd burned bright and fast, even though itâd felt like a million years. Hadnât dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.
Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?
Think about the way Seungcheolâs eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That theyâre always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadnât noticed.
You think about the explanationâisoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutableâand what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.
L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.
You know what your and Seungcheolâs graph wouldâve looked like back then.
So itâs easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheolâyes, that Seungcheol.
Sheâs able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she canât: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous youâd felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.
âCould you feel it was going to happen?â Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. âLike, did you know?â
âI donât know,â you admit. âMaybe I did? Itâs hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.â You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. âYou couldnât go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just⌠normal, you know? I wasnât some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?â
Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. âI donât think you were. Maybe thatâs why Seungcheol was worriedâmaybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.â
You want to push back, argue that you werenât, that you didnât, but the truth is that itâs possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheolâs dreams were so massive you wouldnât be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. âIt still wasnât his choice to make,â you say, voice barely above a whisper.
And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, âSometimes thatâs just how it goes, though, babe,â it doesnât feel condescending. âWe do the best we can with what weâve got at the time. You can say now it wasnât Seungcheolâs choice to make, because itâs been almost five years and youâve made a life for yourself separate from him. But theâgod, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorryâbut you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.â
She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. âShit, Iâm nearly halfway to thirty and I still donât know anything.â Adopts a frown. âWhat do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?â
âI donât know,â you admit, biting at a hangnail. âHe actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.â
âA USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?â A pause. âAre you gonna look at it, though?â
You do.
Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and youâve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never didâfair enoughâso you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.
It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of themâsome from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.
Youâre not sure what you expected, but it wasnât this.
You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. Heâs in his room back in Daegu, canât get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldnât name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes youâd written him in school, and theyâre all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.
The next: a few weeks after youâd started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like heâs telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I donât know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.
Thereâs a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers youâve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you canât bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.
You click on a different one at random. Seungcheolâs somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietlyâwhenever he filmed this, it mustâve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that itâs a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesnât tell you where heâs going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe heâs grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where heâs standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I donât know why Iâm telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. Youâd probably think that was funny.
(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)
One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than youâve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, Iâm so nervous. Iâm soâso fucking nervous and I donât. Fuck, I donât know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but thatâs so fucking selfish. God, we havenât spoken in years, and itâs myâthatâs my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.
Another from a week after that: the colorâs returned to his face, and heâs recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like heâs no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you donât understand.
Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-whatâwater, champagne, you donât know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.
You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.
âHi,â he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheolâs in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. âThis is going to be the last one of these I make. I donât know if you, uhâIâm sure you arenât paying attention to meâmy careerâanymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. Theyâre not sure IâllâŚâ A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. âThey donât know if Iâll ever play again.â
Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. âMaybe youâll be happy to hear that,â he continues. âMaybe itâll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.â
Cut to black.
The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video youâd skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.
I donât know why Iâm doing this. Itâs not like Iâll ever show these to you now, since IâŚ
Iâm sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I donât know what Iâm doing, I justâthings have been so hard, and Iâm still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now Iâm scrambling. I didnât think it was fair toâto drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I donât know, baby, I donâtâŚ
You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. Iâm so scared that the world will never see you for who you areâso beautiful and intelligent and kind. You donât deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know youâre gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think Iâm trying to be selfless and heroic, and youâd be right. Itâs not fair, and I wish I could tell you Iâm sorry.
I wish I could just⌠pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I donâtâI donât want you to think Iâm not hurting. Iâve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know Iâm making a mistake, I know I am, I justâhow do I do what I think is right in the long-run when itâs not what I want right now, or ever?
I donât want to get over you. I donât want you to get over me, and thatâs how you know Iâm not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just⌠wish it was with me.
So, Iâm going to keep making these. Iâm going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why youâre not. Iâm soâIâm so sorry, I donâtâŚ
Iâm sorry.
I love you.
You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.
The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.
âCould you send another container of yakgwa?â
On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. âWhat happened to the last container I sent?â
âAh, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.â
She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. âI remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.â
âWell, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.â
After haranguing you into admitting theyâre for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how youâre going to approach the man in question.
The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadnât even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment youâd been holding onto and set it free, and now youâre just left with⌠a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if itâs too late, but you donât let those thoughts get very far.
Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.
You worry if itâll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circleâŚ
And start recording.
He hadnât gotten it at first. Not really.
Thereâd been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No noteânot that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasnât sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?
Heâd just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didnât think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he justâŚ
Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and heâd rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?
Itâd been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasnât you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching thatâ
And then there it was.
All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadnât been recorded by himâ
Hi, Cheol, you say, and thatâs all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. Iâm not sure what to say here. I donât really record muchâsometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.
I wanted to tell you everything Iâve been up to since you left, but it hasnât been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergradâthe same thing Iâm tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. Itâs not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but itâs good enough.
I donât think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was⌠obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They arenât seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, butâspeaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.
Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didnât take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now⌠I donât know. Maybe thereâs a reason I stayed behind. Maybe thereâs a reason you ended up back here, too.
Whatever happensâI donât want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what weâve got at the time, and I understand now thatâs what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And Iâm sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I canât imagine how hard it mustâve been to go to all these places you didnât know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.
You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and thatâs all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.
Hereâs my address if you ever want to come by to talk.
I love you, too.
âand then heâd been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.
Felt like the drive took hours. Mustâve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.
Thereâs a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, âOh, you must be Kaoriâs ex,â he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.
He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, âFuck off, Kenji, I already told you sheâs not here!â
âItâs me,â Seungcheol yells back.
Thereâs quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaoriâs ex down the hall.
Then youâre yanking the door openâslowly, so slowly, like youâre scared itâs not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesnât let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.
Somehow you taste the same.
Somehow you taste like redemption.
You taste like home.
Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all youâre all he knows again.
When he pulls away, youâre gripping at his sweatshirt, donât want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says heâs going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, heâs such an idiotâ
And then you say, âYou came back,â and nothing else matters.
âI always will.â
(Later on, as youâre trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheolâs hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, âChoi Seungcheol, donât you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.â)
if youâve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. đ
i would love to hear your thoughts! <3
#seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol angst#seungcheol au#scoups angst#seungcheol imagines#scoups imagines#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#jewel writes
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Soft Edges
SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.
PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)
WC: 2K
WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff
A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3
You wake with a jolt to the sound of Loganâs alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Loganâs low, âAh, fuck,â before silence reclaims the room.Â
Itâs early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans.Â
âI thought you were off today,â you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders.Â
He looks back at you with a soft smile. âDidnât mean to wake you,â he says, continuing to dress. âPicked up an extra shift at the yard.â
Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful.Â
You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and itâs these soft moments about him you love the most. âDo you even know how to relax?â you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets.Â
âI relax,â he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed.Â
You canât help the snort that escapes from you. âName one thing you to do relax,â you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots.Â
Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. âYou.â
He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. âRelaxing really ainât my style, sweetheart.âÂ
âYou deserve it though,â you say, stifling a yawn.Â
Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesnât respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.Â
âGo back to sleep,â he murmurs.
You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be.Â
+++
You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. Youâre just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Loganâs keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak.Â
âIn here, babe!â you call from the kitchen.Â
âI could smell this all the way downstairs,â he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. âWhatâs this for?â
Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek.Â
You savor these moments with him. When youâd first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like thisâwhere heâs soft and affectionateâhave become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate.Â
âI thought you could use a nice dinner,â you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. âLong day?â
Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. âOne of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,â he mutters, his breath warm against your skin.Â
You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. âWell, youâre home now and Iâve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.â
He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. âSure you donât need help?â
âYou try and help me, and Iâll beat you with this spoon,â you tease.Â
Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. âPromise?â
You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. âDonât threaten me with a good time, Logan.â
Loganâs eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. âAlright, alright,â he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. âIâll just go wash up.âÂ
As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans.Â
âCome eat, Lo.â
He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. âThis smells incredible.â
You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. âFuck, this is good.â
A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. âI experimented with the cast iron skillet,â you comment as you watch him. âLooks like it was a solid impulse purchase.â
The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. âYou didnât have to do this, you know,â he says, his voice low and warm.Â
âI wanted to,â you reply simply. âAnd, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.â
Thereâs a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know heâs not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. âYouâre somethinâ else, you know that?â His voice is gruff but thereâs a tenderness there that makes your chest ache.Â
âA good something?â
He smiles. âThe best somethinâ.â
You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. âCare to indulge me once more?â
He quirks his eyebrow. âWhat did you have in mind?â
+++
Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. âItâs just a bath, Logan.â
He eyes the tub as if heâs waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. âI donât do baths,â he mutters.Â
You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. âYeah, and you donât relax either. Just humor me.â
Logan gives you a lookâhalf amused, half reluctantâas he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. âFine,â he grumbles, âbut only if you join me.â
You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. âTough bargain, but I accept.â
You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Loganâs posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like heâs not entirely sure what comes next.Â
Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. âOkay, now strip.â
Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. âOh, so this is what you really wanted.â
âYouâre not that hard to get naked, Logan,â you say with a laugh.Â
He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you canât help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare.Â
You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles.Â
âSee?â you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. âIsnât this nice?â
Logan peeks up at you and smirks. âThe naked woman helps.â
You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. âYou donât have to admit you like it,â you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. âYouâre basically a wet noodle in my arms.â
He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles.Â
You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Loganâs chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. âI donât deserve you,â he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.Â
You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. âYou do, Logan. Despite your past, youâre a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.â Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. âOr least help you relax every once in a while.â
You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. Heâs already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesnât even let you grab your own before pulling you close.Â
A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss.Â
You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go.Â
âSo,â he starts slowly, âNow that youâve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?â
A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesnât give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.
âAlright, sweetheart,â he says with a grin, âMy turn.â
#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett#wolverine#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#logan x reader#x men
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all's fair in love and viscera...
pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader wc: 6.7k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. authorâs note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!
logan wants to spar...
You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.
Itâs funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.
Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.
Logan's blood is something entirely different.
The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.
Loganâs blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.
It's like nothing you've ever encountered beforeâhot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.
You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.
Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal thatâs deeply ingrained in his being.
The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.
Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.
You don't look at him, but you can feel his gazeâan intense, almost palpable thing.
âFigured youâd be down here,â Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. âCouldnât sleep, huh?âÂ
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.
You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you donât want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.
You like Logan too much, more than you should.
Every time heâs near, youâre intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. Itâs like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close.Â
âCome on, kid. You canât ignore me all night,â he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."
You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Loganâs standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
That smirkâit's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.
âDidnât know you were the begging type.â Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.
Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.
"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.
Your form falters, just barely, but itâs enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.
You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.
"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.
âTrying to,â you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.
"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.
"Itâs not my fault youâre here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.
"Looks to me like youâre always at your least chatty,â he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.
"It's late,â you reply tersely.
"Yeah," he says. "It is late."
The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.
"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.
âYeah, well,â you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. âSome of us donât need all the beauty sleep."
Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."
You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. âYou donât have to babysit me, you know.â
âBabysit?â He smirks, clearly amused. âIs that what you think Iâm doing?â
Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.
"What do you want, Logan?â
It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.
Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like itâs igniting the tension in your body, and Loganâs only making it worse the closer he gets.
He stops a little less than a foot away from you. Itâs too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.
Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.
He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.
He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.
"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Loganâs already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.
You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."
Logan chuckles wryly, âCouldâve fooled me, sweetheart.â
The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. Itâs always the way he says itârough around the edges but with a softness thatâs almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.
"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.
You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."
You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.
"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.
That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension thatâs been building since he walked in. Youâre not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.
Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.
Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.
"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Loganâs eyes are locked on yours.
Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."
You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something elseâsomething unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.
Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.
"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"
Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."
You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.
But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.
"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."
Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."
He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punchesâleft, right, leftâeach one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.
You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldnât expect.
"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.
You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.
Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.
There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.
With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.
You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.
There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.
But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore.Â
You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.
The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.
The scent of himâearthy, electric, and utterly intoxicatingâgrowing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.
It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you donât need to thinkâyou just move, letting your instincts take over.
Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.
All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.
"Gotcha."
You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all reallyâbut the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.
The whole room feels like itâs spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Loganâs eyes, the heat of him against you.
Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.
For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.
Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.
Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.
The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.
You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.
You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.
Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.
"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."
It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.
Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.
Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.
You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.
Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.
But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse pointâthe touch sends a jolt through you, as if heâs touched a live wire.
âDon't,â he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. âDon't stop now."
Loganâs other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesnât try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.
âCome on,â he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. âI can take it. Give it to me.â
The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way heâs willingly surrendering to your control.
You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but itâs no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.
If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.
Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.
Loganâs breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.
Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.
The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.
Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.
Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Loganâs breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.
Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Loganâs eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.
In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Loganâs body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.
You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.
His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.
Loganâs breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesnât pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.
it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.
None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between youâthe way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.
You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.
"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head.Â
Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. Youâve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.
You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.
"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.
"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.
It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.
He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.
"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.
You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.
"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line youâre not sure youâre ready to cross.
"I need you,â you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free âI need everything.â
Loganâs eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.
The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.
The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Loganâs groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.
Logan is relentless, devouring you like heâs been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.
Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldnât work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.
Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where theyâre locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.
âLogan,â you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.
âTaste so fucking good, baby,â he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. âCould eat you all night.â
âLogan, Iâmââ you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.
Logan doesnât stop, doesnât give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.
âFuck, Logan, please,â you gasp, not even sure what youâre begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache thatâs still throbbing deep inside you.
Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.
Loganâs hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.
âStill with me?â he asks, his voice is softer than before but thereâs still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.
You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. âYeah...Iâm here.â
âGood,â he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. âBecause Iâm not done with you yet.â
Youâre on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure.Â
Itâs a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips.Â
You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his backâneeding to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way thatâs as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache thatâs building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You canât help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. âPlease, Logan,â you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. âFuck me, I need it, pleaseâ.âÂ
He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. âYou sure youâre ready for this, sweetheart?â he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.Â
You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. âYes, please, justââ Logan doesnât let you finish.Â
With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before heâs pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace.Â
You donât have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. Itâs only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same.Â
Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder.Â
âFuck, youâre tight,â he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where youâre stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. âFeels like heaven, sweetheart.â
You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him.Â
âYou like that donât you?â Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. âYou like getting fucked like this, princess?â He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, âI can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it."Â
He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, donât you? Getting me all riled up like this."
You canât respond, canât speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.
The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Loganâs body.
The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.
âFuck,â Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.
You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Loganâs breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.
"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.
Heâs fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. âTaking my cock so well, best fuckinâ pussy Iâve ever felt.â
You can feel the way Loganâs cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know heâs close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.
You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.
You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger thatâs almost feral.Â
And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.
Loganâs reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.
You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. Itâs everything youâve been craving, everything youâve been trying to resist. And now that youâve finally given in, itâs like a dam has broken inside you.
Loganâs growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. Itâs so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips donât slow, still pumping and fucking like heâs trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.
The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.
Loganâs hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like youâre floating through the air, completely weightless.Â
You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Loganâs body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs.Â
But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Loganâs eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.
Thereâs a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something elseâsomething new and unspoken. Youâre both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.
Loganâs hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.
Finally, he reaches down slowly, like youâre a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.
âWhat do you feel,â he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.
The question catches you off guard. Itâs a challenge, but itâs also an invitationâa chance to confront whateverâs swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.
"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."
Loganâs eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.
âGood,â he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. âThat makes two of us.â
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
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we do not talk enough about the moment right before crowley puts his sunglasses back on. the "nothing lasts forever" is devastating and if you're like me your eyes were so full of tears you couldn't see the screen the first time you watched it (just like crowley, look at us all twinning in sadness!).
there is a shift that happens in his eyes and i think it is absolutely fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time.
we begin with crowley averting his gaze from aziraphale's face and staring off into the distance instead, and you can see his spirit break. that crowley just lost the one thing in the world he cannot live without and we can see it written across his face like a neon sign.
then, as you'd expect, he gives into the need to cover up his pain, to try and make himself less vulnerable, and even before he lifts his glasses he looks down so aziraphale can no longer see his eyes.
now, the next part is what would not let me out of its grasp all day. we know it happens because of his demeanour afterwards and up until the kiss, but you can actually watch as crowley makes himself numb to the world.
i am intimately familiar with dissociation as a trauma and stress response, and while you can never fully control it, you do eventually find the switch in your mind that makes you snap back into the haze. crowley has had six thousand years to get really, really good at leaving reality behind when he needs and/or wants to.
that's exactly what he does.
he still looks sad, and yet there's just something distinctly distant in his eyes, the shift from openly heartbroken to "i don't want to feel any of this let me leave".
glasses? on
emotions? off
hotel? trivago
i have stared at those four frames more than any person probably should and i don't know if it's the light, if i am going insane, or if there is a single tear sliding out of his right (our left) eye. i'm probably insane and the light is a bitch so if anyone has some high resolution shots or anything that could answer that question without a doubt PLEASE do add it.
by now you are probably ready to threaten me with a knife in a dark alley but before you do that or drive your car off a cliff, let me tell you the best part:
aziraphale notices.
they might be communicating on two different frequencies but aziraphale knows crowley. he knows and loves him, and, most importantly, over the last few years he has gotten used to seeing crowley without his glasses. aziraphale could probably write a book on the expressions in his eyes alone and watches that shift happen and is devastated.
look.
he tries to make himself hope the same second, tries to convince himself crowley is putting on his glasses so they can leave together, but he knows.
aziraphale sees the light leave crowley's eyes, sees crowley leave, knowing that he is quite literally running away from him. you and me against the world, angel, but in that moment crowley firmly pushes him back to "the world" (or tries to, anyway).
the entire season we see crowley take off his glasses whenever he enters the bookshop to the point where he's running around without them on in broad daylight with jimbriel right there.
can you imagine how hurt and confused aziraphale must be?
because what crowley is telling him, if we really, really break it down, is that aziraphale is no longer a safe person for him. and repairing that trust is going to take time and work, no matter how much crowley loves him, how badly they love and need each other.
anyway to seal this off and really rub in the pain - how it started vs. how it ended. <3
oh one last thing: now crowley no longer has a single person he can be himself around, no one that knows him, no one he trusts. no one in whose presence he can take his glasses off.
and outside of the bentley and his own flat, he no longer has a place to do so either. the bookshop was theirs. with aziraphale gone, is it really a safe place anymore? is it somewhere he can just let himself be knowing he will be looked after and protected?
easy answer: no.
alright, off i go. see y'all on the next angst post or in the tags.
#alex talks good omens#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable divorce#the final fifteen#good omens meta
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CURB FLIRTING - LN4
summary : In which Lando finds a girl crying on the side of the road and decides to help her a bit.
listen up : this is the cutest thing iâve ever written. no pt.2âźď¸
word count : 1438
â・â§Ëâ
Tears stream down my face, I try to control my breathing but I'm still in shock. Even though I'm sobbing, I want to laugh.
Iâm sitting on a curb outside of a club, itâs gross and thereâs cigarette butts by my feet. I can only smell alcohol and the scent of my vanilla perfume.
I want to rip it off my body. I try to take a deep breath but my chest hurts and I start coughing. People around me ask if I'm okay but when I nod they leave.
Until a manâs shoes appear in front of me, âAre you alright?â I look up, breathing heavily still before nodding and looking back down at his shoes. I like them.
He sits next to me, âYou sure?â He has an accent. British, I think.
âNo.â I laugh as he cracks a smile.
âIâm Lando.â He holds out his hand for me to shake, so I do. His ring is cold against my burning skin. When I meet his eyes again, I realize theyâre green and unfairly stunning.
In fact, his whole face is stunning. Heâs got curly hair, dark and mullet-ish, his clothes are light and his jewelry is nice.
âIâm Y/n.â I sniffle, wiping a tear from my face, âI like your shoes.â
He smiles again, âThank you. I like your dress.â I glance down to my bare legs, hot and uncomfortable with the icy air. He seems to notice my body language and shrugs off his jacket, laying it over my legs.
I frown, crying more, âHey- I didnât mean to make it worse.â He looks genuinely worried.
âYou didnât. Iâm just- Thank you.â He nods, âIâm kinda embarrassed.â
âNo need. Plenty of strangers have seen me cry.â He shrugs, eyeing my hair and earrings, âYou donât need to worry though, youâre a pretty crier.â
I let out a laugh, something I havenât done for a few hours, âI doubt you arenât.â His presence is oddly comforting yet also awkward because I was bawling in front of him.
His smile is kind and soft while his body looks sharp and hard. âYou flatter me, Y/n.â I like the way he says my name. But that could just be because of my tears.
âWhatâs your deal, Mr. Lando no last name?â My eyes are still wet but my tears are no longer falling, âAre those your friends?â
We both look over to the group on the other side of the road, three men staring. Lando eyes them but quickly looks back at me, âUh, yeah.â
âDo they think a twenty four year old woman is going to hurt you?â I look at them again, âBecause they sure are protective.â
He laughs, âProtective is a good word for it. Where are your friends?â This makes me frown and he sees it instantly, âAre you visiting Monaco?â
I nod, âYeah. Are you?â
He shakes his head, âI live here.â My eyes instinctively widen at this. He looks young. I mean, he could be studying here I guess but still.
âHow old are you?â
âTwenty five.â This makes my brows pull together, he laughs at this.
âAre you⌠rich?â I whisper it as if itâs illegal.
He leans it a bit close, âSort of.â
I hum, âHowâŚ?â
âIâll tell you if you come and sit in my car with me.â I raise a brow at this, crossing my arms, âI promise itâs just because I'm worried youâre gonna catch a cold.â I look at him skeptically too, âYou can hold my keys if it makes you feel better.â
I stand, holding his jacket close to me as he drops his keys into my hand. I stare down at them, blink. âA McLaren?â I roll my eyes.
âAn eye roll is not the usual reaction I get for that!â He starts walking and I follow him.
âOh, so you bring all the girls you find crying in the street into your car?â He eyes me, a slight smirk on his face.
âOnly the pretty ones.â
I roll my eyes, âYouâre going to let a stranger take the keys to your McLaren?â He just shrugs.
âI know your name. You know mine.â
He lets me sit in the driver's seat, he turns the car on and Mamma Mia starts blasting. âShit.â He mumbles, turning it down quickly as I giggle.
âA musical fanâŚ?â His face is serious and definitely embarrassed. I canât help but laugh more, âOkay, Okay. How are you, Mr. very mysterious Lando no last name, rich?â
He stretches his arms up, grinning but staying silent. Oh god. Heâs fit as hell.
âOh no.â I feel doom approaching me.
âWhat?â he asks.
âDonât tell me youâre a footballer.â
He looks horrified, âAn american footballer?â I did forget about that one little difference between us. âWhy would I be an American footballer?â
âWell youâre-â He raises a brow as I groan, âYou clearly work out.â He laughs at me. âLando! Iâm serious, youâre an athlete arenât you? Oh god I donât want to know. Do you play soccer? Youâve got the height for it.â
His jaw is dropped at this point, âCalling me hot then calling me short is insane!â
âI did not say, âhotâ!â I scoff, turning towards him, âTell me what you really do then. Are you in the Mafia?â
He sighs, leaning his head against the glass of his car. I hadn't realized before, but I'm much more comfortable here. Well, I suppose a McLaren has got to be more comfortable than a street corner.
Itâs quieter and definitely warmer. Plus, I do feel safe with Lando which is a bit odd because I just met the guy.
âIâm a formula 1 driver.â
Oh?
âOh.â I nod. I donât know anything about motorsport so I'm a bit lost, but I guess I got my answer, âSo you drive cars?â
He looks happy at my answer, his smile making my cheeks heat, âYeah⌠Yeah I drive cars.â
Lando Norris.
An interesting name for an interesting man. We stay in his car for another⌠hour? I donât know. I lose track of time when Lando starts telling me about everywhere heâs traveled.
He lets me rant or stay silent, something I've been waiting for all night. Or maybe all my life.
He leaves me for five minutes alone, in which I peek around his car, finding absolutely nothing but a golf ball and a bag of chips. He comes back with a smile on his face and an ask.
I move to the passenger seat, saying hi to his friends. He said that he wanted me to feel safe and after the conversation with his friends, I really do. I donât think I've ever laughed harder at a manâs friend group.
He plays âThank you for the musicâ on low while I look out the window, my hair blowing in the wind.
âHey uh-â he clears his throat, âCould I get your number? Just to check in tomorrow.â I bite my lip as he hands me his phone, smiling to myself as I type in my number.
âDont abuse it.â I joke as he taps his finger against the wheel.
He's grinning again, âCanât promise anything.â
I sigh, watching the city pass by me, some of the boats on the water quiet and some bright and loud. I like it here. Even if me crying had to get me in such a good mood.
âThanks for driving me.â
âOf course, I hope to do it again, one day.â
âYou know we're probably not going to see eachother again, right?â I see the corner of his mouth quirk downwards, âIâm going home tomorrow.â
âAnd I have access to private planes.â He shrugs as I scoff.
âLando. I just met you. What if I was some crazy stalker?â Does this man not know stranger danger?
He eyes me, âWell, are you?â
âNoâŚâ
âSo,â he glances at me, a curl falling into his face, âI'll see you soon.â
Sadly, my hotel isnât far and when he pulls up to the front, I get an odd sensation of sadness washing over me. âWant me to walk you up?â
I shake my head, âYouâve done enough for me.â I lean over the middle console and press a soft kiss to his cheek, âHave a good night, Lando.â
âYou too, Y/n.â I grab my bag, and slip out the expensive car, looking back one last time to see Lando watching me. His eyes are meaningful and something I have a feeling I wonât be forgetting anytime soon.
#fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#lando norris#lando norris fanfic#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris comfort#lando norris fluff#lando x you
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čąçĺĺ / flower territory (bakugou x reader)
Summary: a flower has its cycles, it buds, it flourishes, blooms, and it dies, yet youâre still a constant in his life, heâs a sunflower that doesnât look away
Warnings: improper capitalisation iâm afraid :( very very fluffy ! inspired by this wonderful post and this AMAZING one, both written by @cashmoneyyysstuff lmk if u want this taken down! (editing rn and i feel like flower territory is not the best title but im just so EMOTIONAL over it âŚ. attachment issues fr)
wc: 700
the way katsuki crushes on you has stayed the same, since he was four he has made sure that everyone, including you, always knew that you were his.
he offers you roughed up flowers from the sandbox, covered in dust and dirt, shoved into your hands are the bundle of wild chrysanthemums and crumbled weeds, and in exchange are the paper rings you made before going to the park, because even when you were four, you already knew bakugou in the way you knew the names of the stuffed animals in your room; a sense of pride nestles inside, somewhere between your little childishly innocent heart and your soft fluttering stomach when you see your katsuki declare proudly with a smug smirk to all his groupies that he's now a married man, and that doesn't change.
in middle school, aged 12 bakugou isn't afraid to lean over your desk and stare you down and demand your time during recess, even though his cheeks used to redden when his female classmates would tease him for being such a romantic for you, he's learnt that it's either he toughens up and take this, or he has to deal with the other boys from his class chatting you up, and seeing their little cheeks tint with pink when they're spared even an ounce of (undeserved) attention from you is much more painful than having his own apples go fuzzy from your gaze.
katsuki changes a lot in U.A. but not in this. maybe the other class 1A kids don't have enough reference to notice, but izuku sure as hell can tell that the slight glisten and shine in his childhood best friend's eyes when he looks at you have only ever grown in brightness as you mature and age. as your body takes shape and your voice deepens, his affection for you simply gets magnified from a sheer adoration for your ability to keep up with him on the monkey bars and to withstand his loudness, either that be from the epicentres of his palms or the ever growing intensity of his voice when deku gets in his way, his respect for you grows and grows and festers and festers the more you win in the sports festival, the more you train, the more muscular you get, and the more internships you are offered.
as his own brashness gets dimmed down while the months go on, deku is no longer the only one who is able to notice the soft spot he has for you. jirou and shoji can only ignore the way bakugou whispers 'that's my girl' to you during class drills so many times, ochako and mina can only turn a blind eye to the way bakugou always cooks for you during the late nights where you collapse from exhaustion before eating so many times, by the end of the second year, even shouto knew to always find bakugou when you got hurt during missions and to just leave you two to your own devices for the rest of the evening.
the smirks might have grown less and less smug throughout the years and maybe more genuine, but the childlike wonder when katsuki looks at you stays always the same, it stays constant from when you were four all the way to when you're walking down the altar, it stays the same, from stepped-on flowers to bouquets of roses, from 'that's my girl' to 'that's my wife', you've always been his, the switch from craft paper to the 24 carat diamond ring on both your fingers never changed that; his face, to deku, looks identical; whenever dynamight is on a talk show and is asked to watch a clip of you fighting, the soft creases next to his eyes have always been there, bakugou's lips just twitch upwards when it's you;
what can he say? your katsuki has always been a prodigy, he knew since he was a kid, since the second his grabby little hands and tiny rolling eyes were laid on you, he has since decided that you were the only one worthy of his greatness, no matter how shitty his temper was at age 15, he looks at you like how sunflowers look at the sun, and that will never change.
#bakugou headcanons#bnha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#bakugou x you#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki#bakugo katuski#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you#katsukibakugou#sy.katsuki
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Can you do a buck x reader where the reader and buck are married but she gets amnesia and only doesn't remember buck and their relationship. But it ends with fluff
whereâs my mind?
pairing: Evan âBuckâ Buckley x fem!reader
summary: you wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by your family and friends, but amnesia took away the memory of your husband, whatâs Buck gonna do?
word count: 2,1k
authorâs note: thanks to an anon for this request, I hope you all enjoy it, because I definitely had fun writing it 𫧠p.s. requests are open
âYes baby, I will be home in 10 minutes, just had to stop at a gas station otherwise I wouldnât make it.â â you say over the phone and sigh. Your day was long enough, of course it couldnât end well, something had to make it a bit longer.
âOkay love, be safe.â â you hear Buckâs voice and smile. Who would have thought that after four years of dating â you can finally call this man your husband? The past three months of being married were so wonderful, you had everything you dreamed of. âI love you.â
âI love you too, see you soon!â â you smiled again and hung up the phone.
Well, this gas station definitely looks a bit shady, but it was the only one near and you really needed to get some gas.
It was 11 p.m., streets are getting emptier, and flashlights are the only source of seeing something in this darkness. You felt shivers down your spine and thought that itâs time to go home, you didnât like this place.
Your hand reaches for the car door to get into the driver's seat. But this never happens. Instead, you feel a blow to your head so hard that the only thing you remember is falling to the ground and darkness. If someone got a reward for the most unfortunate end of the day, you would get it today.
Next thing you know, you wake up in a hospital and you try to properly open your eyes, but the light in the hospital is so bright that you squint for the first few minutes. You feel someone is sitting next to you and you turn your head in their direction. It was Maddie.
âMaddie? W-what happened?â â you finally speak and donât recognize your voice. The voice is so hoarse, quiet and low.
âOh (Y/N), youâre finally awake.â â Maddie said with a smile. âDonât worry, youâre fine now, you got attacked at a gas station and had a concussion.â â she took your hand and squeezed it. âIâm gonna tell Buck youâre awake, he just left to buy some coffee. He will be so happy.â â one more smile from her and she left your room.
âBuck? Whoâs that?â â you think to yourself and get confused. âMaybe itâs a doctor or something.â
A man runs into your room with a relieved look on his face. You assumed it was Buck. But you really canât remember his face. Maybe itâs Maddieâs friend or a doctor she knows, she's a former nurse after all.
âHi baby, Iâm so glad youâre awake.â â he rushed to sit next to your bed, took your hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on it. âHow are you feeling?â
âIâm sorry, sir, but do I know you? I canât remember if I ever saw you.â â the confusion is written on your face, you furrowed your brows and looked at him.
But Buck just laughed and smiled at you. You always liked to call him âsirâ to tease him. He had no idea why you did that, but he secretly liked it, it made you look cocky.
âI donât know why youâre laughing, but Iâm getting quite uncomfortable by my hand being kissed by a stranger. You better explain.â â you said that and pulled your hand out of his. Why does he think that he has some privilege to do that?
Then Buck realized. You donât remember him. He felt like his world fell apart in one second. Everything they had been building for almost 5 years just disappeared. Your eyes were saying everything. Thereâs no love, affection and fondness in them. You didnât look at him like he was the most important person in your life anymore.
âMaddie, can you explain? This man seems too stunned to speak.â â you said annoyingly, because no one gives any answers.
â(Y/N), Iâm Buck, your husband.â â he said with so much pain that for a moment you thought that itâs you whoâs acting stupid.
You couldn't lose your memory like that, could you? You remember everyone except your husband. Oh god, you're married, you probably have a house together, lots of plans for the future, but you don't remember anything.
Your head starts to hurt a lot from all the information that doesn't seem real. You look at Maddie and you see that tears are starting to form in her eyes. You see Hen standing outside the door of the room and talking to the doctor. The saddest look you've ever seen is on her face. Everyone remembers everything, why can't you remember?
The doctor comes into your room and gives you a little smile. This smile didnât say "it's good that you woke up", this smile said "hang on, you have a lot of surprises ahead."
âSo, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley, I have some news that I need to share. (Y/N) experienced a severe blow to the head, which led to dissociative amnesia, due to which she may forget something or someone specific in her life.â â so itâs true, you did forget your husband. How long have you two been together? How many good memories did you forget?
âWhat can we do?â â Buck said, pursing his lips. He took your hand again and squeezed it. This news shocked him, he wasn't ready for it, but he knows for sure that he is ready to do everything in his power to make you remember him.
âThe best thing you can all do is put her in the environment where she has been for the last 5 years. Guide her slowly and carefully tell her the events she has forgotten. Memories can come in flashes and this is normal, it means that she remembers and after a while she will remember everything. But I must warn you that there is a chance that she will not remember anything.â â the doctor said and gave Buck a soft look. Unfortunately, he has to deal with many cases of amnesia and the hardest thing is to see the patient's family and know that they don't have the slightest idea what to do next. âNow, if you excuse me, I need to check on another patient.â
There is a chance that she will not remember anything. These words ring in Buck's head. What if she really doesn't remember anything? Would he have to win her love all over again? Would he have to propose to her again? Will they have to build everything again for another 5 years?
2 months later
The door opens. You came back from grocery shopping. Apparently, this is the house that you and Buck moved into after your wedding. Home sweet home, only you don't feel at home. You remember that you lived alone, there wasn't even a man on the horizon that you liked, turns out you're already married.
Buck is very sweet, he hasn't left your side for a second since you woke up. He showed you pictures of you together. Here you are at Bobby's birthday party, here you saw Jee for the first time, here you are at Chim and Maddieâs hospital wedding, here you are spending a free day at the beach. And you could remember those events, but you don't remember living them with Buck.
Yesterday Buck told you that you were supposed to fly to Europe together for the first time in 2 weeks. It's been your dream all your life and Buck was happy to make it a reality. He was happy to share memories with you that would keep you both warm in the future. But the trip will have to be canceled, because he doesn't want to overwhelm you.
âI know itâs a lot and you probably want to run away, but listen, Iâm here if you need me. I know you donât remember me, but I remember everything and my love will be enough for both of us for now.â â Buck put the bags on the floor and came over to you. He stopped in front of you and didn't know how to behave. He wanted to kiss you, but would it be too much? He wanted to hug you, but wouldn't that scare you off?
Seeing how he hesitated, you hugged him yourself. You hugged him to you as hard as you could. The thing is, you were very scared. But Buck instilled a sense of security, he was your safe place. You didn't remember him, but your body remembered exactly how to react to him. And you trusted that instinct.
So far, you have agreed to sleep in separate bedrooms. You didn't want to rush things, and he didn't want to push you. So when night fell, you said goodnight to each other and went to your rooms.
You lay down on the bed and put your head on the pillow, it smelled like Buck. His cologne, his shower gel, the whole room seemed to be filled with him. You looked at the bedside table and saw a photo of you together. So happy and beautiful, in the photo you were somewhere in the park.
âI promise I will remember you. For us.â â you said quietly to yourself and fell asleep.
It was a beautiful sunny day. You look at yourself in the mirror and you're wearing an amazing wedding dress. Your hair, makeup, jewelry â all this made you feel like a princess.
âAthena, Iâm so nervous, I don't think I will remember my vows.â â you turned around to Athena while she was preparing your veil.
â(Y/N), you and Buck have been preparing for this wedding for six months, if something goes wrong, it will definitely be Chim that got into some shit again.â â she laughed and took your hand.
âListen, don't memorize your vows, speak from the heart. Remember how he makes you feel, remember his every look and touch, remember how he looks at you. And don't forget to add his nickname at the end. What do you always call him?â â Athena looked into your eyes and smiled. She knew for sure that your vows would be perfect.
âLight of my life.â
You woke up and were breathing heavily. It was a flashback from your wedding. Of course, you always called him "light of my life." Because he saved you from the darkest stage of your life.
You had your favorite white tulips at the wedding. Buck wanted everyone to come in colorful outfits, but you insisted on a dress code. And the cake ended up being 5 times bigger than you expected, so at the end of the day you handed it out to each guest, so they could eat it at home.
You remembered. Panic began to take over your whole body. Or is it just your love for your husband has returned and your body is responding to it?
You lifted the blanket, got out of bed, and hurried to the room where Buck sleeps. But he wasn't sleeping, you saw the light in his room and opened the door.
âBuckâŚâ â you whispered and felt tears on your cheeks.
âHey. Hey, hey, whatâs wrong? Are you okay?â â Buck saw how panicked you were and rushed to stand next to you. He put his hands on your shoulders and looked into your eyes. âTalk to me.â
âLight of my life.â
He froze. Did you remember? Or is he dreaming? He didnât want to move to not scare the reality. He just wanted to stay in this moment.
âYou don't like oranges, so we immediately told the pastry chef not to offer us cakes with oranges. You really want children, so on our second date we started choosing names for our children. When you were struck by lightning, you pretended to be a Flash for 3 months, and when I dyed my hair and didn't tell you about it, you started calling me because you didn't recognize me, even though I was standing next to you the whole time.â â you started rattling off the facts of your relationship quickly, as if you were afraid to forget, but you remembered everything.
You saw the tears in Buck's eyes and started crying even harder. You couldn't even imagine what he was going through these two months while you didn't remember anything.
âI knew you would remember.â â he said and had the biggest smile on his face. âC-can I kiss you?â
âPlease.â â you said it and pulled him to you for a kiss. So desirable for both of you.
âDonât cancel Europe, we need more memories.â
Buck just laughed, picked you up and carried you to the bed. It's going to be a long night.
#911 imagine#911 fic#911 x reader#911 abc#911 fanfic#evan buckley x y/n#evan buckley imagine#evan buckley x you#evan buckley x fem!reader#evan buckley#evan buckley x reader#eddie diaz x you#eddie diaz x reader#eddie diaz imagine#eddie diaz#evan buck buckely#eddie diaz x y/n
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grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso
wc: 1.0k
summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems.Â
contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.
a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!
You have a regular on the weekends.Â
Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season.Â
But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee oneâ
The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where youâre crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer.Â
You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his armsâa sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head.Â
There are a few things youâve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if youâre lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his nameâ
ââChosoâ, if the tag on his uniform says anything.Â
The tag that is now, also, just a handâs reach away from you.Â
You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers.Â
âW-welcome!â you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose.Â
Itâs new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you.Â
The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but youâve gotten used to itâan almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath.Â
He continues to stare, unmoving.Â
Considering all your previous interactions, youâve realized, he isnât scary or rude or anything of that sortâheâs just awkward.Â
A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You donât think heâs ever started an interaction with you first.Â
âIs there any flower in particular that youâre looking for?â you ask, motioning around your store.Â
The selection is limited this seasonâa few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils.Â
His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, âDo you have any recommendations?âÂ
Itâs an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking.Â
âUm,â you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, âdaffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.âÂ
He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion.Â
âThe usual?â two clusters, wrapped in newspaper.Â
Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best.Â
âYes, but two of them.â he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, âPlease.âÂ
You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch.Â
Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves.Â
You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, âThe pigtails are cool.âÂ
He doesnât say anything, and for a while youâre afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; itâs soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be.Â
âThank you.â you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, âThe dogs think theyâre chew toys when I wear it this way.âÂ
You most certainly were not expecting that, either.Â
This is the most initiative heâs taken to add onto the conversation.
You grin, chuckling under your breath, âThat must be fun.âÂ
Itâs faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little.Â
When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again.Â
âActually, would you happen to do deliveries?â he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye.Â
âYes!â You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, âJust write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when youâd like it to be delivered.âÂ
Another thing youâve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper youâd just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet.Â
âWill you be having both of these delivered?â you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils.Â
âJust one.â he answers promptly, before adding on again, âThank you.âÂ
And you know you shouldnât ask, shouldnât be so nosy, butâ
âWhatâs the occasion?ââ
Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season.Â
ââIf you donât mind me asking,â you follow-up quickly.Â
The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questionsâbut he answers.
âMy brothers,â he finishes the final curves of his writing, âtheyâre coming to visit.âÂ
The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little âoh!â slipping out.Â
He furrows his brows, confused.Â
You definitely, most certainly did not expect this.Â
âSorry,â you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, âJustââ you chuckle, âI think we might be neighbors.âÂ
thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 𼚠+ @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated âĄ
#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#choso x you#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#choso fluff#jjk x you#jjk fluff#choso x y/n#jjk xyou#shotorus.writes#jjk#choso#im also still too lazy to do the banner#ill add it tomorrow#if this doesn't work out i'll still write the longer fic someday!! just wont be a priority!!#but i have lots of themes i kinda wanna touch on alr
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Last, Last Time
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)
WC: ~7.3k
TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.
a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!
Alternate Ending! Spencer Masterlist
âSpencer I wonâtâI canât keep doing this. Iâm sick of arguing in circles.âÂ
âY/nâŚâ
âI-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I donât know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.â
The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.Â
âPlease. Y/n. JustâI donâtâJust give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.âÂ
âWait for the potential of us?âÂ
Spencerâs jaw loosened. You couldnât read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.
âGod Spencer this canât be fucking news to you. Weâve been drifting apart for months now.âÂ
âI know, I know. You have been so patient with me and Iâve just beenâŚ.there was that whole thing with Cat and thenâŚ.I-I was trying so hard y/nâŚâ
âNo, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.â
âThatâs not fairââ
âOh thatâs not fair? Really? Youâre going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isnât fair to you?â
âIâm sorry.â
You sighed and closed your eyes. âIâm not saying you werenât trying but come one Spencer. Thereâs no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.âÂ
Spencerâs hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.Â
âSo youâre just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....âÂ
âI-I donât know Spencer. I just donâtâŚâÂ
The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.
âThis isnât easy for me eitherâŚâ Your chest heaved.Â
The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summerâs eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldnât say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.Â
âIâm tired of arguing Spencer.âÂ
Your eyes met his. You felt Spencerâs arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.Â
Spencerâs voice muttered into your ear. âDonât cry Jolie. Itâll be okay..âÂ
About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didnât like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshineâit was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.Â
He called you âtres jolieâ, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.Â
And it stuck.Â
Now? It stung.Â
All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.
âYouâre so pretty when youâre lying through your teeth.â You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.Â
âI.â You swallow and step back, out of his reach. âMaybe Iâll...âÂ
Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.Â
You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.Â
You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.Â
Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it.Â
Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.Â
You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hairâ
Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You werenât sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.Â
Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job.Â
Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not bothâ
The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.Â
This caused some hesitation because your phoneâs ringer was always offââthe loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.Â
You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.Â
Emily Prentiss
______________________________________________________________
The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. âCatch me up.âÂ
Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. âEarly this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.â
The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .Â
Spencer just stared at the photo.Â
Rossi nodded at the picture. âShe's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.â
He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. âAny ideas on the unsub?â
âNo.â Prentiss sighed. âOnly the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?â
______________________________________________________________
Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call.Â
You hesitantly pick up the phone. âHello?â
âHey Y/n, itâs Emily Prentissââ
âI know who you are, Emily. Itâs been a couple years, not millions.âÂ
Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.Â
âI know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âI need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.âÂ
âOh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?âÂ
Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your carâall paranoia that didnât pay off then, might be paying off now.Â
You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to doâyou knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.Â
Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.Â
You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasnât okay, maybe he had diedâyou refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.Â
It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.Â
You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.Â
As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to themâonly hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.Â
Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasnât as bad as it appeared to your face.Â
Emily engulfed you in a hug. âMissed you Y/n. Itâs been too long.âÂ
âWell Em, next time I end an engagement with someone Iâll consider your feelings first.â You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.Â
âY/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.â
âItâs nice to meet you.â He gave a small smile and nodded at you.
âI wish it were under different circumstances.â You nodded back and looked over at Emily.
âLetâs head inside?âÂ
The three of you moved inside.Â
Sure, you hadnât been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like.Â
As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.Â
âWhat do you know about Cat Adams?âÂ
That bitch.Â
______________________________________________________________
âI would like to go on a date. With you.âÂ
Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. âA date?â
âYes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.â She looked him up and down. âAnd I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.â
Spencer sat down across from her. âCome here. Closer.â
Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.
âThe only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.â
Cat scoffed. âYou're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.â
âI never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.â He stood up from the table. âWe'll find them. We always do.â
Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. âNot tonight. Tonight I win.â
His resolution had yet to change, âThe score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.âÂ
And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.
______________________________________________________________
Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. âA lot.âÂ
They exchanged a look, and you didnât have the energy to pretend like you didnât know what it was.Â
âDonât start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what youâre doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Donât try and trick me into giving the answers you want.âÂ
Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips.Â
Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too.Â
She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. âIâm assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.â
âGlad to see he still has that going for him.â You muttered and looked into the file.Â
Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.Â
âWhat is the last thing you know about her?âÂ
You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.Â
They shared another look, and you didnât enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.Â
âWhat? What happened?âÂ
âY/n..â
âNo Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?âÂ
Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reidâs life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prisonâ
âSpencer went to prison and none of you thought to call meâŚ.â
âWe didnât think youâdââÂ
âIâm a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course Iâd want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, Iâd call you immediately. Faster than the cops.âÂ
Both of them went silent.Â
âSo is he out?âÂ
They nodded slowly, silently.Â
âHow long was he in there.â
Nothing.Â
âI asked. How. Long.â
Luke spoke up. âThree months.âÂ
âJesus christ.â You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.Â
Why didnât Spencer call youâwell you knew why Spencer wouldnât call you.Â
âOkay so heâs out.â You said finally. âWhy am I here?âÂ
âCatâs execution is coming up, and weâŚ.we found out that sheâs convinced someone to kidnap someâŚ.peopleâŚclose to Reid, and we knew youâd be on that list for him.âÂ
Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.Â
They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.Â
You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.Â
Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.
âWould someone like to tell me what is going on here?â The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.
At least Spencerâs taste in partners with attitude hadnât changed.Â
______________________________________________________________
âVictimology is off.â
âHow so?â Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.Â
âFather and daughter. Sheâs never done that before.âÂ
Lewis spoke up. âShe usually kills men that remind her of her father. Childrenâeven adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.âÂ
Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. âItâs. Itâs Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.âÂ
âY/l/nâŚas is Y/n Y/l/n.â Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.Â
Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.
While Luke spoke up. âWho is Y/n Y/l/n.âÂ
âAn old friend.â Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.Â
Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.Â
Rossie spoke up. âWhat do we know about the partner whoâs helping her?âÂ
âItâs got to be someone from her prison.â Simmons spoke up. âShe hasnât had contact with anyone else.âÂ
______________________________________________________________
After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it.Â
Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.
There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest.Â
Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.Â
Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.Â
âCat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Julietteâs ex.â
You nodded. âHow does this affect me?âÂ
âShe took your father and sister.âÂ
Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. âIf she finds out you know, then itâs all over. Sheâs doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.âÂ
His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldnât hear.Â
âSo why is she here?â You whispered back.Â
âBecause we donât want anyone in danger.âÂ
You closed your eyes and nodded. âI need a cup of tea.âÂ
Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation.Â
The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.Â
It didnât dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.Â
The pity from Rossi's look was palpable.Â
âDonât even start.âÂ
He shrugged and stayed silent.Â
Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. âItâs time. Letâs go.âÂ
Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. âYouâve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.âÂ
You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone.Â
Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didnât even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.Â
Well first you sat in Spencerâs seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.Â
______________________________________________________________
âJuliette staked out in Reidâs life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancĂŠe.â Simmons sighed. âHe was probably so focused on Max, he didnât even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.â
Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. âBut if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. â
âWell at least we found their hidden agenda.âÂ
âNo. We found Catâs hidden agenda. Juliette doesnât care about Reid. Thereâs something weâre missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.âÂ
Simmons nodded at Prentis. âOn it.âÂ
âIâll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?âÂ
âGarciaâs almost set up.â Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelopeâs office.Â
âWell this went from bad to worse.â Tara walked up to Emily.Â
Emily sighed in agreement.Â
Lewis spoke up. âFemale narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n really shouldnât be in there.âÂ
Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. âWalk with me.âÂ
Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.Â
JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. âSo, the hospital just released the dadâ Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.
Rossi scoffed. âQuestion is, why let him go at all?â
âMatt's on that.â Emily gestures in the direction of Garciaâs office. âJuliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/nâs younger sister.â
Lewis spoke next. âI still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.â
Prentiss crossed her arms. âI have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.âÂ
______________________________________________________________
Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.Â
And there he was.Â
This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.Â
And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams.Â
The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.Â
After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.Â
It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.Â
âY/n?â Spencerâs voice broke a little bit.Â
You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.Â
His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruffâhis baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.Â
You didnât answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time sinceâŚ
âWhat are you doing here?âÂ
You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.Â
Remember what Prentiss had said to you.Â
âYou know why Iâm here.âÂ
Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.Â
Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.Â
Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.Â
She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. âDid it make you mad that I was kissing your FiancĂŠ?âÂ
You shook your head. âNo.â
Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.
âWell, he's not my fiancĂŠ and I kind of have some other things on my mind.â
Cat didnât scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. âLike what?âÂ
âAre you gonna hurt Noelle?â
Cat shrugged. âNot if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.â
You scoffed. âWhat does that mean?â
Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.Â
âSpencer, what does she mean?â You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.Â
Spencer, who really hadnât stopped looking at you and sighed. âI thinkâŚShe means that Noelle isnât learning from her, but from Juliette.âÂ
You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense.Â
Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.Â
Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before.Â
âNormally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.âÂ
Spencer spoke up. âWith you?â
âI'm not talking to you.â Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. âI'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancĂŠ.âÂ
âHe's not my finacĂŠ.â You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.Â
âNo kidding. Whenâs the last time you spoke? RightâŚâ Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. âHere?âÂ
Your head whipped around to Spencer. âYou told her about that?â
Spencer was pleading with his eyes. âI had to say a lot of things tonight.â
Catâs voice caused your head to snap back to her. âYes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.âÂ
You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.
Spencer sat down next to you. âEverything I saidâI was lying to save your family.â
Cat scoffed. âDid our kiss look like a lie?âÂ
âNo.â you just looked down at your hands.Â
âThank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.â Cat started mocking Spencer. âYou see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.âÂ
âOh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?âÂ
âThe real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.âÂ
Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. âThat was a very different situation.â
âNo, it wasn't.â Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.Â
âSpencerâŚWhat is she talking about?â You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.
âYou tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.â She huffed.Â
Reid turned and looked at you. âTwo years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin andâŚâ
Your chest hurts. âAnd you threw her against a wall?âÂ
Catâs smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. âDon't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.â
Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine.Â
Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. âShe was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.âÂ
âAnd?â She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didnât, her face suddenly became solemn. âThe next day... I miscarried. The end.â
Spencer looked at her. âThat's not true.âÂ
âIt is most certainly true. Check my medical records.âÂ
âThat doesn't mean I-I wouldâŚâ
Cat held up her hand to him. âStop. Look.â
Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.Â
After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. âI thought you were better than that Spence.âÂ
It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.Â
Spencerâs voice cracked. âI'm sorry.âÂ
Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. âNotice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.â
You clenched your hands. âHeâs not mineâŚâ
Spencer just looked over at you.Â
Cat nodded. âThat's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?âÂ
Spencerâs eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. âDon't call her that.â
And you couldnât blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencerâs buttons to see the way her words won against you.Â
Cat hissed at him. âWhat, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?âÂ
You finally spoke up. âWhy are you doing this?â
âBecause I want you to see it.â She gestured to Spencer. âI want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. Theyâre all the same.âÂ
âStop.â
Cat squatted down in front of you. âI can see it on your face. What's his name?âÂ
You stared back at her. âIt's none of your business.â
That damned smirk of hers returned. âIt is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.âÂ
Reid looked over at you. âSay yes. Give her what she wants.âÂ
âHmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.â She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. âThey're so good, the FBI.â
You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. âWhat is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?âÂ
âTell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.â
You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. âHere. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.â
She just watched you. âYou'd be surprised.â
âI don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.â You held the phone out to her. âSomething to prove to me that she's still alive. Pleaseâ.Â
Cat just looked up at your face. âStory first.â
âY/n. Please.â Spencer turned to you, hoping youâd look back at him. âI have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.â
âIt is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?â
You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. âHisâŚHis name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after weâŚwe split.â
Catâs attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. âGood. When did it end?âÂ
âLast year.âÂ
âWas he good in bed?âÂ
Spencer stood up. âShut up.âÂ
Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. âWhat? You have to know where you stand.â
âHe was goodâŚâ You looked back at Cat. âGood at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.â
There was a glint in Spencerâs eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldnât tell from rage or sorrow.Â
Cat continued to probe. âHow many hospital visits were there?âÂ
You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. âNone. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.â Â
âBut you found the strength to leave. What did you do?âÂ
â I planned and I... I waited.â
Catâs eyes lit up. âWaited for what? â
âI live here in D.C.â You looked between Spencer and Cat. âbut I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.â
Spencerâs eyes widened. âY/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.â
Cat shushed him. âNo, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."
You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.Â
Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. âWhen I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.â
Spencer tried to interject. âIt was self-defense. He was attacking youââ
âThat's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. Iâm a lawyer, I know how to plead.â You closed your eyes. âBut I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.âÂ
Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. âWow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.âÂ
Spencer was in disbelief. âShe'll beat it.â .Â
âProbably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in youâ-itâs all gone.âÂ
The phone in your hand buzzed.
âOh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.âÂ
Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. âI got it.âÂ
She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.Â
Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. âI win.âÂ
______________________________________________________________
The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.Â
âDo you know why I did this? Why I really did this?âÂ
Spencer looked down at his hands. âYou wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.â
âNo... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.â She sighed. â'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about meâŚâ
Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. âYou didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.âÂ
âWould you have written me back?âÂ
When Spencer didnât respond, Cat knew her answer.Â
âBye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.â She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.Â
______________________________________________________________
The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. âWe need to debrief.âÂ
Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.Â
âSpencer, are you okay?âÂ
Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.Â
He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.
You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound.Â
Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.Â
âUh, Tara, would you mind giving usâŚâ
She nodded at him and walked away.Â
Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.Â
âI should explain all of this.âÂ
Spencer shook his head. âYou donât have to explain any of that Y/nâit doesnât.âÂ
You cut him off. âIt was fakeâmost of it. I didnât kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was allâŚIt was made up.âÂ
He just nodded, staring at you really.Â
You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back.Â
âThank you for saving my sister and father.âÂ
Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldnât find.Â
Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencerâs shoulder. âI just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. Itâs not your fault. We looked at her records.â She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.Â
âThey filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing toâŚhelp them beat her.âÂ
Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face.Â
He didnât like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger.Â
âThey gave me an ear piece and everything.âÂ
Spencer shook his head. âYouâre not trainedâthatâs extremely dangerous of you.âÂ
You sighed and nodded. âUnfortunately Spencer, this isâŚthis was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsedâŚâÂ
Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. â I never knew..â
âIt was like that on purpose. I didnât want you to think that you were a burden or too much orâI was doing it for the potential ofâŚâ You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.Â
You looked over at Garcia. âI need my bag Pen.â You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. âI shouldnâtâŚI finished my job. My family is safeâŚâÂ
She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.Â
He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. âIâmâŚuh. Iâm gonna go walk her out and then Iâll be right back.âÂ
Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better.Â
You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago.Â
You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him.Â
As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you.Â
Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.Â
It was Spencer who spoke first.Â
âIâm so so sorry Y/n.â He whispered. âI never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here andââÂ
You shook your head slightly, but didnât move from where you were. Neither of you did.Â
âItâs what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.â You whispered.Â
The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different.Â
Itâs not the way it used to be.Â
âI need to go Spencer.âÂ
He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek.Â
You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.Â
âOh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.â You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure.Â
âY/nâŚâ
You took another step away from him and shook your head.Â
âWe canâtâIâm not.â You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. âSpencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I canât do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.âÂ
You took another breath, but kept going. âYou are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But thisâŚwe ran our course. It didnât work then, and I donât know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.âÂ
âY/n please.âÂ
âI will always love you but thisâŚItâs time toâŚItâs time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope andâŚMax.âÂ
Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek.Â
Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out.Â
You didnât.Â
His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.Â
But it had to end.Â
You couldnât go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasnât good for you. It was good for either of you.Â
Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car.Â
Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces.Â
You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you.Â
The doors shut.Â
You were all alone in this hollow parking garage.Â
Your heart was aching, burning.Â
But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time.Â
#x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid angst#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid x reader angst#dr spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds fanfiction#Spencer reid x y/n angst#Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader#spencer reid masterlist#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic#so much angst
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Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader
wc: 6.7k+
summary: Johnny grows infatuated with you, something he never thought was going to happen to him, at least for a long while. He liked being single, but then you came along, and all he could think about was you... then you got kidnapped thanks to him, and he felt so guilty for it... but not everything was as it seemed.
warnings: +18 smut, p in v (no protection), roughness, hate fucking, some fluffiness, branding of skin, description of getting burnt, slapping, some violence, porn with plot
a/n: I had this vision that needed to be written cause it would not leave my fucking mind, and this was the only chance i would be able to write something like this. I will clarify, this is my first ever MCU fic, and I do not believe I will write anything else for it, at least not now. If you are from the MCU fandom, and decide to follow me, don't expect more really... i mainly write stranger things, i was just... too haunted with this image...
Anyways, I love Joseph Quinn, so I pictured HIS Johnny Storm for this (yes, he triggered the thots.)
thank u to @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby for proofreading this and helping with my editing cause i never wrote marvel and i needed their opinion, i love both thank u
Enjoy and don't forget to reblog!
BRAND ME
When Johnny Storm saw you for the first time, he thought Cupid fired an arrow his way.
Now, it wasnât the best of situations of course, he had to save you from a slight altercation regarding some of Doctor Doomâs subjects wreaking havoc in the city and all that, and he saved you by beating up the guy that held you hostage in spirits of saving his ass.Â
You had thanked him, smiled at him and he may or may have not thought of having you as one of his conquests. He was known for it, you absolutely knew about it, but he couldnât really help himself when he started talking to you. He first asked to meet up with you privately and you immediately rejected his advances, surprising him, sure, but not stopping him, so you offered to meet up with him for a coffee after work.Â
Coffee was not something he did often. It was usually drinks, and to be fair, no women really ever said no to him. Sure he messed up a few times, but who hasnât? Still, sharing a coffee with you didnât sound like a bad idea. It was different, but different didnât always mean bad.Â
So you gave him the address to your building, and at 1 PM sharp on Tuesday, he met up with you right outside of it. You were wearing the typical office attire, skirt to the knees, a nice blouse, a comfortable jacket and he still thought you looked absolutely beautiful. Sitting down at the coffee shop, you two talked, and talked, and he found out so much about you.
You were an only child, and you have been working since you could remember. You lived alone, you liked to cook, and you absolutely disliked pickles. Every small thing he found out about you, he reciprocated with a fact about himself, without giving much away of course.
One coffee date turned into two. Then four. Then, counting didnât matter anymore.
For a month he has been seeing you, and never once has he made a move on you. Itâs not that he didnât want to⌠He absolutely wanted to. But you were different. You were completely different from all the flings he had, and he even tried to have one after meeting you and it felt pointless. He didnât know himself any longer, even Reed got a little worried from all the sneaking around he did, but Johnny couldnât help it. He couldnât help it when it came to you.
You were magnificent, a breath of fresh air to be around with. You always greeted him with a smile to your face and heâs never felt more alive when you did. He, of course, had to be careful with you. Not because of trust, but of what might happen to you if you were seen being involved with one of the Fantastic Four. He always picked out private places for the two of you to meet, away from public eyes.Â
Coffee shops turned into take-out coffees and parks. Talks that happened at your homeâs balcony. Him looking for a comforting shoulder after a long day of being a hero. He was always careful in keeping you away from public. In keeping you a secret. In keeping you safe.
But not careful enough.
When you didnât answer your phone that day, his heart stopped. You always answered. He tried and tried but you just wouldnât pick up and he became restless. He flew out of the headquarters, not caring for the waves people gave him, with your apartment as his only destination. He felt himself growing cold despite being up in flames, flying, the horrible feeling that something happened to you making him want to puke.
And when he arrived at your home, he froze. Your balconyâs sliding door was open and what he saw inside made his whole world shatter. Your things were all thrown to the floor. Your furniture was destroyed. Your pictures were all broken and shattered. And then, as he put a foot into your apartment, he saw you.Â
You were breathing heavily as you lay on the floor, facing down, and your hair was all over your face. He rushed towards you, jumping over everything that was on the floor, and immediately dropped to his knees in order to scoop you up in his arms and turn you. He pushed the hair off your face as his heart beat loudly in his chest, only for it to come to a stop as he saw the open wound on your eyebrow and the bruise that was starting to form all around it.Â
âCrapâ fuck!â He felt his world plummeting to the ground as he tried shaking you awake, calling out your name, and he sighed with relief as your eyes slowly opened, only for your face to contort into a wince.
âWhatâŚ?â He shook his head at you and held onto your form, one arm underneath the back of your knees while the other was wrapped behind your back. He got up on his two feet with ease as he rushed towards the balcony. You made a sound of discomfort as you were moved around, and all he wanted was to keep you safe right now. He needed to take you with him. He cannot leave you alone, not when all of this is probably his fault.
âItâll be quick, I promiseâŚâ He took a deep breath as he controlled his flames temperature, ensuring it would not go towards his arms. Your eyes looked up to meet his, his eyes that were now fiery orbs, looking down at you with sadness displayed on his eyebrows. You whined through the pain again and he immediately leaped out of your balcony.
You could feel the heat off his body, but he made sure to make it as less uncomfortable as he could, but he still knew he had to be quick. He was angry, desperate, and that wasnât making the flames be any less intense. He knew he was gonna break a rule, but he couldnât give two shits for the consequences he might face with his family. His sister was going to kill him, but she will understand. They all will have to understand.
He sneaked you in, heading straight to his room, laying you down on his bed. The rage he felt with himself was scorching him from the inside out, so he took the top of his suit as fast as he could and rushed towards the bathroom to get one of his medical kits.Â
He aided you, cleaned your wound, put the butterfly strip over it, and even gave you medicine for any impending headaches. He checked for other wounds besides the one on your eye, but there was nothing else, at least from the places where your clothes did not cover you.Â
An hour passed and you were slowly coming back to your senses. You opened your eyes to see him walking back and forth, pacing, worry displayed on his features as he seemed deep in thought. You slowly sat up on the bed, looking around, wincing slightly thanks to the throbbing in your head.
âJohnny?â Your voice was small but it was enough for his head to snap towards you and rush to the bed, sitting on the edge right next to you. His hand came up to caress the side of face, making sure to not touch the bruise on your eye.
âHeyâŚâ His eyes were filled with fear, anger, sadness, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as your eyes roamed all over the room.
âWhere⌠am I?â Your eyes found his again and he gulped, thumb caressing your cheek softly.
âMy room⌠Iâ I couldnât leave you aloneâŚâ Your eyes widened for just a second to then look down at your hands. Your breathing turned heavy as your eyes filled with tears, shaking your head at him.
âIâ I thought it was you⌠I opened the sliding door andâ They wanted informationââ Your voice was cut off with a sob and Johnny saw how you winced in pain, your hand flying to press onto your temple and he quickly shushed you, scooching closer to you, lifting his hand to grab yours gently and move it away from your face.
âDonât touch itâ I⌠I seriously thought I was careful in keeping you safe and hidden⌠I screwed up.â Your eyes met his, seeing the guilt that was flooding inside, knowing he was torturing himself because of it. His lips were downturned, disappointment written all over. You shook your head at him, your hand grasping his.
âI donât regret a minute of itâŚâ His eyes met yours as you guided your gaze around the room, frowning slightly as your headache seemed to start to drift away. âSo this is your roomâŚâ âFantastic Four headquarters⌠nobody knows I sneaked you in, but I really couldnât care less. I wonât let you out of my sight, at least until whoever is stalking me is captured.â You turned towards him again, a soft smile on your lips that made his heart combust in its own flames.
âProbably a fan.â Even now you still joked to him, when you were the one hurt. You were too beautiful. Too incredible, even for his own good. He should be careful with his moves, he should let you know how different you are to his other flings⌠but his body betrayed him as his free hand came towards your cheek, holding it gently, and his lips surged forward, slotting right onto yours.
Your eyes were wide as a surprised gasp fell from your lips, but you reciprocated that kiss, even if a bit hesitant at first. His lips moved with yours as his body started rising in temperature which he was trying to keep at a warm number. He could easily control his temperature but with you, he was finding it hard to do so.Â
He was happy because you were not pulling away from the kiss. You were moving into it, following his lead, not even stopping it after your tongues started to dance together. He wanted you. He definitely wanted to show you just how special you are butâ You were hurt, and he canât do that to you now⌠so he pulled away. Your breaths were heavy as you looked at each other and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb.
âIâll tell everyone tomorrow youâre staying here for a while. You need safety, and I can give that to you⌠Just stay with meâŚâ He held you so gently, afraid of you running away, or disappearing right before him. You licked your lips as you nodded slowly at him, to which he responded with a satisfied smile. He leaned forward, pecking your lips once more before getting up which alarmed you, getting hold of his hand.
âWhere are you going?â Your voice was small and he thought he was going to break listening to it.Â
âIâm not going anywhere, just going to get you some clothes for you to sleep in, baby.â Your eyes widened at the new petname, but Johnny noticed how you tried to look away from embarrassment, and he found you too cute. He will definitely protect you. He wonât let whoever is looking for him, or his team, hurt you.Â
But when he fell asleep and cuddled up to you after having some tea with you before bed, he didnât expect to be awoken in the middle of the night to a ring of his cell phone. He was startled, sitting up on the bed quickly only to realize you were not by his side. He looked around frantically and grabbed his phone from the night table next to his bed. He answered it, getting up from the bed to walk towards his bathroom in hopes of seeing you in there.
âHello?â And all he heard was heavy breathing on the other side until a raspy, robotic voice talked.
âHow does it feel to wake up alone?â And Johnnyâs blood drained, evaporated, and he knows you are not in the building. How did it happen? How? There were cameras, security, detectors, how?
âWhat the fuck did you do to her?â His voice was coming from in between his teeth, like a growl, a hiss, a threat. The other voice only laughed, igniting Johnnyâs anger even more than before.
âCome find out. Weâre at her old apartment. We have to talk, Johnny, so come alone.â And like that, the line clicked. He was breathing heavily as he looked down at his phone and his hand shook as he grunted, his eyes igniting in yellow as the hand that was holding his phone set aflame, destroying the device before he threw it across the room, making it hit and for the plastic to splash onto the wall.Â
He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it all out, to burn the whole building down. If he didnât tell anyone, he might die, but if he does, then you⌠He couldnât. He has a chance, even if alone. He has to save you, he canât let them have you, he canât let you suffer because of him.Â
So he stepped out to his balcony, his body engulfed in flames as he leaped into the sky, headed straight to your apartment. He was trying to go as fast as he could, his breathing heavy with anticipation as he swerved through the buildings. He finally got onto your balcony, the sliding doors were open again but when he looked inside, he couldnât help but feel confused.
He took a few steps in as his flames subdued, and all your furniture was gone. All your pictures, even the cabinets⌠it was just empty. Empty except for the big windows that were on the side. What happened?
A chuckle coming from one corner startled him. It was the robotic voice that slowly transformed into a female one. A voice he knew too well. A voice that never chuckled in that manner, always be it a giggle, or a little scoff, but never⌠this. He turned to face it, and his eyes widened as the figure stepped into the small bit of light that came through the windows thanks to the night sky.
âArenât you a little naive Johnny?âÂ
And there, in front of him, was you. Face hard, wearing a simple cocktail black dress, some black heels⌠nothing like what you normally wear. You didnât look dizzy because of your bruise, the butterfly strip he applied to you hours ago was still there. It was you⌠but at the same time, it wasnât.
âW-WhatâŚ?â He stuttered, not feeling the tips of his fingers as he looked at how you slowly walked towards him, throwing a device to the ground, a voice-changing device.Â
âI really didnât think you would take me to your headquarters. Not this quickly at least.â You sighed, looking out the window as you kept talking. âI had a whole large plan for it, but you just had to make it THAT easy.â
You finished with a giggle, the giggle that he knew too well. The giggle you directed to him many times when he told you stories about Sue and him. Stories about how he made a fool out of himself on a few dates. The giggle that he liked so much⌠all for it to be a fucking lie. Youâ
âYou lied to me⌠Youââ He felt his heart twist as your eyes turned to meet his once more. He really isnât lucky, isnât he? The first time he feels something genuine and he gets stepped on by the universe. You took a step towards him as you put your hands behind your back.
âNot all the time. I can promise that, but my boss will be glad to hear I got into the headquarters in such a short period of timeâŚâ Your eyes studied his face, seeing how his features turned from shock to anger, slowly, making a wicked grin appear on your face. âAw⌠are you mad?â
âWhat the fuck do you think?â His voice turned low, and it almost made you freeze in your place, but you kept talking, your head high.
âYou look cute when mad. I wish I could take a picture right nowââ
âStopââ
âI would hang it up, frame it⌠Name it âMy best show yetâ.â Johnny felt his body start to burn, and he had to try to keep the flames from igniting out of his suit, but each word you spat out, made it more and more difficult for him to hold himself back.
âI said stopââ
âI just didnât think it would be this quick. Who would've thought that Johnny Storm would be so desperate for actual love? So much, he throws himself head first like an idiotââÂ
A hand came to grab the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your scalp, grabbing your hair, and yanking your head backwards with no restraint, no care. And suddenly your eyes were looking at the Human Torch. His eyes were yellow flames, his face, his hair, his body, everything was on fire and it was burning you. He was baring his teeth at you, your face illuminated by his flames, and you noticed the hand holding the back of your head was not lit.
âI could kill you right now. I could easily burn you to a crisp for no one to find your body.â You trembled under his grasp, and your breathing turned a little heavy as you stared into his flaming eyes.
âBut you wonâtâŚâ Your reply was soft, making the flames go down, making you breathe out in relief, feeling the cool air again on your body and face. He was still glaring, his nose slightly scrunched up in anger, in disgust. âApproaching you romantically was never the intention.âÂ
That made him tilt his head at you, his eyebrow twitching at the mention of romance. Of how he was so close to having it butâ
âWhy tell me this? Why not keep the fucking act until you have more?â And you didnât answer him, still under his grasp as you looked up at him. He couldnât describe what he saw in your eyes, but he knew that it wasnât hatred. He knew that there was a feeling that you shouldnât be experiencing but you couldnât help it.
So you stayed silent, swallowing as you kept your eyes on him. You saw him tremble slightly and he raised his free hand, making your gaze turn to it as the flames enveloped it all, to the tip of his fingers. It wasnât a massive flame, more like embers, small, yet damaging.Â
You felt anything but scared of him, and he knows it, yet his anger fuels him in ways he cannot describe, and he wants to show you. He wants to show you just how fucking angry, enraged, he is. He wants to hurt you, burn you, engrave himself deep on your skin and in your mind.Â
âSay you donât want this.â He needs to know if he connected the dots right. Why tell him? Why tell him who you truly were? Why not keep faking it to get more out of him? Did you take whatever you needed in the short period he kept you there? Those few little hoursâŚ
You remained silent, looking into his eyes as you struggled in his grasp slightly. Your right hand flew to the wrist holding the back of your head, which only made him pull on your hair once more, making you wince. It was another warning, another chance for you to push him away.
But you didnât.
His right hand lifted up to reveal that it was slowly being covered in small embers, not yet flames, and he pressed it on your back. Your eyes widened when you felt heat engulf your back, the scent of burning fabric filling your nostrils. You winced when the burning turned a bit painful, his eyes not leaving your face.Â
He was still scowling at you, his eyes traveling to your exposed neck as his hand kept moving on your back, making small holes in it, the embers spreading slightly. He knew he was burning you, but it doesnât compare to what you did to him. You will heal from these superficial burns.
You wanted to tell him to hurry up, but you knew that you werenât the one with control right now, so you had to be careful with your words. You yelped when his hand started moving to your front, leaving embers fluttering over the black satin. It was burning easily, the material too thin, too flimsy.Â
His eyes caught onto yours once more. You were breathing heavily, waiting for his next move. He clenched his jaw as the memories of those picnics filled his head. Those movie nights. Those nights when you told him about your family. You showed him those pictures that were on your wall that you probably faked. Those pictures were all fake.
His fist grabbed onto the front of your dress and pulled on it as he grunted from the force. Your dress ripped easily away from your body thanks to the holes that were burned on your back and side. Your body will probably have scarring, burnt marks, or red spots, but you couldnât help the excitement in your body when he held your torn dress in his hand.
His eyes turned to it for a second and then back at you. You saw how they glowed in a deep yellow and his hand engulfed into flames, your dress catching on fire and burning into ashes in three seconds. His eyes returned to their natural color as his hand dropped, and then he could finally take a look at your half-naked form.Â
You took the opportunity of his distraction to push him away, making him rip his hand off your hair, looking at you with surprise and anger. You were breathing heavily in just your bra and thong, a matching black set, looking at him, the anger in you also coming out to light after how he treated you.Â
Anger, but no hatred. Not from your side⌠nor his.
So you took a sharp intake of breath as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slammed your lips against his, connecting your chest to his. He groaned at the kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your frame, his lips moving against yours instantly, like a starved man. Weeks of wanting this with you, dreaming of having you, but he never thought it would be like this.
You bit his bottom lip, yanking a bit on it with your teeth, provoking a protest on his part but you silenced it by sliding your tongue into his mouth. You moaned in satisfaction as his right hand slid downwards, grabbing onto your ass cheek and squeezing tight. You responded by raising your leg up, thigh against his hip, while his hand moved, leaving your behind to graze your thigh, gripping it tightly to hold you in place.
His hips pressed against your core, earning him a moan from you. You felt his buckle against your clothed cunt as well as his hardness as he rutted himself on you, moaning into your mouth. One of your hands went towards his hair, running your fingers through it and then you gripped tightly, pulling his head backwards and away from the kiss. He hissed at the action, his eyes connecting with your defiant ones.
âDoesnât feel good, does it?â Your voice came out through your teeth, a taunt. He gave a tilt of his head as if asking if you were really defying him right now. You could almost see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he huffed in anger, his hands flying to the back of your thighs, pushing you upwards with his strength, making you yelp slightly at the sudden movement.
Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist so you wouldnât fall, but then your back was slammed against the window, with such force that you were amused by how strong the glass was. You whimpered at the coldness against your naked back and ass, eyes glaring back at him.
âYou think you have the right to talk back to me right now?â One of his hands left your thigh so it could get between the two of you. His lips reconnected to yours before you could even reply back to him, and you heard how he started undoing his buckle, that âF4â shaped stupid belt he had.
You felt him move underneath you and you heard the rustling of clothes and then something pressing against your wet thong, making you whimper into the kiss. You pulled away to look down in between the two of you, and he had pulled his pants and underwear mid-thighs, enough to let his cock free, which was now pressing against you.
He got hold of the elastic of your thong, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it away from your body. You then saw a tiny and quick flame set fire and it quickly snapped the elastic apart, making your thong drop from your cunt, left to dangle thanks to the scraps still holding onto your other thigh.Â
You were exposed to him now, and then he pressed himself against your aching clit, rutting his hips against yours, causing a beautiful friction that left you moaning, throwing your head back, thumping against the glass.
He groaned as he looked at your exposed neck, moving forward so he could bite on the side of it, making you wince as your clit kept being hit with the ridge of his dick. It was hot. Literally hot. Not even warm temperature, it was burning and you wondered how that would feel inside of you.Â
He was coating his cock with your wetness, and he couldnât be bothered with foreplay, he didnât care for it, and you didnât either, not that you needed it. Youâve been wet the moment he gripped your hair. So he pulled his hips back, letting the tip of his cock kiss your clit for a brief second before it caught on your entrance.
A voiceless moan got caught on your throat, where his teeth still remained, as he slowly pushed inside andâ it was a perfect burn and stretch. He was perfect as he seethed himself inside, your walls fluttering in need around him as his mouth unlatched from your throat in order to look at how your face contorted at each inch of him.
âGood. That shut you up.â He held back the groans as he watched how your eyes were wide, looking in between the two of you now, seeing how his cock was disappearing inside of you. He wanted to hate you. He wished he could. It wasnât fair that even now all he could think about was you, even if it wasnât like before.
He cracked his neck as he felt his control slipping away, afraid of letting his flames burst out without his intention. He slammed his hand on the glass, right next to your head, as his left one gripped your thigh tightly and he struck his hips forward, bottoming out inside of you in one forceful thrust.Â
You gasped as your eyes met his. He was deliciously deep. There was a little bit of discomfort due to not having any prep but it was worth it. He was breathing heavily as he looked at you and your eyes danced with his in uncertainty, in rage, in sadness, in confusion. He was letting you adjust, or maybe he was just catching his breath, either way, you didnât think you deserved it.
âYouâre gonna cum already Johnny boy?â He gave you a glare, which only made you smirk at him. You didnât deserve the kindness, at least not from him. He started pulling out of you, only to roughly slam back in, causing you to choke on your own moan. You felt it in your throat almost. And then, he set the bruising pace. No mercy, slamming into you like a wild man.
The glass behind you shook, the metal hinges making loud sounds as he kept smashing his hips against yours over and over again, not leaving a single second for conscious thought, not leaving a single second for even a memory to slip through the both of you. All he wanted was to pour his anger out, all he needed was to show you how you made him feel then and how you made him feel now.
The sound of skin slapping echoed through the now empty apartment, an apartment where he spent a few nights with your company. He growled at the memory, his hips picking up a pace as your moans raised in pitch, your fingers digging into his shoulders, scratching on him while your eyes filled with tears. Was it pleasure? He didnât know.
âNot acting so smartass now, huh?â You choked out a moan as you tried to speak but he was piercing you right where you needed. Your g-spot was being abused at each sharp thrust of his. Punch. Punch. Punch.
You felt your body heating up, more than any other time you slept with someone, feeling as if you were sweating more than you should and you knew it was him. You knew he was raising the temperature of his body, including the one in the entire room. Your forehead was sweaty, your neck, your chest that was still covered in your bra that you now need to rip off because it was just too fucking hot.
You lowered a hand and pressed it against the glass, right next to you, and you grunted as you pushed against it, forcing him to stumble backwards. He fell to the ground, holding onto you, his back hitting the floor, his dick never slipping out of you as you landed on him, which caused you to choke.Â
You were breathing heavily as you looked down at him, who only winced slightly at the sudden hit on his ass and back. Your hands were now on his chest, still covered with his suit. You stared at the number 4 logo, glaring at it, and then your eyes found his. He was looking at you now with furrowed brows, sad instead of angry ones.Â
You didnât deserve those.
Your hands went towards your back, unclasping your bra off and ripping it off your body. A sigh of relief escapes you as the air hits the sweat thatâs on your tits. Your hips started circling against him, slowly, and he threw his head back as his hands gripped your hips, his digits digging into your skin.Â
Your belly coiled as you started rising yourself up and then slam back down again, knees pressing against the hard floor, knowing you will be bruised tomorrow, but you could give two shits about that right now. His hands traveled upwards, grabbing onto your breasts and everywhere he touched just left a lingering feeling of warmth, of burning.Â
You threw your head back as his fingers pinched your nipples, making your belly coil as you slammed yourself down again and circled your hips against him, making the tip of his cock rub against your g-spot repeatedly. He moaned your name in pleasure, the first time he did during the night and you looked down at him.
âYou sure thatâs my name?â And his eyes clashed with yours in new found anger, sitting up as his left hand gripped your waist, while the rest remained on your hip. His face came close to yours as his words became venomous.
âI wonder how many names you had to come up with. With how many you had to whore yourself to in order to get information for your boss. Whoever that might be.â And him calling you a slut was not something you expected. You didnât want him to think that. You became angry. Not at him, but yet, you had to direct it towards someone.
So you slapped him.Â
His head was turned with wide eyes and you had to pretend you werenât shocked at your own actions. You looked at your hand and then back at him, opening your mouth to say something but as he slowly turned to face you again, you knew you had fucked up. You saved yourself by talking once more.
âI didnât jump your bones. You jumped mine, back in your room. Whoâs the actual whore here, Johnny?â And you let him have the small memory of that innocent kiss he gave you. Of that kiss that made him so happy you had reciprocated, only for that memory to be shattered, tainted. His glare turned murderous as he looked at you.Â
You started feeling the areas he was grabbing you at become hotter and hotter. Your breathing became heavy in nervousness as your head turned to look at his hands which were becoming redder by the second. He laid back down and pushed his hips up, making you raise yourself a bit on your knees and before you could say something, he started slamming himself inside of you once more.
Your mind became mush in an instant, your moans choking up your voice as he hit your insides over and over again, the slapping of skin loud and quick. Your belly started turning, the elastic band about to snap as your hands dug into his chest. And then, you screamed as pain took you out of your pleasure palace.
The smell of burning filled the room, very slightly, faint, but still there. You looked down at where he was holding you, and his hands were now almost as red bright as metal against fire. He didnât stop his pounding either, growling as he looked at you with his yellow irises, filled with flames.
âThis is your reminder of who you betrayed. For you to remember me.âÂ
Tears fell down your cheeks as you felt the pain of your skin being burnt, of being branded by him, and then your climax hit you out of nowhere. You choked out a whimper, a cry of his name as your walls tightened around him, pulsating. His balls tightened with the need for his own release, and he cooled his hands once more but kept them in place on your body.
He groaned loudly at your tightness and he looked at how tears fell down your face as well as the drool that had pooled in the corner of your mouth. He cursed under his breath and slammed his hips upwards one more time, completely seething himself inside as his cum filled your insides and you felt the heat of it. You could feel it.Â
He was breathing heavily as he lowered his hips, his hands keeping you in place so you wouldnât lower on him. He hissed as he pulled out of you, his cum already dripping down from your hole, falling on the red tip of his cock. Your eyes looked down at his hands as they slowly parted from your skin, a squelching sound following after.
You were bleeding in some places, layers of your skin successfully burnt with his handprints. They were hurting you, they were very painful, and you⌠you couldnât be mad at him for them. Your eyes connected to his as he lay there looking at his own hands, trembling at the sight.
Pieces of your burnt skin were stuck to his hands, on his palms. He lost control. He didnât want to hurt you like this. You saw the guilt that displayed on his face and you raised your hand, wanting to touch him and tell himâ
âShitâŚâ You winced before you could say anything else. He snapped out of his thoughts and sat up, pushing you to sit on the floor next to him. Without another word, he got up and you looked as he pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt once more.Â
âI guess weâll see each other again now that youâve entered the headquarters.â He was asleep while you were there. He was sure you took something, and it was just a matter of time for you to strike the building or him. He walked towards the sliding doors, and you moved on your place, wanting to go after him, but the sharp pain of the burns made you stay put.
âJohnny⌠wait.â Your voice was choked, but he turned around to face you again. You felt the room becoming cooler, and you didnât want it to be that temperature⌠but it had to do for now. âMy name⌠I didnât lie about my name.âÂ
His eyebrow twitched in confusion at that. Should he believe you? Should he trust you on that one? He didnât know, he didnât want to find out, he didnât want to see you again, but he knew that one was inevitable. He turned away from you and you saw how his whole body turned into flames and flew out of the balcony, leaving you bruised, branded and alone.
In an empty, cold, room.
âItâs been a while since your last report, Chameleon.âÂ
The stupid nickname your boss gave you. You had the ability to infiltrate through people without being spotted. It wasnât a superpower, just good hiding.Â
âGot a little bit busy Boss.â Your voice was flat as you looked at how the man turned to look at you. So many people are afraid of this man, but there was something about Doctor Doom that just made you want to laugh.
âI hope that âbit busyâ was to get the information we need.â His voice was threatening, menacing as he looked at you through the screen. You gave him a sharp nod.
âYes, I was planning my next encounter with Storm.â At your report, he gave a small nod of approval. You felt your bandages becoming sticky underneath your oversized sweater. It was about time to change them again, so you had to make this a quick call.
âI see. So, you still didnât get into the headquarters then?â And you wanted to smile at his question. You wanted to show him how fucked he was, but you held yourself back because you had another plan in action, one that doesnât include a boss.
âNo sir. I require more time to create a bond with him.â He gave a small nod as his sharp tone filled the speakers.
âGet it done.â And the call ended abruptly.
You stared at the black screen, a smile appearing on your face as you slowly got up from the couch, walking towards the windows that were all blacked out. You pressed a button that was on the side and the windows returned to be transparent, showing the city lights in the night.
But what caught your attention was the orange gleam that was far away, still, floating, as if looking your way. You knew it was him. He has been waiting for you to turn the windows transparent once again. You had blacked out the apartment from his view for a whole week. You had refurbished it again, even hung up a real picture this time, the only one in the room.
One of you and him. One that you took at a picnic you had planned for the both of you. One that wasnât part of the plan. Like the theater. Like the nights spent in this fake apartment. Like the drinks spent on a terrace. But he didnât know that.Â
And then you saw him fly away, making your heart plummet to the floor. You winced as you turned to walk towards your kitchen, ready to take care of your wounds. Of his markings. Of his handprints that will permanently stay on your skin.Â
It was funny. First, you betrayed Johnny, and now you are betraying your boss, someone who might rip you apart the moment he finds out youâve been lying. Yet, you are more scared of losing the only fire that made you feel alive after a long while.Â
Youâll keep that flame alive. You have to.Â
Youâll make sure it does.
end
a/n: um, yeah, the thot was the burning of clothes, like, how was i supposed to do that one with just like, a normal person with no superpowers... with a lighter? not sexy enough.
also, handprints.
ta-ta
#johnny storm#human torch#fantastic four#fantastic 4#mcu#marvel#johnny storm x reader#johnny storm x you#johnny storm smut#johnny storm fic#johnny storm fanfiction#idk what im doing#this is thanks to joseph quinn#solely#also#villain!reader#woo#joseph quinn#chocolate button eyes#im comin for u#the human torch#the fantastic four
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â being mafia!tf141's assistant.
warnings : possessive, yandere behavior. fem reader.
a/n : i've never written mafia before? i hope this makes sense?? i plan to write four different parts for each of them individually!
â in all honesty, your relations with the mafia were completely accidental. you were a naive young woman in search of work. being some rich guy's assistant sounded easy enough. you did find it a little funny how there was no traditional interview process, just a bunch of slightly sketchy paperwork sent your way. luckily for you, you got the job!
â you were told an address, so you showed up. it turned out to be a massive house, which was even more shady. as you stood outside the door, a little too frightened to knock, you realized how sketchy it all was.
as you were lost in thought, the door swung open, revealing a muscular, shirtless man. he was only adorned in a pair of black boxers, he looked slightly peeved.
"who the fuck are you?" he acknowledged you after eyeing you up and down.
your eyes gazed on his firm chest due to how he nearly towered over you with his height. "i'm the new assistant.." you practically squeaked back at him.
the man grinned suddenly, his demeanor changing. "come in," he stepped aside, allowing you inside their home.
â the place was slightly cluttered as he showed you around, he introduced himself as soap. you assumed, or rather, hoped, it was a nickname. soap was immediately very touchy feely with you, slinging his arm around your waist or shoulder, running his large hand down the small of your back, stopping at your hips.
â soap showed you what your jobs were, things such as cleaning, cooking and basically whatever one of the men needed at the moment. he told you about the three other men, gaz, ghost and price. from what you gathered; they ran some kind of business. every mention of it was vague, yet you picked up that price was the 'boss' of sorts.
â after a lot of chatter, soap left your side and allowed you to work. the next man you met was just coming home, he was dressed fancily, seeming to be in a rush. he was quiet and polite, taking the time to introduce himself. gaz. soap hadn't said much about him.
â gaz was a sweetheart to you, asking you questions about yourself, apologizing for the slight mess in their home. you were excited to work for the two; both seemed pleasant to be around.
â the first two weeks of your job went by smoothly, soap and gaz would often lounge in whatever room you were in, chatting mindlessly to you. you would even say you bonded with the two.
â soap adored how good of an assistant you were. he loved eating your cooking, how you always made sure he liked your efforts. you were so obedient. so perfect for him.
â gaz had grown attached to your pretty little voice. you were so polite. he found it so cute how naive you were, how you never questioned what he did for work. he had a petname for you, âgorgeousâ. with how much he called you it, you wondered if he even knew your real name.
â when price and ghost returned from their âbusinessâ, they were both relived to finally have some help. they showed it in different ways.
â at the start, ghost basically ignored you. his skull mask frightened you anyway. he only spoke to you to give you commands, yet over time, your charm grew on him. still, he wasnât very talkative. heâd request your silent company. something to make him feel less alone.
â price, the boss, was very dominating. he appreciated your hard work, which soap and gaz had told him about. price thought you were adorable as a small animal. something to be protected and pet. every morning when you first got to work, you would make his tea for him. these slowly became his favorite moments.
â the longer you worked for them, the more mysterious they all became. they were vague whenever you hinted at your curiosity. you decided not to pry.
â you were unaware how possessive theyâd all became. how they vied for you and yours affections. when price practically demanded you work longer hours, you just assumed you were a super good assistant.
â the four men became obsessive over you after only a few months. your life had gotten.. complicated ever since. especially when you learned what they really did.
masterlist.
#cod mw2#yandere#cod mw2 x reader#cod x you#cod x reader#yandere x reader#call of duty#captain john price#john price x reader#captain price#john price#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz x reader#gaz x you#gaz x y/n#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#soap x reader#soap x you#soap x y/n#mafia tf141#mafia au#mafia x reader
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pairing(s): lando norris x driver!reader
okay haven't teased this anywhere but i needed a little warm up to get back into writing as i basically haven't written a full sentence in a week. it has felt like so much longer tbhđ (hmm also this is a driver!reader AU? like rb driver!reader)
Lucky. Lucky.
Youâre supposed to feel lucky that youâve been accepted into this apparently exclusive boys club. Thatâs what people tell you (unprompted) at least. Youâre supposed to be glad that Mad Max Verstappen has accepted you as one of his own. Hasnât shunted you to the side in favour of a more experienced teammate.
Youâre supposed to be glad that heâs also accepted you into his social circle. This place you were never supposed to be, that no one ever expected you to be.
And you are. You are.
Max is a good friend. Charles, Alex, George too. Youâre a fairly fresh rookie, youâre a girl, and itâs nice to be accepted so readily into this space. Itâs not all smooth sailing, but theyâre kind, supportive, always ready to offer advice, for the most part.
Itâs justâ
well, Lando.
Youâd not quite realised the depth of his friendship with Max. The amount of stuff heâd also be invited to. Nights out, dinners, Discord calls, late night iRacing sessions, pĂĄdelâ
Always pĂĄdel,
and hereâs the thing. You have to go.
Itâs competitive, youâre keeping score. Youâve never ever been any good at backing down from a fight. Itâs simply not an option to flake or give up entirely just because you hate Lando Norrisâ guts. That would be showing weakness, that would basically be rolling over and showing your fucking belly.
Youâre not weak. Youâre not a coward.
So youâre here.
Knees bent, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Padel racket discarded on the court next to you. Lando and his Max have won. Youâre tired and youâre sweaty and youâre pissed. Honestly, youâd rather not have your Max as a teammate. He sucks. Plain and simple. Heâs four lanky limbs bouncing around the court with utterly no coordination. Heâs too focused on the ball, so much that he forgets about the walls and the net and you. Youâd taken at least two tumbles after heâd knocked into you today. No harm no foul, but youâre too competitive to be happy with him currently.
If you had to pick anyone as a teammate it would honestly have to be
Lando.
You can see his sneakers, somehow McLaren branded, in your peripheral vision. You sigh, tip your head back to look up at him, trying to stymie the scowl on your lips.
âGood game,â he holds a hand out to help you up, a tight little smirk on his face because he knows how you feel about losing.
You roll your eyes, take the hand anyway. Not bothering to wipe your hand free of sweat and letting him heave as much of your weight as possible.
âYeah,â you bite, âMightâve won if playing with Verstappen wasnât like dragging dead weight.â
He lets out a laugh, rare from him when heâs around you. Looks at you, almost through his dark eyelashes, green eyes bright, reflective in the light, like heâsâ
You stifle that thought before it can bloom into anything that might get away from you.
His particularly long canine pokes out from his upper lip, you watch him suppress a smile. Think for a moment about how you might not mind if one of his smiles were directed at you. You bite down on your tongue, curl a hand into a fist, your fingernails digging into your palm.
âYâknow,â he says, shoulders rolling with a kind of nervous energy, his face betraying nothing of it, âI reckon weâd be a good team. Especially against the Maxesâ. Weâd thrash âem I bet.â
You raise an eyebrow, stare at him a little dumbfounded for a little too long. So long that he opens his mouth to backtrack, to make a snide remark, something.
You shake your head, shrug, âYeah. I guess. Might work if we didnât hate each other.â
âDunno,â he answers, rubbing his chin, âMight work anyway. Wouldnât hate you so much if you made me a winner.â
You feel like something sharp hits you in the chest, leaves you a little winded. You try to let it roll off your back, hum evenly in response, âMm, touchĂŠ, Norris.â
He sends you another smirk, a punchy thing that makes you feel like your insides are on fire. Leaves you burning.
short i know! but it was just a warm upđ hope u guys enjoyed anyway, iâll def write more of them one day!!! rivals to lovers is delish𼰠also ugh it felt so good to write something ive been missing it
#lando norris x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#formula one fanfic#đŤdrabbles#drabbles:ln4#driver!reader#redbull!reader
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Hi 𼺠can I pretty please ask for a fic with emt!marauders treating and helping reader get through getting stitches? Maybe having a huge fear of needles and they always make her so faint and nauseous so the boys fix up their clumsy girl and coach her through getting them because itâs just the absolute worst time ever?
Hi lovely, thank you for requesting! These always get so long because I get wrapped up in the semantics haha. I donât think this is an accurate reflection of how things work for paramedics, but for the purposes of fiction weâre gonna ignore that :3
Cw: needles, hospital, mention of nausea
emt!marauders x fem!reader ⥠2.1k words
James is murmuring what you imagine to be placations into the side of your head, so quietly you canât make them out, and youâre doing your best to keep your hand completely still as a nurse cleans the cut on your palm.Â
Sirius is watching you from beside the small bed with tension written all over him. Heâs digging his fingernails into his biceps and looking like he might actually jump the nurse if she makes a wrong move.Â
âWhereâs Remus?â he asks, not for the first time.Â
âHeâs just finishing up with another patient,â she answers again. âHeâll be here shortly.âÂ
As eager as you are to see your boyfriend, dread curls like vines around your ribcage. James, sensing this, presses his lips to your temple.Â
Ordinarily, paramedics donât handle stitches, but at your request and after some sweet-talking on Jamesâ part, the director agreed to let Remus see to you. What was staunchly not allowed, however, was for anyone not currently on shift to step in, so your remaining two boyfriends are stuck providing emotional support. James seems to be taking this better, whereas Sirius has been antsy and overprotective since youâd arrived.Â
A fraction of the tautness in his biceps dissipates when a familiar set of quick footsteps draws closer on the tiled floor outside your curtain. The nurse is the only one who doesnât seem to notice, the three of you perking up like meerkats the moment before Remus pulls back the curtain, stepping inside.Â
âHi,â he says, a small, automatic smile curving his lips at the sight of all of you.Â
The nurse finishes with perfect timing, tossing the wipe into the trash as she starts to leave. You and Remus both thank her, and once the curtain closes the four of you in together everything feels suddenly more right. You hear James sigh softly.
Remus gets closer than he was willing with a colleague present, wrapping a kind hand around your elbow and soothing upward from there. âHi, darling,â he says again, softer now. âThey tell me youâve had a kitchen accident.âÂ
âTotally intentional,â James jokes. âWe all just really missed you, needed an excuse to visit.âÂ
You try to laugh for his sake, and though itâs not fully felt it still helps to loosen the knot of unease in your chest.Â
Remus smiles gently. His thumb strokes up and down the back of your arm. âHow are you doing?â he asks you.Â
You do your best to smile back at him, though from Siriusâ expression it must not be very good. âHonestly? I already feel kind of nauseous.âÂ
âThatâs okay,â he promises, and you can tell heâs making his voice extra low and smooth on purpose. Any other time you might laugh at him for it, but actually itâs quite helpful. âIt makes sense to be a bit nervous, yeah? But you wonât feel anything, and so long as you donât look at it while Iâm working I think weâll be all right.âÂ
Remus looks you in the eyes for a moment longer to make sure you understand. His eyes are the color of tea steeped just the way you like it, warm and honey-sweet. And maybe youâre feeling vulnerable and mushy, but you think you fall a little more in love with him.Â
You nod, letting him take your injured hand.Â
âI have to numb it,â he warns you, âand that will likely be the hardest part, but once itâs done things will go fairly easily. Okay?âÂ
You press your lips together, nodding again not because you want to but because you know you donât have much choice. James readjusts his hold on you, gripping you tightly with one arm around your shoulders and the other folding your head into his chest. You suspect itâs partly to keep you from moving and partly because he knows you need it, but it feels as though heâs just doing his best to give you a continual hug. You appreciate the effort.Â
You follow the movement of Remusâ hand as he picks up a syringe from the tray the nurse had brought in. Thereâs that odd tingly feeling of the blood draining from your face, the awful queasiness in your stomach.Â
âDonât look,â Sirius tells you, voice just as caring as it is tense. You can tell heâs trying to calm himself for your sake, even if heâs not very good at it. Youâve heard from James and Remus that heâs cool as a cucumber when he works with other patients, but when itâs you or someone he cares about he canât help getting a bit rattled. âYouâre okay, baby, just close your eyes. Think of something else.âÂ
You can manage the first but not the second. When you feel Remus shifting his hold on your hand your breaths shallow.Â
âQuick poke,â he murmurs, and your grip on James tightens as his does on you.Â
Though you think youâre prepared for it, a mortifying pained sound rises in your throat at the sting. Both James and Sirius coo sympathetically, but then itâs done, and Remus is murmuring praises while James presses kiss after kiss into your hair.Â
You open your eyes to find Sirius has moved closer. He passes you a vomit bag, and you take it thankfully, trying to breathe through the closure in your throat.Â
âYouâve got it,â he tells you, brows knit together by both sympathy and concern. âYouâre okay, itâs already over with.âÂ
âI donât really feel like Iâm completely out of the woods,â you try to joke. The truth to it tightens something in you nonetheless.Â
âYou wonât even feel the rest,â James assures you, still with his lips stuck to you like itâs his job. He smells nice, his eucalyptus shampoo cutting through the icky hospital scent. âYouâll hardly know itâs happening, lovie, weâll just talk about other things and be out of here before you know it.âÂ
âI really donât want to faint,â you say. âI feel like today has been bad enough without fainting.âÂ
âIâm inclined to agree,â says Remus. Youâve been avoiding looking at him, wary of catching sight of another needle or worsening your nausea by seeing your cut, but his gloved hands are empty. He cradles your injured hand in one, the other drawing a tranquilizing path up and down the side of your thigh. âYou wonât faint, sweetheart. Weâll do our best to keep you distracted, and if you need to take breaks we can do that. Itâs whatever you need.âÂ
You blow out a long breath, nodding. Remus gives you a small smile.Â
âI only ask that you donât hold any of this against me,â he teases. âIâm going to require lots of assurance that youâre not upset when I get home.âÂ
James coos, sounding like heâs considering pulling Remus into your hug as well.Â
âNo, I know this is all my own fault,â you admit. Sirius huffs his agreement. âI could never hold my clumsiness against you.âÂ
âI appreciate that.â Remus sends Sirius an intrigued look. âThough maybe Iâll have to make it up to you by cooking, since it seems like you could be barred from the kitchen for some time. Can you feel that?âÂ
You blink at him. âFeel what?âÂ
âGood.âÂ
Remus starts messing with things on the tray again, and both James and Sirius seem to come to attention, James putting his arm around your head again while Sirius pulls up a chair by the bed.Â
âThe medicineâs working,â Remus tells you, âso Iâm going to go ahead and get started, okay? Just try and relax for me, sweetheart.âÂ
Your eyes go automatically to what heâs doing, but Sirius says sharply, âHey.âÂ
That gets your attention, and he gives you an apologetic look, gentling his tone as he takes your good hand.Â
âJust look at me,â he tells you. You donât know if he knows it, but his thumb is tracing a line below your thumb thatâs exactly where your cut is on your other palm. âAre you okay to talk, pretty girl?âÂ
You hum. It comes out high-pitched and shakier than you wouldâve expected.Â
âWhy donât you tell us about that book you want Remus to read?âÂ
For a moment, surprise eclipses your anxiety. âYou really wanna hear about that?âÂ
Sirius grins. âNo, but youâve got a captive audience. If I were you Iâd seize my chance.âÂ
You start to smile back at him, but then thereâs an odd tugging sensation on your hand. Sirius notices the change, moving to block your view with his hand before you can look towards Remusâ work. Still, your stomach rolls uneasily. Your head feels unnaturally light.Â
Sirius says your name firmly. âTell us about the book, baby.âÂ
âItâsâŚâ You fight to solidify your thoughts. âItâs a true story.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âYeah. I thought it was fiction, but itâs not.â Another tug, and you whimper. âSorry, I donât feel well.âÂ
âYouâre doing great,â James says, and Sirius takes the bag from you, opening it up in case you need it. âJust stay relaxed, weâve got you.âÂ
âWhatâs the true story?â Sirius asks, trying to get you back on task. âWhatâs it about?âÂ
âThis guy,â you answer. âHeâs from Syria, but he lives in New Orleans and heâs there when Hurricane Katrina hits. Iâm not that far in, but so far itâs about, likeââ you swallow ââhow heâs discriminated against even when heâs helping people.âÂ
Though you try to stop it, a tear skids down your cheek. Sirius wipes it away gently. âYeah?â he asks you. âAre you liking it so far?âÂ
You nod, feeling more in your own body as you try to focus on the conversation. Even the panic is a bit of a relief, better than the strange weightlessness of your head when youâre on the brink of passing out.Â
âI donât think I would have picked it up if Iâd known it was nonfiction,â you tell Sirius. He smiles wryly, which looks like it takes effort. âI usually only read fiction, but this was done really well.âÂ
âI think youâre right,â he replies. âRemus absolutely should read that.âÂ
âNot you?â James teases.Â
Sirius shoots a mean look over your head, though you can tell heâs relieved at the familiar banter. âAre you volunteering?â he asks James. âNo? Didnât think so.âÂ
âSurely thereâs a movie version we can watch instead. Lovie, do you know?âÂ
âI havenât heard of one,â you admit, âbut the bookâs a bit older, so maybe the movie came out before Iâd heard about it.âÂ
âWeâll have to look it up,â Sirius decides. âIf itâs really that good, thereâll be a movie.âÂ
Thatâs something you could argue about forever, and he knows it, but just then you hear something snip and Remus says, âThere.âÂ
âThere?â you echo.Â
Sirius looses a breath, and James hugs you tightly. âYouâre all done, angel,â he says brightly.Â
âOh.â You feel, perhaps, not as relieved as you ought to, and Sirius chuckles at your confusion, taking your face between his hands and planting a kiss between your brows.Â
âYou really are done,â he promises you. âYou killed it, babe.âÂ
James loosens his grip on you and Sirius moves his hand, letting you turn your head to see Remus securing a bandage over your palm. He looks up at you when he pulls off his gloves, pride and fondness mingled in his expression. His eyes narrow at the look on your face.Â
âHug?â he guesses, and you nod as you sit forward, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.Â
Itâs the closure you need, relief dissolving the tension in your muscles and gut as Remusâ thumb strokes your nape reassuringly. âThanks,â you mumble into his shoulder.Â
âYou did it, darling,â he tells you. âNothing to thank me for.âÂ
âBefore I bled all over our counter, I was cutting tomatoes for pasta tonight,â you say. âIâll finish it up when I get home so I can thank you with dinner.âÂ
Sirius scoffs loudly. âYeah, fat chance. Youâre not going near another knife for the rest of your life.âÂ
You roll your eyes as you pull away from Remus, but he raises an eyebrow at you, smiling faintly. âIâm with him on this one,â he says. âAt least a temporary kitchen ban is in order.âÂ
You groan, leaning sideways until your shoulder rests on Jamesâ chest. He wraps his arms around you automatically. âYou guys are so lame,â you gripe.Â
âDonât worry, lovie,â says James, kissing the side of your nose lightly. âIâll finish your pasta when we get home. Everybody wins.â
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