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cno-inbminor · 4 years

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domus (pt. 2)

a/n: i found some motivation to write part 2, so here we are! it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. you will need to read part 1 for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~5.5k, will probably have one more part

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; two mentions of alcohol and sex

pt. 1 | pt. 3

The sliver of sunlight peeking through the blackout curtains gently draws you from your sleep, peeling away the exhaustion that sits atop your eyelids. They creak open as your body shifts and stretches, and you bring a curled hand to rub your eyes awake. You don’t remember the last time you slept so deeply, and part of you wants nothing more than to burrow back into the gray sheets.

Gray sheets?

The world teeters on its axis as you abruptly sit up in an unrecognizable bed – colors dance in splotches across your vision as panic seeps into your lungs – and then you remember last night’s events. That’s right. You’re at Keiji’s nice apartment where he so kindly offered you his bed, taking the couch for himself, and you’re going to be here for the week.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself before burying your face into the palms of your hands, trying to calm down. Your phone rests neatly on his nightstand and seems to taunt you as you lift your head back up. You wonder if Tetsuro texted last night, but if you had to be honest with yourself, you genuinely hope he didn’t. He might be anxiously waiting for your promised correspondence, as you imagine him checking his phone with hopeful eyes every time it vibrates in the pocket of his white coat. But you still needed some time and space.

Your body slides off the bed, stretching once you’re on your feet. With phone in hand, you check your emails and notifications while making your way to the window and then pulling back the curtains. Sunlight softly pours in as the rays just begin to peak above the horizon, painting the sky in gradient shades of marigold and fuschia pink. Tokyo seemed to be just as beautiful in the morning as it is at night, only that the pollution and smog in the air was more visible.

The digital clock hanging on Keiji’s bedroom wall indicates it’s barely past 7AM – in the past, Keiji could be a bit of a late riser on the weekends. Judging by the silence on the other side of the door, you figure he’s still asleep. If you are lucky and quiet enough, you could whip up some breakfast as a thanks for last night. In fact, you decided you’d do your best to make most of the meals. Surely Keiji wouldn’t mind a week without having to worry about meal prepping.

The bedroom door silently opens as you gently pad to the restroom – you freshen up a bit and swig around some mouth wash, staring into the mirror. Given Keiji’s comfortable state of dressing down last night, you figured it was fine to change into a large t-shirt and gym shorts for now. If he ever looks uncomfortable by your attire, then you could easily change into something else that’s a little more formal. Once you’re ready, you take a deep breath, slightly psyching yourself up for the possibility that Keiji is awake and kicking.

As you approach the living room, catching sight of your host’s sleeping complexion facing you, your heart skips a beat. One thing that you are unprepared for is just how beautiful Keiji is. It would be silly to deny this fact – you didn’t have to be in love with the man to say so. In addition to that mysterious aura he carried around, the ethereal and angelic beauty that Keiji possessed only enticed his admirers further. A smile cracks on your face as you muse the idea that it should be a crime for someone to look so delicately celestial, especially in sleep.

Keiji lies on his back with one arm bent over his head, the other atop his stomach. It seems that his blanket slipped to the ground at some point, and you could see a faint layer of goosebumps dancing across his skin. Slowly, you pick it up and gather the gray cotton blend into your arms, laying one end of it on his feet and moving up to cover the rest of his body. You leave the excess scrunched up right under his chin, taking a closer look at his face.

Keiji’s skin is smooth and dewy, eyelashes dark against his cheekbones. They flutter in dreams as his lips are slightly parted with even, soft breaths leaving them. You feel some concern when you spot the dark eye circles, hoping that he wasn’t overworking himself too much. But being an editor at a major shonen manga company must have its long list of demands, and Keiji was never short of doing his best.

Suddenly, he shifts and seems to burrow himself in the comfort of his blanket, effectively ripping you from the trance that you were in. You quickly tip toe away towards the kitchen, doing your best to stop your heart from beating so hard that you could feel it pulse in your ears. Your purse sits open on the counter and you pull your earbuds from it, slipping them in and connecting it to your phone. Putting on a soft indie playlist, you begin to become familiar with Keiji’s kitchen.

Much to your amusement, the placement of his pots, pans, cooking equipment, and more, resemble that of how things were arranged in his parents’ house. This makes your task much easier, and you grin to yourself even more when you open his refrigerator. Just like back then, the milk and cream are on the top shelf, egg carton in the middle pressed against the left wall, vegetables stored in the drawers, sauce jars on the door side, leftovers just beneath the eggs, and fruits by the eggs. It seems that some old habits really do die hard.

With the smile still lingering on your face, you begin cooking.

Keiji’s heart might just beat out of his chest any second now, and he thinks it’s a miracle that you didn’t realize he’s been awake all this time.

He first woke when he heard the water running from the sink in the bathroom, wincing slightly at the slight ache in his back. Keiji wasn’t lying when he said the couch was truly comfortable, but his mattress had undoubtedly spoiled him. It also would have been a bonus to wake up next to someone for once, but that was a thought he quickly squashed. Just as he was about to reach down for his blanket, the bathroom doorknob turned and he panicked. Keiji was quick to assume his previous sleeping position and shut his eyes, breathing as evenly as possible. He’s not quite sure why he’s feigning sleep, but part of him didn’t want you to feel bad for waking him up. It wasn’t terribly late in the morning yet, and he was usually still asleep at this time. Knowing you, you would feel awful and probably spend the rest of the week trying to make up for it, or worse, leave to spend the nights at a cheap hotel. He refuses to let such a thing happen under his watch, not if he could help it.

So caught up in his thoughts, he commends himself for not flinching when the blanket begins to cover his legs, and quite nearly bursts at your gentle movements and the way you tuck the edge under his chin. He remembers doing the same thing to you last night and wills away the blood from flooding his face at the memory of kissing you on the cheek. How could he be so reckless?

Unable to keep his position, he moves just slightly, and based on the tiny, distant creaks of his floorboards, you’ve probably walked away. As his ears catch the opening of cupboards and the fridge, only then does he dare to peek his eyes open again. He wonders what you’re thinking about with the small grin on your face, if it has anything do with the fact that you’re cooking for someone or whatever you might be listening to. Keiji’s gaze softens, watching you bob and sway to the music in your ears, remembering the times he drove the both of you home from university. Even though you could easily commute, Keiji’s mother demanded that he use his car and offer you a ride home for the holidays, and he’d give you full control of the music playing. You’d always try to play something he was okay with, bless your soul, and sometimes he would even sing along. He pretended to ignore your incredulous side glances when you realized he was singing as well, and would always look out his window to hide the smile that matched yours.

While he’s been in the city his whole life, living alone really does hit sometimes. It’s one thing to have his parents visit from time to time, but coming back to an empty and dark apartment can really take its toll. Perhaps that’s why he feels so fond right now, observing the way you move around his kitchen with so much familiarity. Adorned in your casual clothes, Keiji realizes that this is what it’d look like if you actually lived with him – except he’d probably still be asleep in his own mattress, a little nonplussed at waking up to an empty bed with the sheets fighting to retain some of your body heat. And he would get up and watch from the doorframe as you whipped something up for the both of you, perhaps walking towards you to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and—

No, you were still Kuroo’s.

And that fact hurt him more than he ever expected.

You let out a shrill yelp and nearly drop the silicone spatula when you turn away from the stove, only to spot Keiji resting his elbows on the countertop and placing his chin on top of folded hands. An amused smirk crosses his face as you rip your earbuds out and fling them over one shoulder, one hand reaching over to your heart. “Fucking hell, Keiji,” you pant. “Warn a girl, will you?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he reasons, moving to grab a couple of plates from the drying rack by the sink and handing them to you. “Here.”

You thank him and bring them by the stove, lifting the frying pan to distribute the scrambled eggs. They’re just how he likes them, he notices, and also doesn’t fail to spot that his portion is larger than yours. As you begin to spread butter on a couple of pieces of toast, Keiji sees the that his coffee brewer is still open, believing that you haven’t caught the chance to start it. He makes sure there’s enough water and grounds for two cups, starting the machine and grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. One of them was brought from his parents’ home, and had been the mug you frequently used whenever you were there. Keiji knew you were a creature of habit, and once that porcelain had been lent to you at the age of thirteen, you would forever be its second owner. Why he brought it when he moved in was a bit of a mystery, yet deep down inside, he knew exactly why.

It was the same reason why he would buy that specific bottle of dessert wine, why he kept tabs on the ramen shop you liked, why he kept some of your song recommendations saved on his Spotify account, why your Instagram and Snapchat stories were always one of the first few to view on his respective home pages. But he’d keep that reason to himself for now.

“A splash of cream and a small teaspoon of sugar?” Keiji calls out curiously, silently praying that he remembers your coffee preferences correctly. He’s rewarded with the beam on your face as you nod, watching you bring the toast to the plates as he stirs your coffee. You spot the unaltered coffee and take it in your hands.

“Two splashes of cream and half a small spoonful of sugar?” You ask and Keiji nods. Inside, you pump your fist in delight. Keiji brings the two cups to the dining table while you bring the food and utensils – he could get used to this, really. The two of you say your thanks and dig in. When Keiji takes a sip of his coffee, he has to hide the upturned corners of his lips behind his cup because it’s exactly how he likes it, exactly how it tastes like every other morning he drinks coffee. And it baffles him to no end.

Unbeknownst to him, you feel the same way, eyes almost widening in surprise when you taste your own. Another detail that Keiji seemed to keep over the years was being added to this list you didn’t realize you would ever make, but you weren’t complaining. After all, he did assure you last night that you two were friends. It wasn’t all in your head and the time spent together hadn’t been for naught.

“Do you have any plans while you’re here?” He inquires behind a bite of toast.

“Not really,” you reply quietly, chopsticks now picking at the scrambled eggs. “The most I thought was to visit some museums that I missed going to, check out some of the food stalls maybe. I didn’t really think things through.”

“That’s okay,” Keiji comforts. “If you’d like, I can work from home for a few days and we can go do something. I don’t want to leave you all alone here for the whole day.”

“You don’t need to!” You wave your hands frantically, feeling like the worst imposer now. Not only have you showed up at his apartment unexpectedly and staying for the time being, he was offering to work from home to spend time with you?

“I haven’t used any of my vacation days this year anyways. I have a good reason now, and they don’t mind when I work from home either. I don’t ask very often, but I still get work done so it doesn’t bother them.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? Really, I can go find another place to stay and—”

“No.” Keiji’s tone is firm and final, leaving any words of protest to die on the tip of your tongue. “Seriously, it’s okay,” he reassures you softly. “Plus, I have a few ideas in mind.”

“I’ll cook most of the meals then,” you attempt to compromise. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Only because you won’t stop asking until I say yes,” he jokes with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll split the cost of the groceries.”

“Then I’ll just send the money right back to you.”

“Remember when you tried to give me gas money for driving us from and to uni for the holidays?”

“You always refused it,” you smile fondly at the memory. “Eventually I just started slipping it into the middle console when you weren’t paying attention.”

“That would explain the stray bills and coins in there,” he mutters. “My mother would throw a fit if she knew you gave me gas money.”

“Which is exactly why I told you not to tell her.”

“Should I tell her now then?”

“And have her call me up to scold me for doing so? Please, you’d be in just as much trouble for taking it.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t aware of the last few times, so I’d be safe.”

“…you’re ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Keiji chuckles, arching an eyebrow playfully as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Shut up,” you grumble over a mouthful of eggs.

“So,” he leans back in his chair. “How do you feel about going to Osaka on Monday?”

While Keiji had a mental list of things that have cheered you up over the years, he figured you needed to see some friends from home. And to him, there was no better reminder of that than seeing Bokuto in the flesh.

Koutaro was aware of the friendship between the two of you and had always been kind to you, engaging in light conversation whenever you visited the volleyball courts to drop something off for Keiji. Kuroo had taken notice of you then as well, but nothing came of it until uni. Koutaro was also privy to some of Keiji’s affection, knowing how much the latter had kept an eye out on you during their last year of high school. So when he got a call and a short explanation of what happened, he was more than happy to hear that the two of you would be visiting.

You and Keiji hop on one of the earliest bullet trains to Osaka, where the grey-haired friend would meet you two at the station. Not long after the train gradually lurches forward, traveling at almost inhuman speeds, the food cart starts to roll down the aisle. You let Keiji take the window seat for this portion of the ride, quickly paying for two flavored onigiris before he can protest. After thanking the kind worker, you place his preferred filling in his lap, watching in delight as he thanks you and unwraps the item with care. Two and a half hours later, you find yourself wrapped up in Koutaro’s strong arms, struggling to catch your breath as he nearly squeezes the life out of you.

Much of the morning until lunch is spent observing their practice – you feel like you’re back in high school again with Koutaro’s excitement practically radiating off of him and into the stands. Keiji’s just glad that your mind is focused on something else, recalling the pensive yet troubled look on your face during most of the train ride as you stared down at your phone. Koutaro has kept his mouth shut for now, but Keiji could tell that he was dying to ask you some questions. After all, both of them had been good friends with Testuro, and there was no doubt that the former Fukurodani ace still kept in touch with him from time to time.

After being introduced to the team, shaking hands with the other players and bowing politely at a reasonable distance away specifically for Kiyoomi, you and Keiji leave with a wave, promising to join them for dinner. Koutaro had given you a list of possible places to sightsee, as well as a few recommendations for lunch near the gym. Eventually, you two settle on a nearby curry restaurant, and needless to say, your waiter had to witness some bickering over who would pay the check.

“Please help me out with this,” you pleaded, pulling a pout with the unsuspecting waiter who certainly feels like he’s caught in a lover’s quarrel now. “He paid for our train tickets, it’s only right that I pay for the meal.”

“Erm—”

“She’s been cooking all of the meals for the last few days, as well as for the food on the train, so I should be the one to pay.”

“You’re letting me stay at your apartment, of course I’m going to help cook, and I like cooking!”

“But still—”

In Keiji’s moment of argument, you snatch the ticket and slam it into the waiter’s hand with your credit card. “Take it. Take it and run.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I’m just going to listen to the lady this time, I’ll be right back,” the waiter says nervously before scurrying off, and you shoot Keiji a victorious look. He only shakes his head in response, but more amused than anything at your antics.

“You can’t win all the time,” he warns.

“I will most certainly try.”

Keiji certainly does try and wins when it comes to dinner, Koutaro watching with a grin on his face as you protest and whine when their waitress walks away with Keiji’s card in hand. Next to him, Atsumu murmurs, “Are they dating?”

“Nah, she’s dating another guy.”

“So what’s happenin’ here? Why’s she stayin’ with him again?”

“We don’t know the details – sounds like there was a falling out with her boyfriend and she showed up in Tokyo, called Akaashi unexpectedly. They’re old family friends, grew up living down the street from each other.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Who knows?” Koutaro shrugs, denying the itch to text Testuro this second and ask for answers. You seem happier, however, genuinely listening to Shoyo’s animated storytelling of when he first practiced with the Fukurodani duo. Keiji chimes in from time to time, but otherwise staying silent and basking in the nostalgia. The team members sitting across from you find it difficult to not notice how often Keiji steals glances at you, who is none the wiser. There are a few times when Shoyo mentions a name you don’t quite remember, turning towards Keiji for answers. You don’t even have to say anything – one pair of furrowed eyebrows and he knows exactly what you’re asking about. Koutaro gathers that perhaps the last few days spent together have caused you two to fall in sync.

He wonders what Testuro would think about that.

“Come visit anytime you’re nearby!” Koutaro offers you with another tight squeeze, later releasing you to pull in Keiji for a more manly hug. The two of them knock fists together before Keiji guides you through the station with a hand on the small of your back, giving one last wave to the ace of the Black Jackals.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you tell him once you’re seated in the train. Keiji has the window seat again. “It was nice seeing Bokuto-san again.”

“I’m glad this could cheer you up a bit, really.”

“It helped me a lot, more than you know.”

“That’s good to know.”

This time, you buy a couple of juice boxes from the cart and hand one over to Keiji, who gives you a teasing admonishing look. A glint in his eyes says that he’ll pay you back for this some day when you least expect it, and you won’t be able to do anything about it. As you quietly suck on the straw, you loosen the seatbelt around your waist and turn your whole body to face him, all while searching for the right words.

Keiji waits patiently, mirroring your movements to face most of his body towards you, only half his back resting on the back of his seat.

“Testuro told me he doesn’t love me anymore,” you quietly confess, peeking a look at your companion’s face to gauge his reaction. Keiji remains stoic, but you find it in yourself to continue.

“He sat me down after dinner about a week and a half ago, told me he couldn’t keep it in anymore. At first, he said a bunch of things about how I didn’t deserve to be strung along or left doubting myself – that it was all him and had nothing to do with me. And then he said he wasn’t in love with me anymore, but that I was still a really important person to him.”

Deep breaths.

“I didn’t know what to do, you know?” You ramble, meeting his gaze with wide, tired, frantic eyes. “What do you even do in that situation? And how am I not supposed to feel like it has something to do with me – like, am, am I not pretty enough now? Was the sex not good anymore? Did—did I change into someone that he couldn’t love? I just, I just couldn’t help but think it’s all my fault, that perhaps I changed into someone he couldn’t see the future with anymore. In some unknown time span, I went from being his everything to just…nothing.”

“You’re not ‘nothing’”, Keiji interjects. His eyes are hardened and dark again, much like when he asked you if Testuro had cheated on you the first night you arrived. You crack your best smile of gratitude, feeling the tears beginning to form.

“Perhaps you’re right – but you know what’s the worst part though? I shouldn’t even be mad at him,” you chuckle bitterly. “Immediately after that was dumped on me, he told me he would try to love me again, that he’d do his best because that’s how much I still mattered to him. I just needed to give him time, but I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong to force him. Whatever his reasons may be, I don’t want to force him to feel something for me again just for my happiness. Even then, I wouldn’t be 100% happy either, always worried that maybe he’d be faking his love for me, wondering when he’s gonna snap and call it all off. I might as well let him go now and revamp on my own, you know?”

Keiji keeps to himself and you can tell he’s trying to process your words. You didn’t mean to spill everything out on a bullet train of all places, but it just seemed like the right time after everything he’s done for you these last few days. Seeing Bokuto was another breath of fresh air that you didn’t realize you needed, and you would have to be completely oblivious to your environment to not notice the many questioning glances the ace had sent you throughout the day.

“I think you’re right in wanting to let him go – he shouldn’t feel like he has to try because of some obligation due to the bond you two have,” Keiji says carefully. “I’m sorry it happened though.”

“It’s nothing you could control, silly,” you let out a watery laugh, wiping tears away with the sleeve of your jacket. Keiji fishes out his handkerchief, gently swiping beneath your eyes. You can do nothing but sit there and wait for him to finish, feeling the care in each stroke against your skin. Never in a million years would you have predicted the two of you would be in this position, and part of it leaves you lightheaded. When he’s done, you open your eyes to meet his, though they flicker down to the silk cloth in his hands. That design…

“Is that the handkerchief I bought you as a souvenir from Kyoto?” You blurt out. Keiji looks at down at his hand and nearly curses at himself. For the first time in your life, you see him look somewhat sheepish and at loss for words.

“It came in handy,” he says fondly. “It’s really good quality, and I figured I’d keep it with me just in case. Thank you for this, again.”

“Well, you bought me that keychain from your senior class trip – it only seemed right that I give something in return.”

Keiji lets out a small, teasing scoff, deciding to remain silent for the time-being. It’s after a couple of minutes does he choose to speak up.

“You’re justified in how you felt, (y/n). I don’t know what it’s like to be in that situation, but I can only imagine how heartbroken you must have been. You’ve always given 120% to the important people in your life – I’ve seen it. So if you wanted to run away for a little bit for some space and time to think, that’s completely understandable. You’re allowed to be angry and bitter, but there is one thing I’d rather you not feel.”

“What would that be?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Keiji leans the side of his head against the headrest, staring at you with a gentile fondness that you also hadn’t seen directed towards you before. “I don’t want you feeling insecure about yourself. You’re a wonderful person, (y/n), and just because Kuroo-san doesn’t love you anymore, it doesn’t mean you’ve become any less than that. He just might’ve not been the right person. I can guarantee there’s at least one person out there who will love you until the day you die.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“I most definitely can,” Keiji challenges firmly, leaving very little room for argument.

“For a man who hasn’t dated, you’re definitely a bit of a hopeless romantic,” you laugh, ignoring Keiji’s eyeroll.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You doze off in the Uber back to his apartment building, and even when he gently shakes you, you’re still incredibly groggy. Keiji has to practically catch you when you lose your footing, apologies spilling in slurred words from your lips. At this rate, one of you is going to get hurt on the way to his unit, and he’d rather have it not be you. Luckily, he’s not carrying much and makes the executive decision to crouch in front of you.

“Keiji…?” You murmur, trying to put together the pieces in your exhausted brain.

He holds his arms out behind him. “Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the unit.”

“But…”

“The sooner you get on, the sooner we can get home and sleep.”

With no energy left in you to deny him, you climb onto his back as carefully as you can, wrapping your limbs around his neck and waist as his arms latch around the backs of your knees. Keiji hoists you up, shifting your body slightly to center your weight, and begins the trek. He nods at the security guards before angling his head to face yours. You’ve pretty much passed out again, but he needs you to do three more things.

“Can you punch in the passcode for me?” He tells you the numbers slowly, making sure you’re inputting them correctly. Keiji asks a similar question when they get into the elevator, and one last task when they reach his door.

“You did such a good job,” he praises you, the warmth in his tone washing over you like freshly dried sheets. Keiji sits on the edge of his bed and lets you fall back into his comforter, laughing to himself when you curl up on your side without a care left in the world.

“Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds onto your hands before pulling you up. Your hair is mussed and he attempts to fix it while coaxing you to properly get ready for bed. “You’re gonna need to take off your jacket before you go to bed – I don’t mind if you sleep here in your jeans, but it won’t be comfortable if you keep your jacket on.”

You grumble something unintelligible but start removing your arms from the sleeves. Keiji nearly coos, folding your jacket over the seat in front of his desk before returning to you. Somehow, you’re still sitting upright, and he kneels in front of you so he can maintain eye contact to keep you awake. “You’re doing great. Now do you want to brush your teeth?”

At first you shake your head, but then pause, and nod instead. “Okay, stay awake for me, all right? I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Keiji comes back promptly with your toothbrush already damp and holding a dollop of toothpaste, placing it correctly in your hand. You have enough muscle memory left to aim for your mouth, languidly stroking the bristles against your teeth. Keiji joins in, accompanying you until you’re ready to spit out the toothpaste. He lets you lean into him as he half-carries you into the bathroom, holding your hair back as you rinse your mouth and wash away any excess toothpaste. You sit on the toilet lid still half-asleep as you wait for him, somewhat expecting him to help you back into bed at this point.

“Good job, now you can go to sleep,” Keiji murmurs, once again supporting your weight on the journey back to his room. He first flips the comforter and sheets away so they can cover you once you’re in bed, again tucking you in properly. “Goodnight,” he whispers before moving to grab a change of clothes, but a pull on his sleeve stops him. He turns back to look at you, noticing how much you’re struggling to stay awake.

Your arms pull out from underneath the covers and shakily reach for his face. Completely unsure of what to do, Keiji stays still and waits with bated breath. Your fingers grasp the arms of his glasses, sliding them off the bridge of his nose and folding them at the hinges. They gently place it by your phone on his nightstand, a smile creeping onto your face as you snuggle back into the sheets. “You can’t sleep with your glasses on, silly,” you slur.

That’s the last thing you say before you’re out like a light.

Keiji doesn’t know how long he stands there, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. All he knows is that the moonlight spilling from his window makes you seem surreal. He wonders if you’re truly, actually here in his bed, and just did something as trivial as taking off his glasses for him. But that gesture alone sends his heart into overdrive, remembering the care you put in to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break them with your sleep-addled clumsiness.

He ponders on it for the next few minutes until he’s once again laid down on the futon, throw blanket strewn across his body, and eager to follow you into the dreamworld.

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otonymous · 4 years

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Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins. How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful for commissioning this Victor piece from me. You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣 I really hope you enjoy the read! (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives. It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written. That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler. Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips. And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that. Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling. Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room. However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind. She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company. Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request. Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor? Not very gentlemanly of you. How do you put up with him?” Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room. “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot. They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry. You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression. And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.

No, there’s no way. It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you. The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet. You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart. The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction. You smile to ease his concerns. He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date. He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away. “Soryu. How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind. In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I. Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood. It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed. My father sent for me shortly afterwards. I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames. And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts. You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night. But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff. “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor? Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London. It’s a win-win situation. Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement. It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet. Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks. Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor. All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?! Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him? But that wasn’t even the worst of it. If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels. You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask. Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s. And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so. Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.” Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation. Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his. Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face. And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company. So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse. Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents. And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today. The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional. Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way. My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir. “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong. Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart. Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore. The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman. Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!” He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places. I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim! Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!” Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!? I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face. And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor. Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table. The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke. The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone. I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck! Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute. And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool. “Really. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away. My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage. “This is a bad time, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road. And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?" The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out. I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features. He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu. Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster. On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst. Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones. What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City. While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did. I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure. It’s too accurate to just be guesswork! Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones. It’s incredible. I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him. If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show! But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe. The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news. God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence. Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same. “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.” I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show. You should’ve seen him! He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall. Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top. What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you. Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation. Victor Li didn’t belong to you. Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana. Diana and Victor. A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit. And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side. Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors. And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay. You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself. And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor? You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster. Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight. Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li. And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same. But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places. Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink. Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg. I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me. Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down. “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?” I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff. She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor. A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic. All work and no play, all the time. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer. That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume. I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart. She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot. I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. She’s not my lover.”

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening. In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert. The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair. The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman. And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch. And why shouldn’t she be surprised? I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting. Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor. And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut. She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds. The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She is looking at me curiously. I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking. “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes. Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me. “Of course. My apologies, you’re absolutely right. Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl. With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster? You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere. He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more. You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones. But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss. Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones. It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones. He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough. Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you. After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up. No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you. Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.

“Please, just call me Luke. Vitamins and water are all I need to survive. I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.” You smile, taking another bite of wagyu. And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table. What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo? You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind. After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red. That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive. Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me. If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you. Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words. Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you. You pass it across the table to him.

“Here. Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse. And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation. It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late. By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch. And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message. And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text. That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here. An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still. Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late! What are you doing here in Tok—”

“Why did you ignore me?” My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again. The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me. “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply. “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey. On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does. I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink. The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm. Bold. Since when did you start drinking whiskey? I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance. Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her. She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip. I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with. Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there. But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?” She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us. It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster. The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory. I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo? Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business. But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go. In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time. At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink. Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely. Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms. We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind. I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on. But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words. Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date. I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush. Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?” Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested. That is all. He’s never touched me, not even once. I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty. Sheepish. I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words. Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it. Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips. And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss. You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart. Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble. Being with Victor Li feels right. And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion. The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter. Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar. And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

* * *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck. His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours. Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday. And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet. You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips. Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest. There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.” Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices. As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new. I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you. I know because I was the same way. I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle. Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed. The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him. “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving. Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit. And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal. The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock. The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet. See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds. See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex. Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock. And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings. A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked. He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light. You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm. I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off. We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face. It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Okay. Pretty good, actually.” It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands. Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

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otomegema · 3 years

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Title: Convergence Theory, ch. 3 summary: Transitional chapter GET. Aka, the one where reader meets Gojo's students a little more and I show off some of her powers and set up some future uh-- issues. That might effect the would-be couple. I'm just rolling with it. pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader rating: mature Ao3 Link (We are uh-- up to ch. 11 on Ao3 just fyi)

Weird did not even begin to describe the feeling that went through your chest and flipped in your stomach as you closed the door on your hotel room, bags in hand, and went downstairs to meet your new roommate in the lobby.

No.

New fiancé.

A fact Gojo was delighting in explaining to the hotel staff, animatedly conjuring from the depths of his mind some new bullshit on how you met. How he proposed. Some of the girls at the station were near puddles of envy. Others, happily told you how “lucky” you were as you handed off your keycard and checked out.

You had managed not to scowl the entire time, but just barely.

“You’re gonna have to send me a spreadsheet of all these lies just so I can keep up.” You muttered, swinging your bag into the open trunk of the car that had arrived to pick you both up. Oddly, the driver was not the same as the one from the other night. The man in question looked nervously in his rear view mirror, but also with an intense amount of curiosity.

“I already forgot um. Besides, not like we need one for the Gojo clan. They already know how we met.”

Gojo didn’t bother to get the door for you this time, sliding into the back seat without waiting for you to finish loading the car. You took your own spot, mirroring him in taking out your phone to check your latest messages. The driver would occasionally exchange looks with you in the mirror. You gave him a polite smile.

“Principal will wanna meet with you,” Gojo said abruptly, “I had my guys put in your rec already. Just let him know you want me as your mentor and when he brings me the request I’ll sign off.” Gojo didn’t even look up from his phone, “Old man will probably faint. I haven’t agreed to babysit anyone in—“

He paused, but only for a second.

“—Awhile!”

“Too busy?” You asked.

“Too much of a pain in the ass. And after, you can unpack your stuff at my place. I have a room on campus too, probably will spend the majority of my time there when I’m not on mission.”

“When we are not on mission.” You added with a smirk. Gojo sighed.

“Yeah, yeah. You enjoy this while it lasts, I’m already planning our next ‘date’ and you can bet before I’m done with planning the third one the family will demand a visit.” Gojo grinned, “When was the last time you’ve been?”

You groaned, the sound drawing a chuckle from Gojo. He knew damn well when the last time you were invited was.

“Do I get to plan any dates?”

He scoffed, “Why would you wanna?”

It was a fair point. You shrugged and turned to look out the window, admiring the view of trees and the greenery that surrounded Jujutsu Tech. Your days as a student were long over, but there was still so much protocol, so many hoops and tests and missions to jump through. If they had warned you being a sorcerer was like being a forever-student… maybe some of the others had it right. Ditching the school and the rules and wandering as independents. There was an allure to just throwing in the towel— but how would anything ever change if you just left?

You wondered if Gojo felt the same way, his personality not exactly meshing with the idea of a dutiful and obedient Jujutsu sorcerer. He was smiling lazily to himself as he typed on his phone and you found yourself content to just enjoy the silence.

The campus was not foreign to you and so you rebuffed Gojo’s offer to walk you in. Besides, if they came in together it might be too much of a tip off. There was no rule about the relation between a potential first-grade and their mentor, but given his tendency to rub the higher ups the wrong way, you didn’t want to risk any bumps. It was bad enough whoever that driver was had clearly heard you both talking. He seemed to be a staff member.

Passing through the halls though, you had the distinct feeling you were being watched— and definitely not by Gojo. If he was keeping tabs on you, you’d never know.

The cursed energy signatures were familiar, young and new, yet strong. You slid around a corner, barely flexing your Limitless to teleport around behind your spies, hiding out of sight.

“Wha— did we lose her?” The young boy with the pink hair gaped, rushing around the corner and then back, “I don’t see her!”

“Dummy, she probably heard you mouth breathing a mile away.” The girl muttered, slapping her fist into her hand with a disappointed grunt.

The other tall young man said nothing, his eyes drawn down into almost apathetic sleepiness.

“Why were we following her anyway?”

“Didnt you hear, Megumi? She is Gojo-sensei’s wife!”

“Fiancé, Yuji. Not wife.” The girl corrected.

“Fiancé, wife, girlfriend— whatever! Point is, how did we not know about her?! Who marries a guy like that anyway, she has to be crazy strong!!”

“She didn’t do so well on that last mission.” Megumi added, his voice flat. You winced slightly at his assessment. That was your cue. Shifting your energy, you appeared behind Megumi, forcing a tense, but still sufficiently bright smile unto your lips.

“That’s because my rat future-husband was busy showing off for his students!”

Megumi, to his credit, only stiffened. The other two openly shrieked at your arrival, the boy Yuji swiftly switching to an expression of awe.

“She moves like Gojo-sensei! I didn’t know she could do that!”

“Lots of people can do this… can’t believe he gets away with acting all high and mighty…” you grumbled.

You swore you heard a muffled sneeze from somewhere behind you, but your attention was suddenly wholly on Gojo’s two more animated students as they crowded into your space. Nobara Kugisaki— that was the girls name. And Itadori Yuji. The other boy you knew even before the mission was Megumi Fushiguro. Gojo’s longest running student and “ward” of a sort. Plus, he had affiliation with the Zenin. The Gojo clan liked to pretend it was as important, but even with the Six Eyes, there was no contest over which clan held the most power.

“Aren’t you a Gojo too? You have the Limitless right?” Yuji continued, smiling. This was Sukuna’s vessel? He seemed far too simple and far too sweet.

“Distantly. And yes.”

“That is so cool. You must be super strong.”

“I’m— I do okay.” You said, finding the praise a bit hard to accept. Sure in comparison to other third, fourth and even some of your fellow second-grade sorcerers you were notably talented— but how could anyone even judge such a thing when your true comparison was Gojo Satoru?

“When that curse hit ya? I thought— yikes. She is done for. But you barely had a mark on you!”

“Yeah, how did you dodge it? Oh! Can you do the thing?!” Nobara extended her hand, pressing her palm outward in what took you a minute to understand was a mimic of Gojo’s barrier technique.

You smiled faintly and lifted up your own hand. Nobara grinned as she tried to reach out and touch her fingertips to your own and she was stopped just short, hovering and wavering slightly in infinitely slowed movement.

“Neat.”

“I wanna try!” Yuji exclaimed and you happily demonstrated for the young man as well. Shockingly, you had to increase your output a little to repel him.

“I can’t have it up all the time, but it does help in a pinch.” You said and were surprised when Megumi finally spoke up.

“You make it sound like that somehow makes it less powerful.”

Had you? Your tone when talking about your abilities was always reserved. Cautious. You had no reason to gloat— no right to it. You masked your inner reflection behind a terse smile and offered your hand to Megumi.

“You wanna turn?”

The boy flushed.

“I’m… I’m good.”

“Are you going to be around campus today? Are you coming to our lesson?” Yuji asked, Nobara perking at the idea too.

“Maybe. I have to meet with the principal, but I’m sure I’ll see you all later.”

Satisfied with that, they wished you luck and departed, Nobara and Yuji falling again into animated conversation as Megumi steadily followed behind. It would be nice maybe to take part in a lesson or two… you hadn’t given the idea of teaching much thought, but just working with Gojo’s students you were starting to think you were getting the appeal of it.

Especially if you were one who loved to be adored, you thought with a scoff, wondering where Gojo had run off to if his students had been following you.

Dealing with principal Masamichi was a short affair. You accepted the recommendation news with humble gratitude and made your intention of being mentored by Gojo known. You were prepared to ignore the tension that seemed to permeate the atmosphere the moment you did so.

Masamichi simply stated he would let Yoshinobu know of the transfer. There would be no objections from Tokyo.

You could only imagine that your former principal would have something to say about all this— but he and the higher ups had done little to assist you in achieving first-grade status. Perhaps now they would realize they did not hold the keys to every door forward in their world.

Feeling strangely smug and self-satisfied, you left the office and set out to find the three students. It wasn’t difficult. Barely expanding your awareness of energy brought the familiar bright ray of Gojo into your mind. He was easy enough for you to find, you’d been doing it unwillingly all your life.

Near the outskirts of the woods that surrounded Jujutsu Tech you found Gojo shockingly studentless, sitting on the ground and playing what you could only imagine was an extremely high level of Candy Crush.

“Aren’t you suppose to be teaching?”

“I am! Kids are chasing a couple of third grade curses around the woods!”

“… and what are they learning?”

“Optimistically? How to dodge. Those things shoot out some kind of energy thing that definitely looks like it would sting.”

Gojo rapidly tapped across the screen, ending the level in record time before stashing his phone and leaning back on his palms. He tilted his head back at you with his usual smirk.

“You get your semi-grade one status?”

You nodded.

“Perfect!” He stood, brushing off his pants, “Now we can start your lesson! But first, I wanna see your baseline.”

He cracked his knuckles and then lazily stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Hit me with your strongest technique.”

“…what, like right now? Now, now?” You shouldn’t have been surprised honestly, Gojo was a loose cannon in every sense of the word.

“Now, now, babe.”

You scowled, the furrowing of your brow only seeming to make him smile brighter.

“C’mon. You won’t get me and you know it. Just hit me with your best Limitless technique.”

“My best Limitless technique is non-combative.” You said wryly, wishing you had chosen to wear slacks that day instead of a skirt. Your own uniform was a modified version of the Jujutsu Tech one from your time spent as a sort of “adjunct” instructor. This was definitely not your practice outfit.

“Is it?” Gojo asked, humming thoughtfully. Was he being purposefully obtuse? Most likely, yes.

“Show me your best combative technique.”

You knew what he was getting at. Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue. It was, without utilizing reversals, the strongest technique a Limitless user could achieve— or at least Gojo had made it so. You could do it, sure, but you were not sure on how long you’d be standing upright after you did. All your previous attempts to master the technique usually ended in you taking a sudden and unplanned nap. At best, the output was a little weaker, but sometimes you could hold unto consciousness and only be tapped for the rest of the day.

“I’ll faint.” You said quietly and Gojo lifted his hand to cup his ear, grinning.

“What was that?”

You huffed, “I’ll faint.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“I’m sorry, is this your technique or mine?”

Gojo gave a small shrug, “Obviously mine. You're just a knock-off.”

“Ya know, I activated my Limitless abilities before you.”

“I mighta heard something like that once— Now hit me.” Gojo took a few steps back, crooking his finger at you, “Come on, come one. Don’t be so boring. I have to know what your capable of it you are going to come on missions with me.”

“This is a terrible idea.” You grumbled, but swung out your shoulders, breathing out slowly to mentally prepare yourself if anything.

“Maybe! But like I said, I gotta know just how weak you are.” Gojo said, mirth in his voice— and mocking.

“I’m not weak.” You snapped out before you could real in your tongue, feeling your neck flush.

“You just said you can’t even do the base technique of our ability without fainting.” Gojo gestured his hand out as he gave another little shrug, “Kinda seems super weak to me.”

“I’m not you.”

“Not with that attitude you aren’t."

Okay. Fine. He wanted you to hit him? You’d hit him. Your cursed energy had already flared up, irritation giving way to anger as you opened that channel within your memory and your emotions— focusing it until all that bitterness, all that rage was nothing more than a battery for you to use to fuel your own jujutsu.

You knew Gojo would be fine, but for a moment, you nearly faltered. Having someone ask you to basically collapse them apart with the cursed equivalent of a black hole? Not exactly a normal every day occurrence.

“C’mon! Stop thinking about hitting me and hit me! Unless you wanna renegotiate our deal… hell, maybe it would be easier for both of us if I just paid your rent instead. I don’t know how I’m gonna manage to get someone so pathetic to first-grade.”

You were going to kill him.

You were going to rip the eyes from his skull and spit them out at the dinner table of the main family, teeth and gums bloody.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

The cursed energy ripped not out from your body, but in. Focusing around Gojo as it manipulated space, dividing it down to the negative and seeking out to rend him apart. The area of effect was like a circle, but you pinpointed at his eyes regardless. Targeting what excess energy was left to his face.

The blast of blue sent clouds of dirt and grass into the air— or what was once dirt and grass. Having been nearly crushed into nothing, the debris shot around in fine powdered ash. When the air cleared, Gojo was standing where he had been before, entirely untouched.

Except for his blindfold.

One end had twisted, the fabric swirling up so tightly it was risen up against his forehead and revealing one bright, blue eye. It had gotten caught in part in the curling shrinking energy of the technique, but not enough to destroy it.

You let out a breath, stunned to find you were still standing.

“See?” Gojo said cheerfully, “Just a little motivation and you—“

The last thing you saw before everything went black was the ground suddenly rushing up to your face.

The low painful rumble of your stomach woke you, awareness of your body coming back in small waves. There was something soft tucked under your head… and your legs were elevated, knees curled around something.

You opened your eyes to the bright, unforgiving sky above and groaned loudly.

“Rise and shine, honeybun.”

His very voice made you wanna faint again just to get away from him.

“Really. Honey bun. Here, eat.”

A packaged sweet was tossed unto your stomach and you sat up enough to recognize the thing your legs were swung over was Gojo’s own lap. His phone was in one hand, the familiar blips and tones of a game audible. His other was rested on your knee, pressing down to help support your efforts to sit up.

He had taken off his jacket and put it behind your head, the white sleeves of his shirt beneath rolled up around his elbows. Judging by the absence of his blindfold and the return of his sunglasses, he hadn’t been able to save the item from your rending.

You flushed, attempting to pull your legs away and recognizing with a sharp sound that he could easily have seen up your skirt at that angle. Gojo’s hand tightened on your knee, keeping you in place.

“You should let your blood settle back before you try squirmin’ so much.”

If he had looked he did not make mention of it, focus fully on his game. Your stomach grumbled again and you tore open the honey bun packet and into the soft, sweet bread in short time.

“You really did faint.” Gojo said lowly, “Not the greatest. We’ll need to start with getting your cursed energy output higher. You can call on it in a pinch, sure, but it’d be better to have an ongoing source rather than relying on me teasing you into snapping off something halfway decent.”

“Ya know, anyone else and that move would have turned them into soup.” You said, not in the habit of defending yourself, but something about Gojo making the assessment set off your nerves. Why would he compare you to a level only he could achieve? It wasn’t fair.

“I know! I mean— it was good! Don’t get me wrong. Just not good. Blowing shit up is great and all but not if it blows you up with it. Leaves you vulnerable to reprisal if the curse isn’t alone.”

You shrugged, “I guess I just always figure if I take something out with that, if there is anything left the other sorcerers will get it.”

“… so it’s a sacrificial play, for you?”

You nodded. Gojo switched off his phone and shoved your legs off his lap, standing up. He didn’t offer you any help as you wobbled unto your own two feet.

“You got some serious hang ups.” Gojo said and you couldn’t very well argue.

He tugged his blindfold from his pocket, holding up the tattered piece of fabric for your inspection— as evidence. Your eyes widened. You didn’t realize until now the full extent of the damage, the way the cloth was shredded in the center as if a wild animal had tried to claw his eyes out. You had been so focused, so preoccupied… no wonder the damage wasn’t fully resembling of the true Lapse: Blue technique.

“Here. A souvenir.”

“… sorry.” You mumbled, reaching out to take it. Gojo quickly moved, pulling the blindfold from your reach at the last moment with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes and went to take it again only for him to repeat the same trick, earning a wary smile from you as you snatched at his hand and he allowed you to take it the third time.

“I never—“ Gojo began and stopped, humming to himself as he seemed to reconsider his words.

“What?”

“Well, I was just thinking I picked the best possible choice for this charade!” Gojo began, “It may really take you the whole year to fall for me.”

You smacked him with the torn piece of fabric, earning a startled “ow” from him and the satisfaction you must have caught him off guard to get through his barrier. You seemed to be able to do that a lot. Showed what he knew letting his powers wane around you.

“In the meanwhile, there is no time like the present! Let’s go!” Gojo reached out, grabbing your arm by the elbow before you could recoil away.

“Go—”

The forest disappeared, the world refocusing in the middle of Tokyo. The sounds of birds and wind replaced with the sound of tire treads on wet pavement and the faint, constant roar of the city scape.

“—where?”

Ah— yes.

To an abandoned apartment building.

That radiated cursed energy.

Of course.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfiction #fic; convergence theory

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justasparkwritings · 4 years

Text

Peace: As My Brothers

Previous: Loves for Show

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, Redemption, Mentions of Past Abuse

Summary: Apologies and forgiveness aren’t for the faint of heart.

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift

Peace Master List

You swung the door open as far as its hinges would allow and screamed “You’re here!” before barreling down the path that led to your two-bedroom home, a small bungalow in West Hollywood. You’d rented it for years, the owners telling you that if they ever decided to sell, you’d be their first pick. You were honored, but a two bedroom wouldn’t fit your future plans.

As you jumped up and down, you watched Jimin, Taehyung and Ho-Seok climbed out of the chauffeured car. They ran to you, Tae being first to wrap his arms around you. They were beaming. In the year since your first visit to Korea, the four of you had become best friends, facetime calls, game nights, watch parties and heartfelt discussions had transpired. Your life had become consumed by them, and you were grateful. It was easier to miss Jungkook when the other men were constantly seeking you out. You loved them endlessly, and they you.

“We made it!” Ho-Seok yelled, pulling you from Tae to wrap his arms around you.

“Your house is so cute!” Jimin said, admiring the mid-century modern exterior.

“Come in, Jungkook’s making something, unsure what,” You said, guiding them into your home.

“Wow,” They chorused, taking in your entryway and living room.

“It’s so cozy!” Jimin declared.

“No wonder Kook never wants to leave,” Taehyung said.

“Oh my gosh, look at that picture!” Ho-Seok had spotted the one photo you displayed of you and Jungkook, taken on your first anniversary, six months ago.

“You guys are so cute,” Jimin said.

“Hi,” Jungkook called, coming out of the kitchen to hug his bandmates. He’d come to LA two weeks early to spend time with you and discuss what you wanted to do about the hyung line. You’d spent the last year avoiding the dorms in Korea and avoiding the three men who had shattered your heart. Jungkook had forgiven them and had gotten management on your side. They no longer wished you to break up but acknowledged that you were becoming an integral part of Jungkook’s life. If they wanted Jungkook to stay with BTS, they needed to respect your relationship and your boundaries. Big Hit did everything in their power to ensure your privacy and were slowly becoming more open to the idea of you being around long term.

“Do you want a tour?” You asked, staring at the three men. They nodded eagerly, excited to see your home in person. Numerous Facetime calls had given them glimpses but seeing where you lived in person was thrilling. They could see where Jungkook had carved space for himself, part of a drawer in the bathroom, a few items of clothing in the closet, a handful of books in Korean on your bookshelf. In the kitchen, they were pleasantly surprised to see your pantry stocked with Korean goodies. Your time with Jungkook had opened your palate, and in his absence, you often made recipes that you knew he loved, partially in an attempt to be closer to him, and partially to strengthen your skills to impress his mother. She liked you, but she wasn’t in love with the idea of her son being with a non-Asian, American. You hoped, both in secret and aloud, that making these recipes would win her approval. Your next trip to Korea, to really spend time with the Jeon clan, was at the end of the year… Maybe you’d be better by then.

“This whole place is amazing,” Jimin commented, taking a seat on the couch.

“Thank you, I love living here,” You smiled.

“So, you know they’re on their way, right?” Ho-Seok said, eyes concerned as he glanced between you and Jungkook.

“Yes,” You said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the past year, you were adamant that you wanted nothing to do with Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon. You didn’t respond to their texts or failed attempts at apologizing. When at their concerts in London, Dubai, and various places in the states, you didn’t speak to them and preferred to watch from a seat in the crowd and not backstage for fear that you would have to interact. Your short trip to Korea was for the purpose of meeting the Jeon family and seeing Jimin, Tae and Ho-Seok, who met you at the hotel for dinner and drinks your last night there. The three days you spent in Korea were at the Jeon house, Jungkook’s family surrounding you. Then, Jungkook whisked you to Beijing and Tokyo and bid you adieu.

After their fateful conversation a year prior, Jungkook had told the three eldest members that he would speak to them after you had flown home. Before then wasn’t an option, he hadn’t had time to process, he hadn’t the emotion to give. His only focus was you. Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon were hesitant to wait five days to speak with Jungkook but gave him the grace to spend those days with you.

Jungkook came home from taking you to the airport, tears cascading down his face. Jin had been in the kitchen, and caught his shoulders shaking as he walked through the room.

“Jungkook,” He said, turning the heat down on the stove and walking over to the maknae. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” Jungkook responded, wiping his snot on the back of his shirt.

“For good?” Jin was immediately panicked.

“For, a while. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again,” Jungkook looked up at Jin, his eyes saucers. He knew Jungkook was falling in love, but he hadn’t expected him to be this heartbroken at your departure.

“It’ll be okay,” Jin said, reaching to pull Jungkook into a hug. Namjoon entered and noticed the embrace.

“JK, you alright?” He asked, moving towards the stove top to peak at what Jin was making.

“I’ll be fine,” He said, pulling away from Jin.

“When are you going to talk to us?” Namjoon wondered.

“Not today. I need to talk to management first,” Jungkook went to the fridge to grab a beer and started heading towards his bedroom.

“I’m making your favorite,” Jin called.

“I’m not hungry,” Jungkook said.

Jin and Namjoon glanced at each other, they knew he was lying. They knew he’d be lying to them until he had sorted out his emotions. Pushing off their conversation was a stalling tactic, and the older men hated to wait to apologize. But it gave Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi more time to sort their own feelings and try to build trust with Jungkook again.

As the six members sat to dinner, Jungkook’s absence noticeable, Yoongi took a plate to his door and knocked gently.

“Kookie, you don’t have to talk to me, but here’s dinner. You need to eat, and drink water. Losing all those tears will dehydrate you,” Yoongi placed the plate and bottle of water outside his door and went back to the dining room.

“Why is he so upset?” Jimin asked.

“We uh, we had a chat and it didn’t go well,” Namjoon, ever the politician, responded.

“You made her cry,” Taehyung said.

“No,” Ho-Seok looked from Jin to Namjoon, “You did?”

“Management asked us to speak to her and, it didn’t go well,” Jin told them.

“Of course not! You don’t even know her! You broke her heart!” Taehyung was angry. Both you and Jungkook had texted him, telling him parts of what had happened. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe management had been so blatantly cruel, or that his hyungs, his brothers, had done it. Not to Jungkook, not to you, his new best friend. He hadn’t had the words to tell Ho-Seok or Jimin, and he realized it wasn’t his place. Jungkook needed to tell them. And as you had reached out to Taehyung, asking him to keep an eye on your love, he knew they were in for their biggest fight to date.

“Taehyung, this isn’t a group conversation,” Yoongi snapped.

“It is! We talk when we’re upset with each other, we work it out,” Jimin countered.

“Jungkook isn’t speaking to us,” Yoongi said, resuming his place between Jimin and Ho-Seok.

“He isn’t?” Ho-Seok asked, trying to piece the puzzle together.

“No, and I don’t know when he will,” Namjoon said.

“You really fucked up, didn’t you?” Taehyung snapped.

“How will we fix this?” Ho-Seok asked.

“I don’t know,” Jin said.

“You’re his hyung, can’t you make him talk?” Jimin asked.

“No,” Jin said, “My charms are no help, we betrayed him.”

They’d left it like that. The maknae line only understood the depths of the betrayal when they’d gone to practice and seen Jungkook ice them out. He didn’t look at them, he didn’t speak to them. To Taehyung, Jimin and Ho-Seok, Jungkook was his usual self, laughing, bantering through their practice, like nothing had happened.

After speaking with management, Jungkook had called a house meeting. The seven men sat around their living room, sun setting, and stared at one another.

“So, we’re here to talk about what happened between myself, Jin and Yoongi, and Jungkook’s girlfriend, Y/N.” Namjoon started.

“How did it happen?” Jungkook asked.

“Management scheduled a few meetings with us and told us we needed to speak to you about your relationship,” Yoongi said.

“Why did you do it?” Jimin asked.

“We tried to get out of it, we tried to put it back on them… They insisted we do it,” Jin answered.

“You were so cruel,” Jungkook looked from Namjoon to Yoongi, eyes boring into him. “You were trying to hurt her. She was right. There were a hundred nicer ways you could’ve spoken to her and you chose to be vicious.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said. “I, I was the worst, I was shooting to kill. I figured it would be easier to rip off the band aid than to dance around it.”

“The things you said, Yoongi,” Jungkook shook his head. Hearing the words second hand from you was far worse than hearing them from Yoongi. How could you repeat the horrors that he’d said?

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,”

“Management gave us that list… We tried, Jungkook, we tried to stop it, we tried to take all the items off the list, we tried to put an end to it,” Namjoon’s eyes were pleading.

“They didn’t care, they wanted answers, and they thought we could find out.” Jin added.

“I’ve had words with management. What I can’t wrap my head around is how you thought you could speak to her like that, and then come to me like nothing happened. Or how you thought that speaking to her, in such deplorable ways would ever benefit our relationship, as brothers or members. I have been working so fucking hard to trust you, and now,” Jungkook looked to Namjoon, anger seething from his lips. He dared Joon to answer.

Instead, the men sat in silence, not having a solution.

“I do not know if I will ever trust you,” Jungkook said standing. “You need to apologize to Y/N. She’s not coming back, not here, not for a long time. She will not speak to the three of you or have any contact with you from here forward. You destroyed her on such a deep level, and I don’t know if she’ll forgive you.”

“You guys fucked up,” Taehyung said, “She’s the fucking coolest person.”

“Did she send you that playlist before she took off?” Jimin asked, looking at Ho-Seok and Taehyung.

“Oh yeah, I’ll send it to you,” Taehyung reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

“So, we’re done?” Seokjin asked, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

“I don’t have anything else to say,” Jungkook responded.

“You two still haven’t apologized,” Ho-Seok pointed out.

“I want to speak to Jungkook in private,” Namjoon said, glancing at the maknae. He nodded and guided him to his room.

Namjoon looked around, it hadn’t changed in the week since he’d last been in there. Except there was a new piece of art on the wall, a small embroidered hoop with the front of a restaurant, hanging on his wall. Namjoon guessed it was the restaurant where you two had met.

“What?” Jungkook stood, his posture strong in an attempt to level the playing field.

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon broke down, tears streaming down his face. “I know I fucked up, I know that I hurt you and Y/N. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

Jungkook wasn’t a cold man. He was a little petty but in the year since treatment, he was rarely spiteful. He was angry, disgusted, horrified, but he understood the precarious position management had put Yoongi, Namjoon and Seokjin in. He was sorry they had to do it, and sorry it had caused a rift between you and his hyungs. He was primarily sorry that your already tainted relationship with them was nearing the point of never recovering.

Jungkook didn’t buckle, he didn’t pull his hyung to him or held him as he cried.

“I don’t forgive you, Joon.” Jungkook said before leaving Namjoon a weeping mess in his room.

Seokjin and Jungkook shared a similar conversation, and in their usual fashion, it was over noodles. Jin apologized for his role, saying that he was pressured into doing it, and sorry that Jungkook had to be the first of them to go through this, that it wasn’t fair Namjoon’s significant other didn’t have to undergo this, him being older and the leader. He had operated under stricter measures, but not being the Golden Maknae gave Namjoon a leg up. Regardless, it wasn’t fair, Seokjin was the eldest, it should’ve been him.

Though Jungkook accepted Yoongi and Seokjin’s apologies, he remained distant, and the three hyungs had to respect his decision. They’d betrayed him again and they’d insulted you. They would give Jungkook all the time he needed to regain any amount of trust in them.

“What are you going to say to them?” Jimin asked.

“Well, you’ll be here too so you’ll hear it,” You responded, shrugging.

You heard a car door close and looked out the window to see Namjoon leading the charge.

Jungkook turned to you, cupping your cheek and placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. The other men cooed, loving how tender their golden maknae was with you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said, holding you close.

“I hope so,” You stood as you heard a knock on the door. Taehyung and Jimin raced to it, opening it and loudly yelling, “Welcome to our crib!”

You laughed as the three men walked into your home, careful to slip their shoes off.

“Welcome,” You said, staring the three men down.

“Thank you for having us,” Jin responded. He was excited to speak to you, and to see Jungkook. The times he’d been able to watch his brother with you had been brief, which was hurtful to Jin, but protected you. He’d seen the glimmer in Jungkook’s eye, the blush that was present on his cheeks, the smile that never seemed to fade when you were on his mind. Jin wanted to know what that kind of love felt like, he wanted to watch the man he’d raised shine as a partner. He was tired of being iced out.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” You suggested, guiding them through the entryway and into the living room. The men took a seat, and soon you all sat staring at one another.

“Do you want to start?” Jungkook sat with a hand resting on your thigh, slowly moving up and down, trying to give you comfort.

“Sure,” You looked at him, his gaze giving you a sense of calm as you took a deep breath. “So, Jungkook says that when there’s a problem in BTS, the seven of you sit down and talk it out. That’s what I would like to do today,” You took another breath, deciding you were going to be stoic, honorable, not weak or timid. You would have courage in your convictions, nerves be damned.

“When Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon sat me down, I had hoped it would be to bond or set up a time to hang out, the four of us. I hoped you’d heard I like rap music or was interested in some of the things you were… I hoped it was to create a semblance of friendship with the three men Jungkook regards so highly. I was already becoming friends with Tae, Hobi and Jimin. I thought maybe you wanted to be friends too, which was contrary to your behavior, and honestly, contrary to the fear I had about engaging with you three,” Your voice cracked, remembering the way they’d iced you out, the ways they’d broken Jungkook. “The moment I arrived, you didn’t speak to me, you didn’t try to get to know me, you were cool, barely cordial… I didn’t know why you disliked me. I didn’t know what I had done or said to make you so…” You shook your head, the tears starting to form. “Then you sat me down and you said those things, those awful, disgusting things, and I never once used what you did to him against you, I never once raised my voice, or spoke of how he was when I met him… all because of you. Instead, I realized that even though Jungkook loved you, you were never going to accept me. Nothing I did was going to help you see me differently, except staying by Jungkook’s side and proving that what I said was true.

“So that’s what I did, and I had to grapple with the knowledge that even if you did it because of management, and even if it was their words, you still chose to hurt me. For the past year, I’ve been working through what happened, I’ve been trying to understand the precarious situation you were put in, and how Jungkook and I were going to move forward. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve cried, the number of events I haven’t gone to, to support Jungkook, because I would have to interact with the three of you. I can’t tell you the number of texts and calls I’ve received from the maknae, trying to help me reach a place where I can forgive you for what you did to me. I don’t know if what I’ve done this year was the best, I know it hurt you, it hurt Jungkook, but it protected me. It’s taken me a long fucking time to get to this point, with a lot of really bitchy interactions with management, like a lot,” You laughed, Jungkook let out a relieved chuckle. “All this to say that, I accept your apologies, and that I do want to be your friend in some capacity, and I do want to trust you… I don’t know if I can, with everything that’s happened, but I want to try.”

You looked at Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon, and watched the relief wash over their faces. They’d been starving, and you were offering mana from the heavens.

“Y/N, we are so sorry, we behaved horribly, we disrespected you and Jungkook. We belittled your relationship, and we lost out on almost two years of friendship with you,” Yoongi said.

“She’s the fucking best!” Taehyung interjected. “Sorry, but it’s true,”

“Did you hear the new Kim Petras track?” You asked, turning to look at Ho-Seok.

“I’m already obsessed,” Jimin added.

“I’m thinking we need to choreograph something because, obvi,” You said, excitement brimming.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, pulling your attention back to him, “I was cruel, and I said things to wound you. They were nasty, unthinkable things… I am sorry.”

“I forgive you Yoongi,” You held his stare.

“You know, I’ve always wanted a little sister,” Seokjin said.

“Is that an apology?” You asked.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said bowing.

“I forgive you,” You placed a hand on his knee, a soft smile on your lips.

“I am eternally sorry, for all the pain we, I, caused,” Namjoon said. You could tell he was near tears.

“I forgive you too, Joon,” You said.

“All is forgiven,” Jungkook said, squeezing your thigh.

“On one condition,” You said.

“Oh no,” Taehyung said.

“After your show tomorrow, I know you don’t have plans the next day, we play drinking games and get absolutely obliterated,” You said laughing.

“Fuck yes!” Ho-Seok called.

“Alcohol brings people together,” Jimin added.

“And dancing!” Taehyung suggested.

“Alright, lets rage!” Namjoon said laughing.

You stood, relieved that after a year, you were finally able to feel like a full part of BTS. You hugged each of them, lingering with Yoongi.

“He’s going to marry you someday,” Yoongi whispered in your ear. You pulled away, staring at him. “But he wants us to be on good terms… He wants his family to be whole. We’ll be making it up to you for, ever.”

“You’re his chosen family,” You said, hugging Namjoon who had overheard what Yoongi said.

“If we’re his chosen family, you’re ours too,” Namjoon held you close. You pulled away, eyes narrow as you looked at him, the uncomfortableness of the situation lingering.

Relief swept the palpable awkwardness away as you spent the evening learning about the three men, and they you. You gave them the full tour, and they too giggled at the pieces of Jungkook strung throughout the house. They knew he wanted his forever to be intertwined with yours, and as you sat around a table at the restaurant you and Jungkook had met at, the six members of BTS were elated that you finally saw Jungkook’s brothers as your own.

Next: In Secret

46 notes · View notes

renlimotroll · 3 years

Text

Love by Daylight

Summary: Siruko-san was forced to cosplay as Feng Min for a gaming convention, and there he finds his me-meant-to-be.

Pairing: Limone-Sensei x Siruko 🍋🐶

Warnings: BL, Personification, Out of Character because it’s my imagination, Cursing courtesy of Sensei’s potty mouth, male cosplaying as female character (does this count as crossdressing?)

A/N: This was a prompt given to me by my internet younger sister Aki, who imagined Siruko-san cosplaying as Feng Min. It was too good of a prompt not to write! But I’d like to apologize for the delay; I’ve been writing this since December 1 and I am a professional procrastinator XD 😅. (Please excuse my pun for memento. I like to think I’m funny hahaha 🤣)

The art you’ll see here is made by my beloved friend and babe Sarah. Check out her twitter and instagram here! Thank you so much babe for bringing to life what I’ve just been imagining. 💙💜 (Please don’t repost or grab without permission as a respect for her hard work)

Enjoy~

"I hate you all." Siruko declares angrily while adjusting his clothes with a little more force than necessary. He wants to burn these clothes and maybe hit his 'friends' too.

Who wouldn’t, when they forced him to wear this China dress.

"Siruko-san kawaiiiiii~" Jiraichan squeals and everyone nods, even his younger brother. Siruko feels betrayed.

Today is TGS day. Tokyo Game Show is one of the biggest video-game expo and conventions in all of Japan, held at Chiba. Everyone wanted to go, even Minben-san, and Siruko was the only one who didn't want to. The Bintroll leader knows that he's being a party pooper by refusing, but he hates crowds with a passion. He told them to just go by themselves, but by true Bintroll fashion, they refuse to listen to their leader.

Siruko didn't even realize he was being baited into coming through that stupid bet. They were playing DbD and suddenly Hakotaro (his own brother, nonetheless! traitors, all of them!) made a suggestion that whoever gets memento-ed first should cosplay as their character. Jiraichan added that the loser must come to TGS cosplaying. Naturally, Siruko-san's gamer pride refused to let him back out of the stupid bet, and they even had Ichihachi-kun be the killer. There was no way Siruko will be memento-ed, he thought, and he was confident enough in his DbD skills. There's no way he will lose.

Or so he thought.

"Can you all stop staring at me!! Let's just go!!" Siruko stomps out of the hotel room grumpily, sulking in the entire drive. Thankfully, or maybe they all felt sorry for him, but everyone in Bintroll cosplayed as their mains too, so Siruko wasn't out of place. The Double Morell keeps snickering at him, and Siruko-san glares daggers at them, vowing to never unhook them next time.

Siruko sighs deeply as he begins to see Makuhari Messe. TGS might not be as big as Comiket, but holy shoot this was a lot of people. He doesn't even know why Bintroll wanted to go here--every single one of them are not good with crowds and people in general--but Siruko can admit there's some sort of element of excitement here. There were so many cosplayers and booths filled with merch, action figures, and so many more. It's truly a feast for the eyes and even Siruko starts to look forward to buying something. Maybe new gaming PC gear!

He just hopes he'll be able to survive the crowds. Siruko takes a deep breath and enters the convention hall.

Limone-sensei blinks at the flash of the camera but maintains his smile. The female fans thank him and he thanks them back for supporting his channel. He waves at the limojos and they giggle. Sensei sighs inwardly.

It's his first time attending TGS as an invited participant and not a normal attendee, and even though he's happy that he became famous enough as a game commentator to be invited here, he kinda misses being able to walk around normally without all the people recognizing him. His face is even half-covered with a black mask, and yet people still know it's him. Limone loves interacting with his fans, but being stopped every few meters for a picture is kinda tough.

On his way to the toilet, he sees some men gathered around something. He pays them no mind, but then he hears this.

"I said leave me alone!"

Sensei doesn't know why, it's not even a woman's voice, but it sounded so nervous and desperate that Sensei wants to come to this person's rescue. Upon closer inspection, he sees a person in a (really well-done) Feng Min cosplay, although the bright red China dress kinda clashes with the pretty purple hair tied up in a bun. Sensei can't stop thinking it was really cute, and then finds himself weirded out by the thought of calling a guy cute.

“Ne neesan, just one picture, come on! And maybe your LINE too!” A guy (who’s as ugly as Hillbilly in Sensei’s opinion) invades Feng Min cosplayer’s personal space and Feng Min cosplayer is obviously uncomfortable. Limone doesn’t know why but it makes him seethe in anger. It’s not in his nature to meddle, but a group of guys surrounding and overcrowding someone is not a pleasant sight.

“Aho janai ka?! I’m a guy!” Sensei is impressed that even though Feng Min cosplayer looks so anxious, he still manages to fight back. “Heh really? You’re cute tho, you’ll do.” Buzoku-no-buzu presses closer to the purple head and gropes his butt, and Feng Min cosplayer squeaks. Sensei’s vision dims and he sees red. His feet bring him forward and he grips the guy's shoulder so hard he crumples down in an attempt to get away from him.

“Get lost.” He says simply, but his fierce eyes tell a different story. The other guys distance themselves immediately upon one look at him. Sensei doesn't wait for a reply and pulls Feng Min cosplayer to his side, staring down the wimps who were clearly more suited to gaming than engaging in real-life fights. At the back of his mind, alarm bells are ringing--he shouldn't be making a scene, especially someone with popularity like him. But Feng Min presses closer to him and he smells good and Sensei couldn’t think straight.

“Chill man, we didn’t know he had a boyfriend. We’ll leave.” One of the smarter idiots surrenders and tugs a complaining buzoku no buzu away, who was itching to take revenge. Sensei rolls his eyes inwardly; Hillbilly wouldn't even last a second if he fought Sensei. The pro-gamer was so worked up with adrenaline he didn't even realize to correct the guy about them being boyfriends. He glowers at them until they leave and disappear, and after that he hopes no one recognizes him. He can already see the tweets: "Limone-Sensei picking fights for his secret lover!" He groans inwardly.

“Ano… you didn’t need to do that, but thank you I guess.” Feng Min cosplayer says reluctantly even though he clearly was relieved, and he plays with his lovely fingers nervously. Sensei sees faint pink dusting his cheeks and has a split-second to think cute before he realizes he himself is blushing too, and he coughs slightly. Thank goodness he has a mask.

“What were you thinking, going to something like this alone, in a cosplay like that nonetheless?! Didn’t you know cosplayers are often harassed like this?! You should’ve at least brought a friend! Bakagayo omae?!” Sensei doesn’t know why he’s scolding this stranger, who in return gets surprised at Sensei’s strict words and squares his shoulders up as if preparing for a fight. “I have friends, okay?! I was just going to the toilet when I got stopped by those weirdos!” Purple head raises his chin defiantly and crosses his arms across his chest grumpily, and even then, at the back of Sensei’s mind, he thinks it’s cute. Sensei blinks, what is wrong with him today?

“Then go with your friends next time!”

“I will!” Feng Min raises his voice in return. “Thank you again and sorry for the trouble!” Feng Min stomps his way to the toilet, not looking sorry at all. Left alone by himself outside the toilet, Sensei shakes his head in disbelief and decides to go to another toilet.

That Feng Min purple head sure is interesting, he thinks, and hopes that he never has to see him again.

Siruko washes his hands in annoyance. What was that all about?! And he was starting to enjoy the convention too! He learns to cope with the crowds and get his anxiety to a manageable level, and with his friends he starts to enjoy looking at what each booth has to offer. He’s even bought some cute DbD stickers from this cute fanartist who was so grateful to have her first sell-out of the day and a comfy Lifeline hoodie he can wear all the time. Save for the crowd, the convention was really fun and nice and he was looking forward to watching some of the events on stage or even look at the indie game developers booth later.

And those weirdos just have to ruin his day! Mou!! He dusts off his China dress as he tries to shake his irritation off. But, in retrospect, the guy who just saved him, he’s kinda hot. His deep sexy voice sounds familiar, but Siruko can’t place where he has heard it. The way he stared down those weirdos even got Siruko’s goosebumps to raise, and even when he was scolding Siruko he kinda liked it. I didn't even get to ask his name, Siruko regrets. He decides to call him ear-piercing oniisan, because he has a gold piercing on his left ear that just makes him more seductive.

He comes out of the toilet back to the place where he last left Bintroll in, only to find no one there. No need to panic, Siruko calms himself. He tries looking around and waiting in the area, hoping that his friends will come back for him. But after a few minutes, no one came. Siruko starts to get restless, fear creeping up his throat and he tries to swallow it down but it’s like glass, and it’s getting hard to breathe.

Suddenly, it occurs to him that he just needs to call them. He pats his pockets for his phone, only to find out he has no pockets. Kuso China dress! Is this why girls always carry purses? Siruko thinks, because dammit why doesn't this cosplay have any pockets! He remembers that his phone is in his red medkit, an accessory to his cosplay, and he gave it to his brother coz he didn’t want it destroyed by bringing it to the toilet. AAAAA what is he gonna do now?!

Someone passes by with a burger in their hands and it smells so good, Siruko’s stomach rumbles loudly. The people walk by in a blur, and suddenly he feels so drained and alone. He finds a spot by the wall and slumps down, hugging his knees as much as his tight China dress allows him to move, hoping one of his friends finds him. Suddenly the crowds are too scary, and he can feel his panic rise up. What if they don't find him? How will he get home? Why are there so many people?!?!

He doesn't realize that he’s been spacing out until his view darkens, and he looks up to realize that someone was standing in front of him. Siruko looks up and sees ear-piercing oniisan, and it feels like he’s talking to him but Siruko can’t process anything he says. His chest hurts and it feels like an anaconda has been squeezing his body and there’s the sound of wind rushing in his ears. Ear-piercing oniisan crouches in front of him and tells him to breathe, to follow him… inhale… exhale.. Inhale… exhale…

“Oi. Oi. Daijoubu ka teme?” The voice snaps him awake, and Siruko responds, albeit too late.

“Hai?”

Ear-piercing oniisan sighs in relief, and Siruko realizes he was almost on the verge of a panic attack earlier and this handsome stranger had just helped him out of it. He didn't even realize there were tears pooling at the corner of his eyes, although thankfully they didn’t fall down. He blinks them away and tries to breathe properly again.

“Um…..” he tries, avoiding eye contact with the stranger who had just saved him twice now. Siruko clears his throat.

“What the hell are you doing here, alone again?! Where are your friends?!”

Why does a stranger scolding him make him feel calm? Siruko forgets his anxiety and relaxes immediately. “I don’t know. When I came back, they weren't here. They have my phone so I couldn't contact them.”

Ear-piercing oniisan huffs. “Bakagayo. You should always bring your phone and wallet. Seriously, are you a kid?”

Siruko tries to pout in protest, but then his stomach rumbles loudly again. Heat floods his cheeks and he looks away in embarrassment. Is it possible for the ground to swallow him up right now? Entity-sama! Please take me! Siruko begs in his imagination.

He thinks he hears ear-piercing oniisan laugh but it might be his imagination, because suddenly handsome oniisan stands up and offers him a hand. Siruko stares at it (and thinks, wow, it’s so pretty, how does a man have hands as pretty as this?) and ear-piercing oniisan rolls his (really beautiful) ocean eyes and moves his hand in a gesture that means he wants Siruko to stand up.

Siruko feels silly and takes the hand (and somehow his stomach flutters but not because of hunger) and ear-piercing oniisan helps him up and tugs him to somewhere. “Ne, where are we going?” He tries to ask. “I don’t even know your name.”

Ear-piercing oniisan looks back at him and smirks, and holy shit Siruko’s heart clenches. What the heck?! “Just call me Sensei.” Ear-piercing oniisan replies, and somehow the nickname fits him. Siruko doesn't know why but he trusts Sensei. At the very least, there’s only maybe 4% chance he’ll be taken to a yakuza hideout or something.

Sensei stops in front of a food cart and the smell of yakisoba cooking hits Siruko’s nose. Sensei greets the ojiisan like a friend and the ojiisan laughs, pleased to see Sensei. Ojiisan packs two big boxes into a plastic bag and hands it to Sensei, winking at Siruko. “Enjoy your date Sensei!” Ojiisan calls loudly while laughing and Sensei tells him “Uruse na!” but he’s also laughing. Siruko has a moment to think what kind of relationship they have for Sensei to reply so rudely at the older man but Sensei drags him away and Siruko scrambles to thank the ojiisan and bow. Sensei tugs him again and Siruko realizes they didn't have to wait in line for a long time to get some food (and maybe he saw some people in the queue glaring at them). He’s late in realizing that Ojiisan just said they were on a date… and Sensei didn’t correct him.

(Maybe Sensei… likes him a bit?) (Because he kinda likes Sensei too, maybe)

When Sensei finally stops walking (just when Siruko was about to whine. Sensei walks so fast and he’s wearing these really cool sneakers but Siruko is wearing a dress, you know!! Please be considerate!!), Siruko realizes someone was calling his name. He turns around and sees Quartetchi waving at him a few meters away from them, but since there’s too many people Siruko has to crane his neck to see him and he waves back. Sensei follows his line of vision and lets go of Siruko’s hand (wait, they’ve been holding hands the entire time? aaaaa)

“Ahh good, your friends found you.” Sensei says, but his tone seems to be disappointed. “I have my own event to go to, so please don’t get lost or be harassed again. I don’t have time to babysit you.” Siruko grumbles and complains that it’s not like he wanted those to happen!! Sensei scoffs in response and fishes his yakisoba out of the plastic bag. He pushes the plastic bag of food to Siruko’s hand and leans close to his ear. Siruko feels like all the air has been knocked out of his chest. “Ja na, mata ne.” Then he disappears into the crowd like Wraith turning invisible at the sound of the bell while Siruko tries to reboot his mind which just short-circuited. His heart is beating out loud in his ears. He doesn't know why but he feels like he lost something now that Sensei left. Before he has time to process why he felt that strange feeling even though he just met Sensei, his friends arrive to his spot.

“We finally found you Siruko-san!! Mou where did you go?! Don’t leave on your own like that!” Quartet chides.

“I told you guys I’ll be going to the toilet, and when I came back you all were gone! Mou don’t leave me like that!! I almost panicked!!”

“Maa maa the important thing is we found him now.” Jiraichan intervenes. “C’mon, let’s go eat lunch! Minben-san’s waiting in line right now so we gotta find a table to eat at.” The pink-haired guy pauses and notices Siruko’s food, then squints at the purple head. “Siruko-san, do you know who you were just with right now?” Jiraichan asks suspiciously.

“Eh? He said his name is Sensei but I don’t… really know…” Siruko trails, noticing the shocked looks of his friends. Jiraichan was the first to react. “EEEHHH?!?! How could you not know him???? Limone-sensei da yo! Limone-sensei!!”

“Dare?” He asks dumbly.

“Niisan, you seriously have no idea? He’s a famous gamer! I watched some of his DbD videos and he’s seriously, insanely good. How could you not know him?”

“NANI?!?! I knew his voice sounded familiar! How could I know, I was too busy being in trouble to remember that!! And I’ve never seen his face!!”

“Well, he doesn’t really show his face much.” Ichihachi agrees. “Wait, what do you mean you got into trouble?”

"N-nothing! Who said I got into trouble??" Siruko sweat-drops. "C’mon, let's just go!! I'm hungry!!" He herds them all away to eat lunch, all the while trying to look back to the sea of strangers in the crowd, wishing he could see Sensei at least one more time.

He never even got to thank Sensei.

Being invited to judge a cosplay contest is a huge honor, and Limone-sensei was really excited about it. Or, at least, he used to be, because now he's pretty distracted with the thoughts of Feng Min cosplayer. He wonders if he plays DbD too, if Feng Min was his main, and suddenly he thinks he would like to play with him someday. Now everytime he sees a Feng Min cosplay he gets sort of excited, but then they don’t have purple hair and he gets disappointed. He tests the guy's name on his lips. Siruko. Sensei thinks it fits the guy and is kinda cute like him.

The event was about to start soon and he was on the backstage talking to one of the event organizers. Or he pretends to be listening, because Sensei’s mind was wandering back to that voice. He wouldn't mind hearing it again, but in the midst of these many people in the arena, Feng Min cosplayer--no, Siruko-- is just one of those one-moment encounters that'll never happen again. He feels sad about it and he doesn’t know why.

Until he hears that voice again. For a moment he thought it was his imagination, and wonders how weird it was for him to have hallucinations of a voice of someone he just met. But the voice rings out again, and Sensei strains his neck to look everywhere for it, not realizing how rude it must have looked for the event organizer talking to him. Hope rises to his chest, despite him trying not to.

Beautiful purple eyes meet his, and for a moment Sensei is mesmerized, lost and drowning in them. But then he sees they were eyes calling out for help. Sensei excuses himself rather abruptly to the annoyance of the event organizer and stalks forward to Siruko. How can he resist those pleading eyes? He'd do anything in his power not to see those again, because despite his bravado, his online persona of being a badass who can do anything, Limone-sensei is actually a softie, especially for cute things and Feng Mins in distress.

"We don't have any time, Sir. Please go to the backstage!" The fierce-looking, small lady organizer drags Siruko-san to the other side of the stage where the cosplayers are lining up for the competition.

"A-ah! Wait!! I told you I'm not in the cosplay competition! Matte--"

Sensei grabs the shoulder of the small lady, who shoots him a nasty look before realizing who he was. Sensei knows the organizer was just doing her job, but dammit Sensei is annoyed. "Excuse me, I think you got the wrong guy."

Organizer-san takes a double look at Siruko, who withers under the intense scrutiny. He somehow senses that Sensei is in a bad mood as he fiddles with his fingers nervously.

"Wait, you're not Takahiro-san?”

"I've been telling you for the last five minutes!" Siruko tries to shake off the woman's frankly death grip and runs behind Sensei as if taking cover. Sensei glares a little at Siruko as if saying, "You got into trouble again?!" and Siruko scrunches his eyebrows together and purses his lips in indignation, as if protesting that "It wasn't my fault!"

"I assure you, this person is just cosplaying for fun. We're sorry for the trouble." He forces Siruko-san to bow together with him, and the event organizer-san apologizes too, although she really looked stressed about finding the missing cosplayer. But Sensei doesn’t feel sorry for her; blame his lack of anger-management control. He’s too keyed up now, and everything is too sharp, and he doesn’t understand his feelings.

Sensei snatches Siruko's arm and drags him to the nearest corner, as private as the backstage could allow them to be. He's really pissed that all these bad things keep on happening to Siruko-san. It's frustrating and infuriating! Why was the world so out to give trouble to Siruko-san?! What if he wasn't there to save Siruko-san?! He remembers the blank look Siruko-san had earlier, when he found him beside the wall, gasping for air and trying so hard to breathe, and Limone hated that. He never wants to see Siruko's pretty purple eyes being so helpless and scared. His anger bubbles up like steam and he wants to lash out at something.

“Itetete Sense----!! Stop pulling me!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sensei shouts, and Siruko stills. “Didn't I tell you not to make any more trouble?! What would you do if you were suddenly shoved onto the stage?! Don't you know how big this event is?! People would boo you out there and there’ll be pictures of you all over the internet and they’d make fun of you--”

“But it’s not my fault--” Siruko tries to protest.

“But you still should have been careful! I can't come to rescue you all the damn time! It’s like you’re looking for trouble just to see me! In that case, I don't ever want to see you again!”

Sensei freezes. It’s not what he wanted to say at all, but the damage has been done. He sees Siruko’s hurt look and he stiffens. In his frustration and anger, he took it out on the very thing he wanted to protect. He sees Siruko’s face close off and become distant, and he wants to take back the words, to apologize. “I- I didn’t mean--”

“I actually just came looking for you to give you this," Siruko thrusts a box to Sensei’s hand. “To thank you. But don't get me wrong, I never asked for your help in the first place. I never wanted ANY of that to happen in the first place. Anyway, thanks for everything. I’m sorry for being just a bother to you.” Siruko bows 90 degrees stiffly and runs, and Sensei tries to catch his hand but he doesn’t reach it and grabs air instead. He's too shocked at himself for saying those mean things and too shocked at seeing himself hurt Siruko-san.

He realizes he still has the box in his hands and he opens it to see a rabbit mask. The one that one of his favorite DBD killers have, which means Siruko knows who he is now. It was thoughtful, really, but right now it’s breaking Sensei’s heart.

If only someone could shout “Bakagayo!” at him now, because he really messed up.

Siruko wasn’t going to cry, nope. He was a man, goddammit! And it’s not like he and Sensei were friends--they were two strangers who met in a coincidence. So it’s totally understandable that there’s a possibility that Sensei hates him. It was Siruko’s own goddamn fault for thinking he could be friends with Sensei, for his unrealistic expectations that maybe, Sensei would like to hang out with him (that maybe Sensei even liked him).

He reaches his friends and they see that something’s wrong by looking at his face, but since they’re the best people in the world and they’re his friends, no one comments on it. They try to distract him by pointing at interesting booths, and they even get to try some techie stuff and unreleased games even though they had to stand in line for a long time. It was almost fun, if Siruko wasn't distracted with the thought of how painful it was that Sensei never wanted to see him again. He just wants to go back to Tochigi now and maybe never ever leave his bed ever again.

Time passed by really quickly, and before they knew it, it was almost closing time. They were about to leave and go back to the rental car when Ichihachi-kun suddenly tugs him back. Turns out everyone stopped walking while Siruko kept moving forward. Siruko grumbles “What?” a little bit angrily and Ichihachi-kun points him in another direction.

Apparently Sensei’s been calling his name a lot, and now Sensei is wading through this huge mass of people just to get to him.

Siruko wants to ignore him, to just forget about everything and move on. Who was he anyway, to be friends with Sensei, who’s really cool and awesome and famous? Nothing will ever bud in their relationship, so there was no use hoping. Come daylight, they will be just two people who just happened to cross paths in a gaming convention. Nothing more.

But Sensei pushes back with all his might against the angry people who yell at him, and he sees Sensei's bright blue eyes, desperate for a chance to talk to him. And Siruko hates himself a little for not being able to turn him away, because he’s really weak for kind people. And no matter how much Sensei hated him, he finds himself unable to hate Sensei.

Sensei reaches them, gasping for oxygen like he just ran a marathon. People around them get annoyed at them stopping in the middle of the hallway, so they try to move to the side walls. Siruko sees Bintroll instinctively place themselves between him and Sensei, as if telling Sensei that “Nope, we’re not gonna let you hurt Siruko-san again”, and he feels so touched.

“Siruko-san.” Sensei gulps for air then tries, “I was… hoping we could talk… please.”

“Ehhh, I don’t know,” Jiraichan crosses his arms pretending to think, “...tell me, Sensei, why would I let you talk to my friend, hm?”

Sensei looks into Siruko-san’s eyes directly, and Siruko feels it… the sensation of the world being pulled to one person. His cerulean eyes were like magnets, and Siruko finds himself unable to pull away, attracted to it. “Actually, you shouldn't,” Sensei states seriously. “I’ve been a horrible person, and I’d even let all of you punch me right now because I deserve it. But please believe me when I say that I didn’t mean any of what I said. It’s true. I… I’m sorry, Siruko-san.”

And Sensei looks actually sincere. Siruko wants to stay angry for a little bit, but how can he resist an honest apology? He comes forward and makes gestures for his friends to leave them for a bit, that he can handle this. Mou, curse him for having a weakness for ikemen with glasses..

“Okay, you have 5 minutes to talk, then we really need to go back to our hotel. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

“Right, right, of course of course.” Sensei looks flustered as he scratches the back of his neck as he stands awkwardly. "I… I didn't actually think I'd make it past the apology so I got nothing prepared… umm…"

Out of all the things Siruko expects, who would have known that Sensei is actually really very shy? Siruko giggles at the back of his mind. And because, contrary to popular opinion, he can actually be a little shit if he wants to, Siruko replies, "Well if you have nothing to say then I have to go pack my bags, Tochigi is a long way after all…."

Sensei repeats “Tochigi” as if trying to take note of it in his mind then shakes his head, almost raising his hand as if he wants to grab Siruko's hands but decides it was too embarrassing so he drops it. "Ano…. Let's exchange LINE?"

"Are you ordering or asking?"

"Asking?"

"Because you want to talk to me?"

"Yes?"

"Are you asking or answering?"

"Answering."

"And you want to talk to me because?"

"Because…. You're interesting?"

"You sound like you're not sure."

"I AM SURE!"

"THEN ARE YOU ASKING ME OUT?"

"YES!! IM ASKING YOU OUT BAKAGAYO!" Sensei yells, then blinks. Siruko couldn't stop himself anymore and laughs out loud. He wipes the tears in his eyes while holding his stomach. He can tell Sensei is blushing because his ears are red.

"Okay, but only if you beat me and my friends in DbD. What do you say, Sensei?"

And even though he's hiding behind the mask, Siruko knows Sensei is trying hard not to smile right now. Don't ask him how, he just knows. "Oh, it's on! I'd love to hear you scream when I memento you."

"Haha, you wish! You haven't played with me and my friends, you don't know how good we all are. We can fix the generators faster than you can blink, we'll be out in no time."

And Sensei actually laughs, the bastard. "Why don't you show me instead of telling me, Siruko-san." he says in a low dangerous tone, and it makes Siruko shiver in delight.

"I'd love to, Sensei." he whispers back.

Later, much later, after Sensei comes over to their hotel and sets up his laptop on Siruko's bed while all his friends are sprawled all over the floor in varying positions, and they're screaming and laughing and eating pizza and one match became five and suddenly it's dusk and they're all too tired but no one wants to miss Day 2 of the convention so they all go together with bags under their eyes, Siruko decides that may be conventions aren't too bad at all. Heck, even cosplaying as a girl character wasn't that bad, coz he slayed that look. And if it brought him to this moment, where he's dragging Sensei to all these booths amd Sensei rolls his eyes but obliges and he's being ridiculous trying to make Sensei laugh and Sensei, ever the straight man, says he's ridiculous even though he's also smiling, Siruko would gladly cosplay again.

He's being too cheesy, but he does think what's memento-be will be.

The end.

Omake!!

Two years later.

"I AM NOT WEARING THAT RIDICULOUS THING."

"PLEASE SENSEI, IT'S TOO CUTE!! PLEASE PLEASE JUST THIS ONCE!!"

"I SAID NO!! GO TO HELL!!"

"I'LL GO THERE BECAUSE YOU'RE THERE YOU LITERAL DEMON!! IF YOU DON'T WEAR IT I'M NOT GOING!!"

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE! WE'VE BEEN PLANNING THIS FOR MONTHS! IT'S OUR FUCKING ANNIVERSARY GODDAMIT"

"YES AND THIS IS THE BEST WAY TO CELEBRATE IT!! MOUUUUUU YOU'D THINK AFTER ALL THAT SIRUKO-SAN ENDURED, THE LONG-DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP, THE MY-BOYFRIEND-IS-TOO-FAMOUS-SO-WE-HAVE-TO-MAKE-OUR-DATES-DISCREET, THE BASHING I GET FROM SOME OF YOUR CRAZIER FANS, YOU’D THINK SIRUKO-SAN DESERVES A REWARD BUT NOOOOO…. MOSHIKASHITTE, ORE NO KOTO KIRAI KA NA….”

“.........”

Siruko tries not to chuckle as his boyfriend, aka Limone-sensei, glares at him through the webcam. He’s playing dirty and Sensei knows it well, but in the end Siruko will win. It’s not his fault Sensei crumbles at the sight of his pien eyes, and he’s not above using it. It’s his perk, and he gotta use it to his advantage.

“Fuck you.” Which, in Sensei language, means yes. Siruko lets a whoop of joy and Sensei bares his teeth at him like an angry animal.

“I love you~ See you tomorrow!”

“Go to sleep, bakatare. I love you too.”

After a year of being friends and getting to know each other, and finally, finally Sensei asking him to be his, and them going out for a year, it’s nice. They’ve been through ups and downs, sure, but just like any game, they learn from their mistakes and improve. It wasn’t easy, it never was, but Sensei was the yin to his yang. Where Sensei was cold and easy to get angry, Siruko was warm and quick to forgive. Where Siruko has insecurities and anxieties, Sensei was the confidence that pulls him through and fights the negativity away. It was easier because of that. Even if they’re opposites, they complement each other. They don't even fight about anything, because despite his badass reputation, Sensei is a softie who’s very very weak to Siruko’s attempts at being cute, and Siruko had always been patient and understanding and it was easy for him to accept the downsides of dating someone as famous as Sensei.

And tomorrow, they’ll go back to where it all started, the gaming convention where they met. Siruko was planning to wear Feng Min’s bunny jacket as a lowkey cosplay and Sensei needs to wear that bunny Huntress mask if he values his life, so they can both have something bunny-like and DBD-like. It’s cute and ridiculous, exactly like his relationship with Sensei. Siruko can't help but giddy about it. It’s Love by Daylight after all.

THE END.

#Bintrollfanfic #LimoSiru

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erasethedarkness · 5 years

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How Do I Love Thee: Into the Limelight

Ch.1: The End

Note: How Do I Love Thee? is a series that is meant to be a slow, slow burn. While ultimately a romance, readers will not find love and affection in the first few chapters- they may not even find it in the first parts, or “arcs.” The series is meant to lay down the foundation for friendships and then build on it towards romance. The reader character exists and influences this world as much as the canon characters do- therefore, the story isn’t just about the feel good moments, butterflies, and honeymoon phase- it’s about the development of the reader and her relationships.

With that in mind, I will let you all know that HDILT? will become an Aizawa x Reader x Yamada, and hope that the wait will be well worth it to those who choose to follow the series. :)

Summary: You’d spent that last 18 months on tour with your band, RUSE. Not only were you their lead singer and second guitar- you were the very reason for the namesake. After all, your quirk was just a ruse, wasn’t it? The band quickly grew in popularity thanks to your connections in the entertainment industry. Your uncle was the owner of a successful venue in Tokyo named Limelight, and it was there that many musicians made their first entrance into the real world of rock ‘n’ roll.

Following the night of your last show, you met with your band manager. What was supposed to be a time of great relief and joy quickly turned somber. As fate would have it, you were returning home just in time for a funeral.

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

Finally, the longest and largest tour you’d ever done was coming to a close. After over 75 straight weeks abroad with some of your closest friends and business partners, you were ready to return home. The tour tested the bonds of everyone present, serving as a trial for even the closest friends and lovers. Everyone needed the upcoming break from RUSE to work on new material, and more than that, to work on themselves and their families. Plus, your drummer and keyboardist just got engaged and had a wedding plan.

Tonight, as the band was performing their latest chart toppers, you shut your eyes tightly as you held a note, hunching over as your body began to glow. When the note came to an end, you snapped upright again, raising your fist proudly, and with your upward momentum, spectral fireworks flew out from the transparent, neon aura that surrounded you. Brightly colored sparks bloomed above everyone, bursting just like real fireworks, crackling in the air and decaying at the same rates without leaving any residue or harm to the venue. And as always, the crowd was riotous with delight for your tricks and grand displays, the excitement lasting through the end of the show. It was as if your quirk was meant for this.

Your ears were still ringing as the stage lights dimmed, leaving you all in darkness as you finished the encore. Arena lights came on as you walked offstage, the crowd slowly but surely moving along, their chatter creating dull white noise. Leaving your mic and guitar onstage to be packed up by someone else, you slipped passed everyone, exhausted by the last display of your quirk.

You would have done more than just fireworks for your last show, but the back to back performances between last night and tonight drained you of your energy. All you had left was just enough to get you back onto the secured RUSE tour bus and collapse in a seat as everyone else tore down the set and packed up. In the past, you helped with teardown, but it became more and more apparent that you needed to rest almost immediately after each show- something you begrudgingly accepted after you fainted before you could even make it off the stage early in the tour.

In most cases, you slept through the beginning of the after parties and made a grand, late entrance. But tonight, as if the relief of finishing the last performance unlocked the floodgates of hidden fatigue, you slept clear until the next morning. You woke up in the hotel room you shared with your bassist, Emi Mizushima, tucked into bed wearing last night’s clothes. The digital clock beside the bed read 08:15, giving you close to ten hours of sleep. Quietly and considerately, you made it out of bed and to the bathroom, desperate for a shower and change of clothes. As you undressed, you placed your phone on the counter- only to see an unread message from your manager.

Text me when you wake up.

The message was short and undetailed- which was very unlike him. Marcus had no issue with carrying out conversations through texts, and would often leave messages to be responded to at the earliest convenience. Being told to message him when you woke up just didn’t sit right with you. What did he need to talk about that he couldn’t just text?

After you showered and changed, you sent him a message, expecting him to still be asleep. Emi was after all, leaving you to assume everyone was up late. But your phone soon vibrated with another message, and to your surprise, your manager was requesting you meet him in the hotel cafe for coffee.

“(Y/N)!” Marcus called for you after you finished ordering your drink. He was at a table that was tucked away from the open lobby that the cafe blended into. You waved to him in acknowledgement as you waited at the counter for your drink, somewhat concerned for the man who certainly looked like he’d seen better days. It looked like he was out as late as you assumed Emi and the rest of the band were, and just never went to sleep. That, coupled with his vague message only worried you even more.

“Hey… Are you alright?” you asked as you sat down across from him, placing your drink on the table and holding it with both hands. “You look like someone just died.”

The look Marcus gave you instantly made you regret your words. His brown eyes were tired, as if they’d spent the night grieving rather than celebrating. They lowered from you as he sighed deeply, the mug of black coffee in front of him cold and full. You two sat in silence as an indescribable weight began to stifle the air, breaking as you spoke again.

“Who was it..?”

“...Your uncle.”

Your heart sunk as he broke the news to you.

While you were passed out after the show, Marcus received a call that he took in private while everyone else headed to the bar to celebrate. He knew the number- it was the personal number of a man who created music legends and ran Limelight, a successful venue back in Tokyo. The man was a good friend of his, but more importantly at the moment, he was also your uncle. When he answered, the voice he heard was your aunt’s. Even in her heartbreak, she didn’t want to call you and ruin your fun, assuming that you were celebrating with everyone. Through painful sobs, she explained what happened.

It was a classic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time- at least, that’s what everyone else would say. That’s what your aunt said, and that’s what your manager repeated. But as you listened to the break down of events, you found yourself disagreeing with the sad story they were spinning. Your uncle was a man of action- that’s exactly how he got to be so successful, and how he helped musicians and bands become successful as well. He built and nurtured his relationships, and he always found solutions to the problems that were brought to him- and even to some that were not. So to hear that your uncle- a man whose greatness could easily overshadow most of the pro heroes in the world- died creating an opening for a young woman to get away from an assailant- well, that didn’t sound like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time at all. To you, it sounded like he was exactly where he needed to be.

The young woman waited for him in the hospital as the doctors did everything they could, and she was the first to speak to the police with information on the attacker. It didn’t take long for the killer to be apprehended after they got involved. Even with tears trickling down your face, you knew that your uncle would have been happy with the way things unfolded. He was simply that kind of man, and knowing that he saved one person would have been enough to put his soul to peaceful rest.

Still, you were heartbroken that one of the people you most looked forward to seeing was no longer waiting for you. After your 12 hour flight from Cairo to Tokyo, you wouldn’t be sitting with your uncle and telling him about the concerts you performed and the wild parties that were just part of the job like you planned to be. Every time you came back, you’d stop by Limelight and reminisce over how different your last show was compared to the first, which took place right on his stage.

Marcus left you at the table after sharing another heavy silence with you. Today, everyone was returning to Japan. Homecoming parties were planned by families and friends to welcome back their touring rockstar, and everyone was ecstatic to be home. Even with the emptiness that stung at your chest, you expressed a genuine delight in seeing your family and friends. For this one moment- this reunion after eighteen months- everyone was happy and grateful for your safe return.

But it ended just as quickly as it came.

One wonderful evening gave way to several nights of mourning. In the time it took to prepare your uncle’s funeral, you found yourself in your aunt’s company more than anyone else. They had no children- you were the closest thing to a child for them. As if it was some cruel trick of luck, you returned just in time to help her through the hardest part of her life since her parents passed years ago. More often than not, you took care of the legal work while she cried beside you, her head just as blurry as her vision.

You planned most of the funeral, inviting honored guests to speak that were outlined in his will, and each responded, confirming that they would give a eulogy for the legacy your uncle left. When the day came, the cemetery was full of family, friends, and famous artists who had once performed on his stage.

Sitting with your aunt, you held her hand as she sobbed beside you. Without surprise, each invited speaker was eloquent and commanding with their eulogies- the ones you recognized were performers, after all, that had graced your uncle’s stage more than once. But the last- the last speaker, you had never seen.

When the honored guest took the stand, he had an entirely different presence than the rest. Standing tall with a forlorn expression, he passed a sidelong glance to the polished urn that stood out among flowers and memorial ribbons. His green eyes looked over the rim of his white-rimmed sunglasses before he bowed his head, seeming to collect himself to begin his speech. As he lifted his face, he pushed the glasses up into his long blond hair, using them as a headband to draw back the straight, almost silky looking strands that slipped over his shoulder when he lowered his gaze.

The man wasn’t a performer you recognized, and you were certain that your uncle never introduced you. He was a complete stranger, and you felt yourself becoming a bit guarded, intrigued as he took a deep breath that hushed the attendees. Your uncle introduced you to most of his friends, helping you build your connections when you were just a fledgling musician- so, just who was this man that your uncle made sure to include in his will as an honored guest that never once made your acquaintance?

“A hero, by definition, is someone who is admired for their courage, achievements, or noble qualities,” he began, his voice carrying to the farthest person, and somehow gentle like a whisper, “yet today, it has become a prestigious occupation. The job and duty of a pro hero is to protect civilians from villains and disasters, often- if not exclusively- with the help of their quirk.

But what happens when there isn’t a pro around?” His question hung heavily in the air, awaiting an answer that would not come from the audience.

You squeezed your aunt’s hand, sharing a glance with her before you both turned your attention to the tall blond. For the first time, you noticed the small pencil mustache over his lips, and just as you did, he started speaking again.

“Well, that’s when the real heroes shine,” he answered himself softly before recanting aspects of your uncle’s life that somehow seemed new to you. Even if you’d heard the story before, hearing it from the slender man who almost looked a little too sharp in his black suit for a funeral, added something different to it. The way he spoke of your uncle had a flourish to it that you could have sworn was manifested in the man himself. Something about him just seemed to embody a strange whimsy that enthralled you and lowered your guard. His eloquence lacked the haughtiness most people of honor and prestige seemed to carry with them, and by his last words, the room was in tears.

A small streak ran down his cheek when he left the stand. Handing your aunt a last tissue, you stood as he passed you and gave him a small bow of your head. His green eyes met yours, and he simply returned a fragile smile before you replaced him in front of everyone to conclude the funeral. With everyone departing, you lost track of him, and before you could make a proper introduction, he was gone.

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aisuho · 5 years

Text

7′sCarlet #6 (Secret Character)

This is it! This is the last route.

Spoilers to follow. You’ve been warned.

This one starts all the way, doesn’t it?

As soon as it begins we take Hanate’s perspective and realize he is being kept as The Ensepulchers’ prisoner for a year. He learns that her sister is coming by hearing a conversation between two of the members of the committee (who recognized her name from a list of the names of the hotel’s guests).

We then return to MC’s perspective as she is just getting helped by Yua to put on her yukata. She has just had a “vision” (more like a hearing) of her brother warning her to not come to Okunezato.

Well, MC decides to not go to the festival in the end, and as she goes down the lobby, Tsukuyomi intercepts her and tries to convince her to do the photo shoot for him in the river, but Yuki comes in and persuades him to change locations to the hotel’s garden (thank you, Yuki!). Before you have the chance to leave, Toa then enters the hotel, saying he’s already back from the festival.

Poor Toa, it’s sad to know you are forced to reject everyone’s invitation (except Tsukuyomi, obviously).

What matters is that Tsukuyomi’s plans are crushed.

By the way, shouldn’t Yuki be patrolling the festival grounds?

Things go smoothly with the photo shoot, then everyone leaves. MC then has the impression she’s forgetting something, and to jog her memory, she looks at the couch, suddenly remembering the mysterious man sitting there just before, reading a newspaper (remember him? If I’m not mistaken, that was from the common route).

As MC investigates the couch, Yuki approaches her and delivers a letter he has found below it. The letter is addressed to her, and says to go to the tunnel, and find the shrine beyond it.

The next day MC follows suit, fooling Hino that she’s going to do some shopping alone. In the tunnel, she hears someone kick a stone, and when she turns around, see a silhouete in the beginning of the tunnel, looking towards her. Thinking it to be Hino, she calls out to him, only to have the siljouette dashes forward, in her direction. The cat-masked man appears again, takes her by her throat, but before he has the chance to kill her, he’s attacked. Someone else takes MC’s hand and leads her to the other side of the tunnel.

It’s Hanate, Mc’s “brother”. As they reach the shrine, he starts revealing the truth to her:

- Every year, in the valley of Violacias, there’s a scarlet one. The number of scarlet Violacias signify the amount of revenants that’ll come back to life in Okunezato.

- Revenants see the world in black and white, except for a few objects that appear in color: the Violacia, and blood;

- Revenants don’t taste the food they eat, and don’t need them, however, drinking has a propose, as it helps to satiates temporary their hunger to kill;

- There are a few humans with pure souls -- they’re called “ambrosia”, and are full of life force that attracts the revenants, as it turns out, a revenant that takes the life force of an ambrosia receives eternal life, has its hunger satiated and never has to kill again. Also, The Ensepulchers learned about the ambrosia from a revenant they captured, he had failed to acquire the life force of one, and in trade of his survival, he let gave away that information (of course, he was exterminated anyway). Incidentally, The Ensepulchers now refer to the “ambrosias” as “albinos”;

- The ambrosia’s pupils shine a faint shade of red;

- Hanate’s a revenant who has consumed an ambrosia. Also, he and the Violacia are connected, he needs them to live, they need them to go on, so he guards the field;

- Hanate has the power to “twist” people’s memory at his convenience. He makes them see him as who he wants to be seen; that’s the reason he’s believed to be MC’s older brother, and also why her memories are fuzzy and has no recollection of her time in Okunezato, the same happens to Hino later;

- Complementing the previously item, Hanate’s powers are limited: if the memories the other have of him are of no use, they cease to be; also, the farther he is, the more the memories fade.

- Revenants who have consumed the life force of an ambrosia don’t embody any marks on their back;

Those are just a few things to point out from his speech. Hanate takes a long time talking, and I don’t think it would be interesting to tackle on every single thing he says. He goes through the events of twelve years ago, the summer MC spent in Okunezato, when he first met her and coincidentally as she met every LI for the first time. Also, you get to hear about her first encounter with Kagura Tsukuyomi, you learn that even as a kid he has been following her around, and even pushed her down the river in an attempt of drowning her. Hanate saves her and takes her out of town, in order to flee the revenants that keep being attracted by the girl. She’s back to her old house in Tokyo.

You also learn that MC was staying with Hino’s family in Okunezato, not her aunt and uncle as it led me to believe before.

So, the reason Hanate decided to return to Okunezato was because he felt his life starting to fade away, fearing the Violacia being in danger, he travels back.

He also finds the Okunezato Supernatural Clubs by accident.

He’s captured as soon as he gets to the valley, is then tortured and kept prisoner.

Anyways, fast-forward to the end of the monologue, Hanate senses someone, and upon looking outside you see both Toa and Yua arguing. Hanate also explains Toa’s a revenant. They leave, and you two talk a little more until MC sleeps. As they talk, MC feels her memories come back, and Hanate explains that the same is happening to Hino.

Soon, she’s awaken by Hanate, who urges her to move as they both have to flee from town and Tsukuyomi. As you escape, MC asks him to take to the valley of Violacias, feeling like they’re calling her. He complies.

When there, both are surprised by Tsukuyomi, who urges Hanate to handle MC over, so they both cana be gods and have an eternal life together. Hanate lights a match and throw it at the Volacia, in order to end the curse and kill Tsukuyomi, however, the later is faster and takes the match, breaking it before dashing at Hanate. They both fight.

As they fight, Hanate gets the upper hand, and them orders MC to light up one of the matches. No matter what, she isn’t able to do it, making Tsukyomi feel like he has won.

However, Hino appears, and as urged by Hanate, lights up one of the matches and throw it at the Volacias, burning them down.

Tsukuyomi’s body goes through the revenant’s death, his body glows then become purple petals that are scattered through the wind.

Soon, Hanate follows.

MC then returns to her sense in a field of green, with no collection of what just happened. Hino comes to find her, wondering why she’s crying, but she says she doesn’t know the reason, only that something really sad happened.

And so, she goes on with her life.

I don’t know if I really liked this route. I’m not sure how to feel about their relationship. I mean, even if they weren’t real siblings, the fact that at least she grew up believing that, and then suddenly... loves him as a man is just weird. Not to mention, he saw her grow up, he was already an adult. You know what this implies.

Moreover, we spend all the game not knowing almost anything about Hanate, we have no time to mature him as a character or even to create a bond with him -- then, he appears at the last moment (like, THE LAST)... throwing all that on your face and being like “I love you, I’ve always loved you” is just... not sure how to respond to that.

Their moment is short, no time to develop the romance, everything felt rushed. When it`s starts to grow, it just ends, because plot reasons.

He dies, and then all memories of him are gone. No time to mourn, either.

This route also lets some things unfinished. Remember, if the revenants are connected to the Violacias, and when the later dies, so does the first (more like disappears, as they`re already dead). So, imagine, Toa is there with his sister or doing whatsoever in the hotel or as A-TO, and then... puff! Gone. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Also, remember that red-eye (that I assume belonged to a woman) observing MC? The game apparently doesn’t. Yup, no answers regarding that.

To be honest, I also didn’t like much Yuki being the administrator, it felt... lazy. I was hoping it to be Hanate or even Tsukuyomi.

Nonetheless, I was really frustrated when your second and last choice in this route didn’t do a single thing. We only have two choices in the entire route, and then it doesn’t have any consequence. Why bother?

To be honest, this route was a letdown for me. I thought we would finally close everything in a nice and pretty way (or not so pretty), but lots of questions are left hanging, and you barely have any time to develop anything, because Hanate is just... there and then, gone.

Final thoughts

Well, that was it, the end.

The game itself was really fun, most of the characters were nice and the vibe of the game was really well developed.

The routes are good, my only problem is how most of them end. Some felt unfinished.

The art was nice, but some characters’ avatars looked way better than the CG version (two of them happened the opposite).

The soundtrack is just fabulous. The songs did set the mood, my only complaint is that the transition between some was abrupt (like when leaving a romantic scene). I do love the opening, though.

I just wished that the mystery was developed better... the mystery on itself was great, I was intrigued by some things, however... they spend the two first routes (Hino and Isora) only throwing more and more questions without giving you any clue to answer them yourself -- I do understand that the game doesn’t want to solve things right from the bat, but if it at least gave you tangible hints about things, it would’ve been better appreciated. Sometimes it felt like the game thought I wasn’t smart enough to figure things out. Another thing, is that because the game was afraid of giving you those useful hints, or even answering questions, it left everything to the last three routes. You can imagine the problem it caused: because it had so many questions to answer, they had to cut down the romance to focus on the plot.

I was quite confused to why some things were considered hints, too. They didn’t seem necessary or even useful.

MC also was quite a troublesome character for me. Sometimes she was really smart and self-aware, others she was just... dumb and kept making stupid decisions (she was so smart and aware in Isora’s route, though, then just kept having stupid ideas in Sosuke’s... what a shame).

For the side characters, I wish Yua had gotten some more screen time. She was an interesting character (specially during the True Ending) and deserved more love.

Nonetheless, it’s still a good game. If I had to classify my favorite characters (LIs, only), they were definitely:

Yuzuki -> Hino -> Toa -> Sosuke -> Secret Character -> Isora

And my favorite routes (I won’t include the True Ending):

Hino -> Yuzuki -> Toa -> Sosuke -> Isora -> Secret Character

That’s it!

#spoiler #7'sCarlet #spoilers #otome game #visual novel

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