#especially since we didn’t get them for so long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vroomvro0mferrari · 2 days

Text

LN4 | Dutch Courage

Summary: When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

WC: 2.9K

Warnings: Alcohol (over)consumption

Masterlist

The first time Lando really came in contact with the Dutch culture was during his first Dutch Grand Prix. The atmosphere of the race, the enthusiasm of the people, and the taste of stroopwafels immediately made him like the Netherlands. When Max introduced him to more Dutch traditions and told him about the extreme celebrations of the King’s birthday, he couldn’t believe it. His experiences with the Queen’s birthday were completely different, much more sophisticated and ceremonial than the Dutch celebrations. You could say he was gobsmacked when he saw the videos; people dressed all in orange, filling the streets and canals, drunkenly partying like it was a festival. When Max extended an invitation to join him next April, Lando accepted straight away, eager to experience the unique tradition.

And so, next April 27th, Lando found himself in Amsterdam. He was passing tons of people stalling out their stuff on blankets, sitting on folding chairs by their improvised shops. They were all dressed in orange, of course. Lando, himself, had also adhered to the dress code. Sporting his orange hoodie, he’s ready to party all day long.

Lando made his way through the city, Google maps opened on his phone as he navigated the streets of Amsterdam. Luckily, Max’s apartment building was easy to find. Lando rang the doorbell, grinning when he spotted his Dutch friend. Lando could already hear the noise coming from the apartment while he greeted Max, the sound of music and singing passing through the walls.

“Hey man, what’s up?” He asked.

“Nothing much. What about you?” Max responded while welcoming Lando into his second home, leading him into the hallway.

Lando was about to answer his question, but the unexpected sight in the living room disrupted his train of thought. A confused frown etched itself onto his face, and he asked, “Why are there so many girls in your house? Don’t you have a girlfriend already?”

Max laughed at the question, “Oh yeah, they're my sister’s friends,” he responded nonchalantly as if they weren’t appropriating his apartment.

“You sister’s friends? Why are they taking over your place?”

“They’re getting ready to go out in a bit. Since I live closer to the centre than Y/N, they’re leaving from here. I told them to stay the night too, I don’t want Y/N and her friends to travel home in the middle of the night when they’re all drunk.”

Lando nodded as he observed the herd of girls getting ready. It was a mess – even compared to how his sisters got ready. They were doing lots of things at the same time: passing the phone around to pick music, singing along to whatever Dutch song was playing, taking pictures, talking, doing their makeup, fixing their hair, picking out accessories and putting flags on their faces; it was complete chaos, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll get you some water, mate,” Max said before walking to the kitchen, leaving Lando alone with the women.

It took a while for Y/N to spot Lando, but when she did, she came over right away. “Lando! How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” She said excitedly as she pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m good. It’s your fault we haven’t seen each other in so long, you never come to races anymore,”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Life’s been busy. So, I hear today’s your first King’s Day, are you excited?”

Lando chuckled, “Ah, yes it is. Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been told it’s quite the experience!”

“It certainly is. I would’ve expected you to wear more orange though, isn’t it your team’s colour?” She questioned him teasingly.

“Is my hoodie not enough?” He asked, looking down at his outfit.

“Oh Lando, you know it’s not! Didn’t Max show you the videos? Come, I’ll put some flags on your face,” she said as she pulled him into the group of girls.

They all greeted him enthusiastically as Y/N searched through the pile of orange and red-white-and-blue-coloured accessories, looking for something that would fit Lando. She pulled out a ribbon of the Dutch flag and grinned widely. Lando stood still as Y/N wrapped the ribbon around his head like a headband and tied it with a bow. “Very coquette, I’m sure your lady fans will love it,” she murmured and grabbed his jaw to turn his face to the side. A look of focus overtook her features as she gently applied the face paint to Lando’s cheeks.

Lando was caught off guard at the situation he found himself in. He had barely stepped foot in the apartment and he was already being pulled in all kinds of directions as the whirlwind of women fussed over him, dressing him up for their sacred holiday. He caught Max’s eyes over Y/N’s shoulder, silently pleading for rescue, but Max merely laughed at the situation in which Lando had trapped himself, not offering any assistance. Instead, he stood by and watched with amusement as Y/N picked out things for Lando to wear and offered him an orange poncho for the rain that would probably come later today. Lando had no choice but to go along with it, accepting everything as it came. It was only a small effort for him, and it seemed to make her happy.

Y/N only let Lando go once she was satisfied with his outfit. He quickly rushed to Max, who offered him a glass of water with a big grin on his face, “She got you, eh?”

“Apparently, my orange hoodie was not enough,” he responded.

Max pat him on the back, “Don’t worry, I was a victim earlier,” he replied, pointing to his cheeks covered with face paint.

Not much later, the girls finally settled down. They were nearly ready to leave, the only thing they needed before heading off was a decent meal. If they were going to get wasted, they should at least have a good base. Y/N and her friends had organised a feast that could feed everyone and then some, with food left to spare. After the generous lunch was consumed, the women had some drinks to get a headstart before they packed their purses, making sure they had all the essentials covered. They divided the tiny bottles of alcohol they had bought in advance, and Lando watched in shock and disbelief as every girl shoved at least two tiny bottles down their bra. Meanwhile, Max seemed entirely unimpressed – as neutral as one could be.

Y/N and her friends had gotten tickets to Kingsland and the alcohol there was way too expensive to get drunk. If they needed to sneak in some alcohol to get properly pissed, that was a problem easily solved. The girls said goodbye and headed out the door, leaving silence in their wake.

The men didn’t leave that much later and headed over to the boat where they would meet Martijn, aka, Martin Garrix, with whom Max and Lando were both good friends. They would spend their time partying on the boat, getting just as drunk as Y/N and her friends before joining Martijn for his performance at Kingsland, where they’d meet up with the girls.

It was hours, and a shit ton of drinks, later when Max called Y/N to let her know they arrived at the festival grounds. In the meantime, a lot had happened: Y/N’s group of friends had gained at least three more people, Lando had cut his nose open on a glass bottle, and Max, somehow, managed to fall off the boat.

Y/N was dancing with her group of friends, going crazy for the songs the DJ was playing when she suddenly felt hands on her shoulders. She turned around immediately, surprised at the presence of a new person and ready to defend herself against whoever decided to touch her. That is, until she noticed the person behind her was Lando. As soon as she recognised the man, she, very drunkenly, jumped onto him. Y/N claimed she hadn’t seen him in so long as she put her entire body weight on the man who, unsuspecting of the move and unstable from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, nearly fell over. Y/N giggled innocently at the interaction, holding Lando’s arms tightly to prevent their fall. She looked up at his face while she did so, noticing the bandage on his nose.

“What did you do?” She slurred, frowning concernedly while running a hand along his face. That wasn’t a good choice; she lost her balance as soon as her hand left Lando’s arm. Lando, his own state not much better, grabbed her waist, trying to stop her wobbling.

“Got hit in the face with a broken beer bottle,” he replied with a grin and Y/N giggled at the image forming in her mind.

“That’s so stupid. Did it hurt?” she asked.

Lando laughed loudly, “No, I’m too drunk to feel anything.”

Even though the comment is not that funny, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, nearly toppling over.

The group, now including Max and Lando, stood in the crowd, dancing to the music playing as it became busier in anticipation of Martin Garrix’s performance. The field they were standing in became more crowded by the second, pressing them closer to each other. There was barely any space left to move, packed like sardines in a can. When there were people who tried to pass, Y/N’s back was pressed tightly against Lando. So tightly that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body and his breath hitting her neck; so tightly that it made Max send Lando a warning glare. But it didn’t matter when everyone was drunk and there were too many people between them for Max to do anything other than stare angrily.

When Martijn began his set everyone cheered and moved along to the music. In Y/N’s current position, she was nearly grinding against Lando, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding her close with one hand while the other held his drink in the air. Nevertheless, she turned around, wanting to avoid conflict between her brother and Lando, and any pictures and rumours that would most likely arise when people spotted the world-famous Formula 1 drivers. That didn’t mean she’d avoid his touch, though; throwing her arms over his shoulders while he held her waist, they kept dancing together.

Martijn’s set ended way sooner than they would’ve liked it to, and it was only a while longer before the group left Kingsland for his penthouse. After all, when you’re invited to Martin Garrix’s after-party by the man himself, you cannot refuse.

Somehow, they managed to get to his penthouse safely, where they kept the party going until at least midnight. Most of the people Martijn invited left after the fireworks, leaving a smaller group of people occupying the rooftop. After standing, dancing and jumping all day and night, the group finally found somewhere to sit for a while – just to let their legs rest. But, as luck would have it, there weren’t enough seats, because when are there ever? Before Y/N could even suggest she’d stand, Lando, in his drunken stupor, had already pulled her down to sit on his lap.

He smiled triumphantly as she sat, “You looked tired,” is all he said to justify it.

Despite her surprise, Y/N welcomed the closeness and leaned into Lando, resting her body against his while she sipped her Aperol and joined the ongoing discussion. It was the perfect way to end her night – surrounded by her friends, joking around and enjoying her drink. She enjoyed the drunken conversation, giggling whenever Lando would whisper a funny remark in her ear about whatever stupid comment someone just uttered. His commentary was so distracting that she didn’t even notice when he put his hand on her thigh and tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her closer.

Max, however, did notice. He had been keeping an eye on Lando since their interaction at Kingsland when Y/N was basically grinding on Lando. Knowing a warning glare didn’t do much last time, Max was ready to do just about anything to make his objections clear if Lando decided to take things too far in his presence. Especially when he saw Lando’s hand moving higher up Y/N’s leg while she solely giggled in his arms. It’s an understatement to say the alcohol made Lando bolder – he felt fucking fearless as he kept his gaze locked on Y/N, not removing his eyes for even a second, not until a loud voice interrupts the conversation, at least.

“Hey, mate, let’s keep it PG, yeah?” The tone of Max’s voice made the words sound a lot less casual and jovial than they usually would and Y/N’s cheeks flared up when she noticed he was referring to her and Lando. Lando’s hands shot up, as if Y/N’s warm skin burned his hands, lifting them in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry man, didn’t even notice it,” he replied.

Max glowered at him, showing he was not messing around before returning to his conversation.

When Max’s attention shifted away from them, Lando tentatively placed his hand back. The alcohol running through his veins made him ballsy and fearless as he continued to make comments in Y/N’s ear. This time, she noticed his moving hand, a blush rising to her cheeks in anticipation of Max’s reaction. But he wasn’t paying attention to the two of them, not until he heard his sister laughing boisterously. Startled at the sound, his eyes darted over to the pair, widening in disbelief when he spotted Lando’s wandering hand edging closer to the hem of your skirt once again. Max’s instincts immediately kicked in at the sight – the audacity of this man.

“That’s enough, Norris. Hands off,” he commanded, his tone firm..

Lando’s confidence faltered under Max’s scrutinising gaze, and he removed his hand immediately. “Sorry, man,” he said, blushing at the attention. Max, too, had been drinking all day, and Lando didn’t want to risk another injury; the cut on his nose was enough for today.

Lando’s sudden change in behaviour was obvious to Y/N; his uncertainty and reluctance to touch her were palpable. In an attempt to reassure him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, cuddling into him while she kept the conversation going. She made eye contact with her brother, whose unrelenting glare softened at her comfort. All he wanted to do was to protect Y/N, but it now felt unnecessary as she seemed entirely at ease with Lando.

At some point during the night, Y/N took the initiative and grabbed Lando’s hand, placing it on her thigh. Lando was apprehensive at the gesture, looking over at Max to see his reaction, but he was focused on his sister. He watched her play with Lando’s hand, fiddling with his fingers and giggling into the crook of his neck. Max shifted his eyes to Lando, nodding at him before returning to his conversation – a sign of approval. If his sister was okay with it, initiating and encouraging it even, then he would accept it.

They stayed in the same position until people started to leave. When Y/N’s friends mentioned heading home, Max suggested everyone should go back, not wanting the girls to walk home alone while they were wasted. It took little convincing to get everyone into the elevator and out to the street to start the short journey (although much longer when drunk) back to his apartment.

Lando and Y/N were walking next to each other, rounding up the group while Max was busy herding Y/N’s friends through the city. They were leaning on each other as they stumbled through the streets, laughing at Max who was frantically chasing the girls to make sure they took the right turns.

When they finally got back to Max’s apartment, the chaos of the night followed them inside as Max helped everyone to their beds. He had basically adopted Y/N’s friends as his sisters by now, fussing over them throughout the night. Occupied with the girls, Max doesn’t notice Lando following his sister into her bedroom. He sprawled himself out on the bed, barely kicking off his shoes, while Y/N got herself ready to sleep.

She stumbled over to the bed while Lando watched her, both of them giggling as she nearly tripped over the shoes scattered around the floor. She curled up next to him on the bed, her body fitting perfectly against his. As they drifted to sleep, their whispers slowly faded into silence until the only sounds that remained were the soft snores from the cuddled-up couple, and the quiet stomps of Max trying to catch Y/N's giggling friends.

573 notes · View notes

modanisgf · 2 days

Text

003. IT’S OVER FOR HANNI (HALF WRITTEN)

WC: >1k

prev | next | masterlist

hanni finally arrived at her work’s building, minji dropping her off minutes later wishing her luck.

“don’t get fired!” minji called out to hanni, making the latter groan.

why did everyone think she was getting fired?

hanni texted her manager that she had made it, and very quickly someone came down to open the door for her. the staff guided her to the meeting room, and when the door opened hanni’s heart dropped.

practically half of her companies big names were there, all of them sitting with a smile on their face. hanni fought back the urge to step out the room and never come back, but she knew better taking a seat next to her manager the only one not smiling.

“hanni, i swear i didn’t know all these people were going to be here.” he whispers to her, hanni sighing.

“it’s okay, hopefully it’ll be over soon.” hanni replies quietly, her manager nodding.

the meeting started soon after hanni took her seat, the ceo clearing his throat.

“so we have all gathered here to speak about the recent rumors that have sparked about our artist hanni.” he says, clicking through a slideshow behind him.

all hanni could think was, ‘was this really necessary?’ as the ceo clicked through explaining his thoughts on what they should do to divert attention away from hanni. once he finished, he got on to questioning hanni.

“hanni, what exactly is this album that got leaked? was it in your personal files?” the ceo asked, the question making hanni annoyed.

she knew he was going to ask her to release it at some point, all he wanted was money.

“yeah, and it was for a reason.” hanni states simply, ignoring the glare she got from the ceo.

“didn’t you want to release it for that actor girl?” he questions further.

“sir, we went over this that tweet wasn’t hanni—“ hanni’s manager spoke up getting cut off by the ceo.

“i don’t care the damage is already done, the world thinks shes releasing it fully sometime next week now.” the ceo says.

“i’m not sure you’re following sir, that album has been in the vault since before i even started professionally making music for a very important reason.” hanni says.

“and what’s the reason?”

hanni wished she didn’t have to explain, it was really none of his business but she valued her job.

“it’s about someone dear to me.”

“is it that girl you reblogged?”

hanni took a long sigh, she knew she wasn’t getting out of this.

“is it really this important?” hanni asks.

“yes, because i have an offer for you.” he says.

“since the internet already thinks you two have something going on, i can contact her company and make a compromise to get the attention off your leaked music until we are in a good spot to release.” he continues.

“what compromise? also i told you i don’t want to release that—“ hanni says.

“i’m aware but people are going to profit off of it soon, and we don’t need that right now. but anyways, the compromise is something along the lines of fake dating. the internet will move on quickly especially after they saw that first interaction.” he says.

“are you sure this is good for hanni sir? what if she actually has feelings for this girl?” hanni’s manager asks, it was already pretty obvious hanni did considering the lyrics she wrote about her.

“it’ll be fine, i’m sure it will work out in the end.” the ceo states simply.

“but i have to get on with my day now, i will contact y/n’s staff as soon as possible. but before i end this, hanni,” the ceo starts.

“don’t get yourself into more trouble alright?”

“i won’t.”

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN): @jayjj7 @haerinsloverr @aribunnu @masuowo @multiliker @aeriniee @sewiouslyz @edenzeepy @popasi @home2venus @ghstvr @technicallyimportantsweets

a/n: not proofread srry my head hurts so bad

#Spotify #newjeans #newjeans hanni #newjeans smau #newjeans x reader #kpop x reader #kpop smau #newjeans fanfic #kpop fanfic #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #hanni pham

113 notes · View notes

anonymousewrites · 1 day

Text

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Ten

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Ten: Traveling to Okinawa

Summary: (Y/N) and Saiki prepare for their school trip, and it is, of course, chaotic.

PK Academy was buzzing with excitement for the Okinawa trip. Yumehara and Teruhashi were especially excited because they wanted to spend time with Saiki. That meant they had to join his group. Of course, the obvious answer was to first ask (Y/N) to ask the boys (since they had already roped them into their group), but they were over with Saiki, and neither wanted to embarrass themselves in front of their crush. They tried to ask the other guys, but Teruhashi’s fan club became too exuberant in trying to get her to join them. So, now the girls (plus (Y/N)) were joining boy groups by a lottery system. Teruhashi, of course, was first up. She walked up to the box and rummaged around in it for a second.

Yare yare. I feel bad that (Y/N) won’t be in my group, but I can’t have them and Yumehara there, too.

“I choose this one!” declared Teruhashi.

“Teruhashi’s group will join Takahashi’s group,” announced Hairo.

“From here on, if you wanna talk to Teruhashi, talk to me first,” said Takahashi proudly as the other boys yelled in outrage.

(Y/N) sighed. I wanted to be in Saiki’s group…

Teruhashi and Yumehara felt the same way. They were very disappointed.

“So Teruhashi’s group will join Takahashi’s, but what about the rest?” asked Hairo. “Shall we decide the rest via raffle as well?”

The boys just mumbled about not caring. (Y/N) sweat-dropped. A girl from another group finally walked up and picked out another group.

“Ugh, we got Nendou? Being in Nendou’s group is like, totes the worst!” she spat while her group nodded. “Like, can we pick again? This, like, totes kills the trip for us.”

“Then our group will switch with theirs!” volunteered Teruhashi angelically.

“T-Teruhashi?!” stammered Takahashi’s group.

(Y/N) brightened. They knew Saiki wouldn’t enjoy having Teruhashi and Yumehara with him, but they really wanted to be in his group. They were friends with him and the others in the group, after all.

“That is, if Nendou and the other two are okay with it,” continued Teruhashi.

Everyone was amazed at the perfect pretty girl wanting to be in Nendou’s group. However, it didn’t last long as they all thought about how kind and selfless she was for doing it. It made her more perfect to them. The class began to cheer for their goddess.

Yare yare. The only good thing about this is (Y/N) being in my group. Other than that…I’m just stuck with two more bothers.

The class seemed to be satisfied with the rest of the results. Then, Hairo got called over by the teacher. When he returned to the room, his face was slightly crestfallen (as much as Hairo could be).

“Which of you are in Mera’s group?” asked Hairo.

“Oh, we are,” said (Y/N), raising their hand.

“It looks like she can no longer go on the trip with us,” said Hairo.

“Aw, why?” asked (Y/N).

“Apparently, they couldn’t catch as many bluefin tuna as they wanted,” explained the class rep. “It’s unfortunate, but we can’t do anything about it. So it’s been decided that we’ll do groups of eight instead of groups of seven. Two of the members of Teruhashi’s group have to join another.”

Instantly, Teruhashi and Yumehara glanced at (Y/N), who was humming pleasantly. They were better friends with the boys, so they were the obvious choice to stay in the group. Other people were also pulling them away.

Looks like God is on my side.

Saiki sighed in annoyance as he listened to Makoto prattle on and on about the “perverted” things Saiki was “thinking” and how he would be there to stop Saiki from doing anything. It was really quite disturbing how detailed Makoto was getting. Saiki was prepared to just not go, but…he could hear Mera and (Y/N) passing by. Mera was sad about not being able to go, and (Y/N) was disappointed their friend couldn’t come.

That did it.

Alright, Teruhashi. You win.

“What shall we do, teacher?” asked Hairo.

(Y/N) had been bouncing up and down in excitement at the trip, but they were starting to get nervous since it might be canceled now.

“This isn’t good…” said the teacher.

Suddenly, the PA system announced, “Due to a typhoon, the flight to Okinawa scheduled for ten o’clock has been temporarily suspended at this time.”

(Y/N) sighed and slumped in their seat. “What bad luck…”

“When I was finally able to go,�� mourned Mera.

Saiki sighed as the depressed thoughts of his friends bothers flooded him.

“Excuse me, if the flight gets canceled, will the school trip be postponed?” asked a student.

“No, it’ll be canceled,” said Matsusaki.

“What?!” cried everyone.

“I want you to go…but it’s out of my hands,” said Matsusaki sadly.

“Teacher!” cried the students.

“Don’t give up, guys!” shouted Hairo, clearly trying to delude himself. “It’s not like the flight has been canceled! One, two, sun! Don’t give up! Come on, guys! Cheer with me!”

(Y/N) just sighed gloomily.

Yare yare, even their endless sunniness is dampened. I can’t keep watching this. He couldn’t have (Y/N) upset. He liked them happy. Saiki teleported away for a moment before returning, soaking wet.

“Hey! The flights back on!” chirped (Y/N) happily. “The news says the typhoon suddenly disappeared!” They grinned and then cocked their head. “Saiki? Why are you wet?”

“Never mind it.” He smiled a tiny bit. “Now, let’s take that school trip.”

“Yeah!” cheered (Y/N).

Finally, PK Academy boarded the plane and was off to Okinawa. (Y/N) took out headphones and leaned back in their seat. While Yumehara, Teruhashi, and Mera were talking, they decided to take a nice long nap. They wanted as much energy as possible when they arrived in Okinawa.

“The ocean looks so beautiful!” said (Y/N), looking out the bus window.

“It’s so green!” said Nendou. “I wonder if someone’s dumpin’ some paint out there. Right, pal, pinky?”

(Y/N) just grinned and shook their head.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” called Yumehara. “Look!” She opened her shirt, revealing a bikini top.

(Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and they looked away. “Yumehara!”

“Don’t take your clothes of here!” Teruhashi blushed.

“It’s just a bathing suit,” explained Yumehara.

“That makes more sense,” said (Y/N). “Stripping on the bus doesn’t seem your thing. I’m guessing you’re excited about the beach?”

“Totally!” said Yumehara.

“Me, too,” said Teruhashi.

(Y/N) smiled. “I can’t wait to go. I bought a new swimsuit for the occasion.”

“Oh, are you not wearing a guy’s swimsuit this time?” asked Yumehara.

“No, I went for a two-piece,” said (Y/N). “I thought I’d have fun.”

“I got a bikini, too,” remarked Teruhashi.

“We’ll be like a fashion show!” commented (Y/N), beaming as the bus stopped.

“Ooh, finally, we’re getting food!” Mera was drooling at the thought.

She quickly pulled everyone into the building the teachers were escorting them into. They were all sat down in groups around tables and given food.

“So, this is Okinawa soba, huh? It doesn’t look like soba at all,” said Nendou.

“Well, one difference is that they don’t use buckwheat flour, so—,” said Yumehara.

“Whatever it is, it looks good! Let’s chow down!” Nendou began eating.

“Kuwachii sabira,” said Kaidou in the Okinawan dialect.

Everyone stared blankly at him.

“Yep! Maasan! This is ippee maasan,” said Kaidou as he ate.

“Sure! Maasan!” chirped (Y/N).

“Don’t start,” said Saiki, giving them a look.

They laughed sheepishly while Kaidou continued attempting the Okinawan dialect.

“He’s trying too hard.”

“Th-Th-That’s amazing, Kaidou,” said Teruhashi, struggling to get the lie out.

“I can’t remember them at all,” said Yumehara.

“That’s fine!” said Kaidou. “Even if you don’t get ushinaa guchi, nankura naisa!”

“He was excited for that phrase,” observed (Y/N).

Finally, after an excruciatingly incomprehensible narration of the meal by Kaidou, the group finished eating and left the restaurant.

“We still have some time left. Do you wanna stop by the souvenir shop?” asked Mera.

“Sure!” (Y/N) nodded. With that, the girls enjoyed the time until dinner with some light shopping.

“Now this is what a school trip’s all about!” cheered three boys at the hot springs. “Peeping!”

Yare yare. Hearing their thoughts makes me feel gross.

“Actually, I came once before to check things out,” said one boy.

“To Okinawa?!” cried Takahashi. “That’s commitment, Murata!”

“The hotel switches the men’s and women’s baths each day. I have a good grasp of the other side, too,” said Murata.

“Wow…I can’t even find words…” said the third boy, impressed.

“But it’ll all be worth it…to get a peek at her!” declared Murata, clearly thinking of Teruhashi. “The best place to peek is under that light.”

I’ll block their line of sight.

“What is she’s already gotten out?” asked Takahashi.

“They might not compare to Teruhashi, but Mera and (L/N) are pretty hot as well,” said the third.

Saiki stopped his movements. Yare yare. I guess I’ll have to handle this differently.

As the three used periscopes to try to look over the fence, Saiki twisted the tops around. The boys were met with the horrifying picture of a naked Nendou.

I don’t understand what the big deal about naked bodies is— Saiki accidentally looked through the fence with his x-ray vision. He could see (Y/N) in the water with their back turned. It was more of them than he had ever seen. Oh, wow. He immediately looked away. He had not expected that reaction to them. Shaking his head, he dispelled the thoughts, but they continued to bob in his head. Yare yare. I’m going down to the beach to get away from all of this.

If Saiki had known the situation would just get worse, perhaps he wouldn’t have lay down on that beach chair that night.

Taglist:

@elaemae

@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

@melovepurple

@sleep-7372

@w0mank1sser

@geminigengar

@noodleryworld

@leonardo-dabitchy

@janezee12751275

@xenop0p

@ex160-blog1

@futureittomainn

@boogiemansbitch

@dmitrytherat

@yuriisclumsy

@sixxze

@constellationguy

@k03ume

@sweatyinternettrash

@paastaboi

@unorthodox-gob

@girlswhopanic

@h-i-g-h-w-a-y-t-o-h-e-l-l-l

#a not so disastrous romance #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusou no psi nan #kusuo saiki #saiki x reader #saiki k #saiki no psi nan #saiki #saiki kusuo #the disastrous life of saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k.#kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader

68 notes · View notes

thecreelhouse · 3 days

Text

accident prone

part one - cold-blooded and drifting away

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: five years after leaving Hawkins, Steve is still searching for answers on how to manage the pain the Upside Down permanently left him with. What’s only meant to be a mundane trip to the coffee shop and yet another doctor appointment turns into more thanks to shaky hands and unfortunate yet perfect timing, giving him hope, for the first time in a long time.

WC: 8k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, ableism, language, PTSD, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, brief mentions of comorbidities, brief mentions of medical gaslighting, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist

tether - chvrches

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“will we ever get away from this place? / it’s an image that’s burned on my chest / for a moment you need me to stay / cold-blooded and drifting away”

A/N: I touched on this more in the masterlist, but basically, this is a HC I’ve had since ST3. After all of the physical/mental trauma Steve’s endured, I imagine he’d end up with some sort of chronic pain disorder/illness/disability. May is Fibromyalgia Awareness Month, so I feel now’s a good time to share this. This will be 3 parts, and more Steve centric. This was easier to write with an OC than reader, so I hope y’all will still give this one a chance despite that. There’s not enough disability/chronic pain rep in fics imo— so chronic pain babes, this one’s for you. ♡ (Also s/o to @stevenose for the help, feedback, and encouragement!)

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It’s another brutally beautiful winter morning in Chicago, and that means it’s another morning Steve dreads leaving bed. Not the common, casual dread most folks talk about when coming back to work after a long weekend off. Or how people dread meeting their significant other’s parents, when they really mean they’re just nervous.

Steve feels dread deeply on the days he needs to get up, but can’t find the energy, or motivation, or a two for one special of both. There’s a certain way his stomach turns over and drops with this kind of dread, and it makes his aching joints just hurt more.

It’s simple, really— Steve hadn’t been himself since 1983. It’s not surprising for anyone from Hawkins to not be themselves for a while now. For Steve Harrington, though, it’s been rough, to say the least.

It began with nightmares. His mind started taking on massive amounts of a very specific type of trauma no one should ever face, especially not as many times as he had. He was awake more often than asleep in the beginning, terrified to shut his eyes and find himself back in the tunnels with the demodogs, or trapped far, far below Starcourt Mall, struggling for his life, relying on a child to save both him and Robin.

Steve didn’t even want to acknowledge the events of 1986, leading up to Hawkins transforming into hell on earth as the Upside Down bled into the sleepy little midwestern town. He refused to talk about it, or even think about it while he was conscious.

Now, it’s 1991, and the world continues to spin; people Steve graduated with were getting married, having babies, starting their own families… things he quietly longed for, even after confessing to Nancy that’s what he wanted with her.

Years later, Steve still regrets confessing anything to her. He’s happy she’s happy, with Jonathan, both of them career driven and building their life together with some sort of plan.

He’s happy for them, really, he is.

But Steve still longs to find someone to share a life with— a normal, long, happy life. And he’s tried, but there’s always some shitty excuse to stop things before they start with someone new. He never expects anyone he first meets to be The One, nor would he just settle; Steve wants that dream with someone who clicks perfectly with him, someone who doesn’t shame him for the mental anguish and physical pain he’s been burdened with from the trauma. He wouldn’t want that with someone who wouldn’t want to understand him, and love him unconditionally, while he returns that love to someone he truly adores.

Robin tried setting Steve up for blind dates, introducing him to new people, but he slowly lost interest in the process of getting to know someone. What was the point if everyone left the first night they slept together, and he had a nightmare? Or the moment something triggers a flashback, he’s left grounding himself alone. And when his joints lock up, or the haze in his mind gets too thick, he’s seen as a burden.

A liability.

Unworthy of love for something out of his control.

Why bother with any of this if it would just waste Steve’s time and energy in the end?

“No, Rob, I don’t want their number.” Steve grumbles into his scarf, turning another set up down as he’s dragging his feet along the sidewalk. He and Robin make the trek a few blocks away from their apartment to a nearby coffee shop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he’s shivering and shaking, despite being bundled up. “This shit’s just draining any enjoyment I had in a social life.”

“Steve, the only social life you have is seeing doctors regularly.” Robin bluntly points out, and shrugs off the side eye Steve throws her way. She’s not excessively bundled up the way her best friend is, nor is she violently shivering. “Dude, you could’ve stayed home, I would’ve grabbed your coffee.”

Steve’s shaking his head, but Robin can’t tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s his response to her. “Doc said I gotta “keep my joints movin’”. Easy for him to say.” Steve flatly points out.

“Yeah, maybe, but I am proud of you for getting out of bed. I know that hasn’t been easy.” Robin has been one of the very few people in Steve’s life who has held space and empathy for him and his pain. She tries helping more than he lets her, but he feels bad. It’s Steve’s battle to fight, not hers. Robin has already had her fair share of trauma, she doesn’t need to try to juggle any more flashbacks or nightmares outside of her own.

“Thanks, Robin.” He’s quiet, but sincere. It really does help, even a little, to hear words of encouragement. Because without those, his own mind is just on a constant cycle of negative self-talk. It’s something he’s still working on in therapy.

If Steve was being honest, there was a lot he was working on in therapy.

It wasn’t long after that the two of them arrived at the coffee shop, groaning in unison when they realize the line was all the way to the door. There’s just enough room for them to squeeze right at the end, directly by the doorway. Steve keeps his scarf up against his face, shivering each time someone exits the cafe.

“When’s your appointment?” Robin asks, unable to take her eyes off the massive line of customers.

Steve, unfazed, replies, “Three hours from now. I planned for this, don’t worry.”

Robin finally turns around, shooting him a puzzling glance. “You plan your doctor visits around getting coffee?”

“… You don’t?”

“I see my doctor, like, once a year, maybe.” Robin shrugs.

“Must be nice.” He grumbles, burying his face further into the fuzzy warmth of the scarf.

Robin winces before giving a soft, “Sorry.”

A loud conversation at the front of the line grabs Steve’s attention, wondering what the commotion was about.

“Isn’t today your day off? The hell are you doing here?” One barista asks the customer, who he can’t see beyond the crowd behind her.

Another barista barks a laugh, occupied with the macchiato they’re making. “She can’t make coffee to save her life.”

“I can! It’s just… not good.” The stranger admits, response growing quiet towards the end in embarrassment.

The playful tones make it obvious they greet each other like this often. Something about the banter brings a tiny smile to Steve’s face.

“Usual, I guess? You’re sick if you say yes.”

“Why is it socially unacceptable to enjoy a fresh iced coffee in the middle of winter?” Steve chuckles to himself at the comment. “And yes, Cade, with extra sprinkles, pleaaaase.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here, ‘Key. You owe me that Dinosaur Jr. tape, better bring it next time, or I’m charging you real life, adult dollars.”

Walking out of the line, she makes her way over to the opposite end of the counter to wait for her order, shooting Cade one quick smile. “No Monopoly money? Dang.”

Steve’s gaze lands on her, eyes clinging onto the sight before him with no intention of peeling back. She has to be close to his age, but he immediately notices the cane she’s using, moving in time with her feet while walking. He’s in awe of the casually cool aura she seems to radiate, despite being mostly bundled up in layers, hiding any defining features besides the cane and a worn jacket, countless patches and pins covering most of its surface.

Robin snaps her fingers in front of Steve’s face. “Quit being rude.”

“I- huh? I’m not!” He retorts in a hushed tone. The line moves up a bit, and Steve’s grateful to be heading towards the warmth, and away from the frigid cold by the door.

“You were staring, dingus.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Steve’s face flushes red, but it blends in with his winter wind-dusted cheeks. The bonus of the scarf still pressed against his face helps, too. “I just- I never see anyone our age using mobility aids.” He tries sneaking another glance at the woman, but Robin steps in front of Steve’s line of vision.

“Quit it. I know you mean well, but I know how much you hate when people stare when you’ve got your knee brace on.”

Steve didn’t think of it like that; he squeezes his eyes shut as he nods with embarrassment. “Right. Shit. Yeah. Got it.”

“Thanks, Rhi, I owe you too.” The stranger’s voice floats above the chatter amongst others, not with volume, but a distinct warmth and sincerity. Then, voice turning up, she shouts towards the cash register, “I’ll get your tape tomorrow, Cade, promise!”

The line moves up, and Robin steps back in to move, too. Steve can’t help peering over again, and the timing is perfectly unfortunate; the woman only makes it about two steps before her hand violently jerks, sending the coffee flying forward forward and onto the tiled floor.

The room doesn’t fall completely silent, but it does settle into hushed voices, with some concerned onlookers, but mostly nosy and judgmental. Steve doesn’t miss the way some people in line feel the need to say something, like it’s their business. As if these strangers know her.

“She deserves it for being so obnoxious.”

Steve feels his jaw set, immediately bothered by the unnecessary comment.

She’s frozen for a moment, staring down at the mess, pooling around her boots. One of the baristas, Rhi, calls out to the back for someone to take over before rushing over to the scene.

“Hey, you okay?” Rhi asks her, to which she nods silently, carefully bending down with the help of her cane for balance while pulling napkins out of her pocket, trying to sop up the puddle of iced coffee. Rhi throws the towel down that was in her back pocket before reaching for one of the napkin dispensers on a nearby table.

“What the hell is she using a cane for anyway? She can bend her knees just fine.”

Steve’s fists clench in his pockets, and somehow Robin can still notice that; she’s reaching out to touch his coat-shielded arm, almost holding him back as she whispers “Steve, hey, don’t.” He bites his tongue, wondering how ignorant people can be when it comes to any of this; it’s always those who are able bodied who act like a disabled person’s struggle is an inconvenience to their own lives. Makes them feel high and mighty, like they themselves are invincible.

What a hard lesson that’ll be for them to learn, Steve thinks.

If life doesn’t disable someone, through accident or injury or a bad hand of cards dealt, lying in wait, it’s age that usually changes everything. To this day, it still shocks Steve that people just don’t get it.

Or maybe, they just don’t want to.

“Great, now we’re gonna have to wait even longer.”

The woman is kneeling on the floor, cane leaning against a table while she does her best to clean what’s in reach from the spot she ended up in; her hands continue to tremble, jerking involuntarily every so often. Tears well up in her eyes while shaking her head silently.

“Hey, it’s okay, I got this, babes.” Rhi continues soaking up napkins with the coffee; she tries consoling her friend before realizing how many people were staring. “Hey, haven’t your mothers taught you to mind your business?!”

Some customers scoff, others leave, but not before spitting rotten comments at the pair of them. The rest in line have common sense to mind their business, going back to talking amongst themselves.

”Well, at least the line’s shorter.” Robin murmurs, trying to look on the bright side. Steve wants to go over and help, but he’s torn; he doesn’t want to come across as if he’s pitying her, or trying to be a good guy for some kind of backwards recognition. He just knows how it feels when a health ailment gets in the way of your daily routine, and he really knows how hard it is to go without coffee when you’re looking forward to it.

“Great job, Rhi, you drove half the morning out.” An older woman scolds her from behind the counter while she's scurrying to catch up on orders. Rhi looks furious, but holds herself back from challenging the unnecessary comment further.

“Hey, I’ll make ya’ a new one, on the house,” Rhi offers. “Don’t listen to her, Cade and I would rather you be comfortable than deal with those assholes. Bet they actually make and like their shitty coffee, too. They’ll be back.”

Laughing softly, her friend sniffles, wiping her eyes, “Can I mop or something in return? You don’t need extra work ‘cause of me.” Rhi shakes her head, linking arms with her as she rises to her feet, pulling the woman up, too.

Rhi throws a thumb over to an empty nearby seat, “You just chill here, I got this under control, no sweat.” She gives her a quick side hug before hurrying to the back to grab cleaning supplies. Steve hears an audible sigh; the woman sounds defeated for the day, and it’s only 9 in the morning.

It’s a sign of defeat and fatigue Steve knows all too well, but he pushes down the desire to talk to her, knowing this isn’t the time. Plus, what would he even say as an introduction?

Hey, I’m Steve, and I’m disabled, too—

He shakes the thought from his mind, embarrassed he’d even think that was appropriate at all. He’s bummed that the first time he runs into someone else his age that’s disabled, is truly at a perfectly unfortunate moment in time.

When it’s Steve’s turn to order, he pushes every thought involving the stranger to the back of his mind.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

If Steve had a dollar every time someone ignorantly told him, “You’re too young to be in pain like that!”, he’d certainly have enough money by now for a better treatment plan. This is one of the very few things in life he wished his parents would actually help with; it’s not the easiest to juggle several jobs and still barely get by, with the bonus of always playing “catch up or drown” with medical bills.

It’s even more of a challenge to keep up with medical bills when jobs constantly let him go for the very few sick days he has to take, and it leaves him wondering, “Doesn’t the ADA protect against that kind of discriminatory shit?” except he never has the energy to research it.

Every doctor visit is the same routine; arrive with a list of symptoms, turning from nuisances to roadblocks in his quality of life. Telling them what he’s been feeling, or what he’s become numb to, physically and mentally. Or that the cons of his medications have started to outweigh the pros; it’s a struggle trying to find a combination when you need several kinds of medication, and it’s even more of a pain in the ass to change even just one, restarting the process all over again.

When one of the countless doctors he saw finally believed his pain, he was left with what a lot of medical professionals believe to be a last ditch diagnosis: Fibromyalgia.

Steve felt validated, for the first time since seeking help years after the traumatic events that plagued Hawkins for so long. He also felt lost, because what the fuck was fibromyalgia? Any time he’s heard anyone talk about it, it was mainly in judgment and criticism; even with the most life-altering of fibromyalgia cases, the majority of able-bodied people and doctors considered it to be a phony condition.

It’s been six months since his diagnosis, and Steve still feels just as lost and clueless since day one. It doesn’t matter how many packets and pamphlets the doctor gives him with handy information on what his chronic pain is, or what he can try as treatment, because nothing seems to work. Taking different vitamins and medications, trying physical therapy, trying out yoga— because everyone seems to think that one’s a cure— if you’ve mentioned it, he’s tried it.

There’s still no clear answer on where or how it starts; genetics, trauma, depression, sickness triggering something more long term? No one, no medical professional, or his own fruitless research with late nights at the library, can give a solid answer.

As time has flowed forward, all of the years of serious damage and injury from Hawkins and all its demons, supernatural and human, he wouldn’t be surprised if the trauma theory was true. His parents are fine (at least, on the surface, but they’ve got too much pride to ever say otherwise), so cross genetics out. Depression? Yeah, no shit Steve’s depressed.

Refer back to answer 1.

It’s a never ending cycle, and now that he’s aware of it, Steve is constantly wondering if this is how the rest of his life will be. Waiting rooms and lab work that tells him nothing about his pain? Humiliation with every doctor he sees, who tells him it’s not that bad, as if they live in his own damn body and know. Making a choice between using the last of a paycheck on another co-pay for another dismissive specialist, or on the medication he’s been on to help him at least live some kind of life, knocking some symptoms or comorbidities off the list.

Today, Steve’s in a waiting room where the fluorescent lights are too damn bright, pushing him onto the brink of a migraine. It’s quiet, which he’s grateful for, but he wonders if that has anything to do with the doctor, if they’re really any good, or he’s excluded from a local secret everyone else is in on.

The room is relatively plain; fake plants, small tables with outdated magazines, a handful of health PSA posters are scattered along the walls, and the chairs are much more uncomfortable than they appear.

Steve basks in the silence, at the very least; usually waiting rooms are too noisy, and it sets off his fight or flight instinct. That’s one he still has to get to the bottom of, but he had to push off therapy for a while with his tight budget. It was that, or skip this appointment he waited months to get in for.

That blissful silence doesn’t last long, of course, knowing Steve Harrington’s shit luck. With a swing of the office entrance’s glass door, the little bell dings, along with the clunky sound of shoes, faint against the basic carpet lining the floor. His head tilts up, and to his surprise, it’s someone that’s not decades older than him.

“Kid, what did I tell ya’ about those cursed platform boots?” A voice scolds from behind the receptionist’s desk, where this person is leaning against the counter, elbows on the surface, head in hands with a soft giggle.

Wait—

“Dad, my outfit begged for these boots today. Told me it’d die without ‘em.”

“Yeah, and one of these days, you’re gonna croak with those death shoes on.”

Steve can’t help the small, amused smile that graces his face, recognizing the woman from the coffee shop earlier.

“Kiddo, you still gotta sign in.” The receptionist pushes the clipboard towards her, not sounding annoyed, more so familiar with her presence.

“You better be saving all of these, Betty. Someday those autographs will be worth something.”

“Yeah, just as much as my 3 hour old coffee.” Betty teases; she’s an older woman, grey and silver hair in a perm that frames her face. Steve can tell the banter and chit-chat is a normal occurrence.

“Yeah, well, you enjoy that coffee, Bets. I dropped mine in the coffee shop and was too embarrassed to let them make me a new one.” She rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “It had those cute, crystal-lookin’, sugary, sprinkles too.”

Steve felt bad, remembering how flustered she seemed. He couldn’t help replaying this morning’s accident over and over in his head again. The end of her conversation with Betty floats over Steve’s head as he’s lost in his thoughts.

Spinning around, the woman’s eyes land on Steve immediately, confidently striding over in platform boots, cane working in tandem with her steps. She keep a respectful distance, one chair over and across from Steve.

Steve blushes, realizing he’s finally seeing her face completely as she smiles at him; it’s not filled by forced positivity, not like the ones all the healthier and able bodied folks give him. It’s warm and familiar, like sunshine on his skin; no pity, no fake empathy, none of that shit.

The contrast of her smile against her outfit, one that resembles something at the crossroads of 90s grunge and cute and cozy, with a hint of mall goth somewhere in her style, is something he admires. Her wild, black hair is tied into a messy side braid, hanging over her shoulder, with a thick, blonde streak interwoven in the braid.

“There’s never anyone in here that’s younger than 30. It’s kinda nice to see someone my age.” She admits in awe, then backtrack while her face falls. “I- not that it’s nice to see— oh my god, you’re probably not even chronically ill, I’m just assuming like a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s unsure where to begin, but he returns the same warm smile back her way, hoping it offers reassurance. “Don’t apologize, I- yeah. I am, actually. It’s… kinda nice to see someone my age too, for once.”

“Lemme guess, you get told all the time you’re too young for this shit.”

“Kid, language.” Betty scolds, but she waves a hand at her, unfazed. “You better have a quarter for the swear jar, kiddo.” Betty closes the little glass partition, clearing her throat loudly.

“Right, introductions would be helpful, I guess,” She extends a hand out towards Steve, “Name’s Frankie Amato. Or, well, Francesca,” She cringes at her full name. “But everyone calls me Frankie.”

That explains why one of her friends at the shop called her ‘Key’ earlier, Steve realizes.

Steve takes a moment to reach back, observing all of Frankie’s tattoos and painted black nails, jelly and beaded bracelets colliding on her wrists. He shakes her hand, the contact pulling himself out of his daze, “I- I’m Steve, Steve Harrington. Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, you just— ”

“Oh, it’s okay, I know I dress like someone who tripped into their closet and left the house with whatever ended up in the outfit that day.” Steve snorts at the joke directed towards herself.

“It looks… cool.” Cool? Seriously, Steve? What is this, middle school? “ I- words. It’s. You- You look really cool.”

She stifles her giggles lazily, coming out as a snort, “Brain fog, huh?”

It shocks him to hear someone his age use the term. “How’d you know?”

“It’s like staring into a mirror right now, except you’re dressed way nicer than me.” She jokes, nodding to his cozy cable knit sweater, and Steve shakes his head, even though he’s smiling.

“Nah, no way, I’m still kinda dressing how I did in high school.”

“Oh, you think I dressed normal in high school? I was even more mismatched than this.” Frankie enthusiastically gets up with the support of her cane, twirling to show off today’s outfit. Her overall ambience is a kind Steve had never seen exude from anyone else before.

Tripping over her own feet, she yelps, losing the grip on the cane before losing her balance. Instead of hitting the floor, though, Steve catches her awkwardly, lunging out of his chair with his arms planked out in front of him. The rapid movement and odd position are doing no favors to his already irritated joints, but he wasn’t going to just let her fall over like that.

Frankie laughs, as if she wasn’t a foot away from cracking her head on the concrete underneath the thin, corporate-esque carpet. Steve’s so perplexed by her entire character, but he’s curious, wants to learn more.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s asking as he guides her into the chair next to her. She’s laughing, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Are you? I’m so sorry for that. Got a little too excited, I guess.”

“Or, it’s those damn boots.” A booming, yet mellow voice comes from the doorway leading into the doctor’s office. A tall, burly man with olive toned skin, and a scruffy salt and pepper beard with hair to match, holds the door open while giving her a look. “Francesca, quit trying to make that poor boy dance with you.”

“I was not—”

“Steve Harrington?” The doctor comes over to them, shaking Steve’s hand. He introduces himself formally with his name, following up with, “Dr. Amato. It’s nice to meet you.”

Before today, Steve knew the doctor’s name, but he’s just making the connection now that Frankie and his new doctor are related.

What a small world.

“He’s a stick in the mud, but you’re in good hands, promise.” Frankie murmurs, and her father rolls his eyes.

“What, did you forget I’m right here? I can hear you.” Dr. Amato deadpans. “Also, that’s biased of you to say, you’re my child.”

Steve’s honestly amused by the lighthearted banter between the father and daughter duo, that for a moment, he forgets why he’s even in this office to begin with.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” She shoots back, but there’s no venom in her tone. The teasing banter seems to be something she has with everyone she’s close with.

Her father narrows his eyes at her before turning back to Steve, waving his hand back towards the office door. “C’mon back, we’ve got a lot to cover from the files I could get from your previous doctor.” He doesn’t say it like Steve’s a burden, rather it sounds like the doctor actually wants to comb through the younger man’s medical history and help where he can.

As the two men head back into the office, Frankie settles into her chair, kicking her feet up and over the chair beside her before flipping through a crumpled magazine. Steve can hear Betty slide the partition open and scold her, “Kid, get your damn boots off the chair.”

“Oooh, that’s a quarter for the swear jar, Bets!”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

For once, Steve’s leaving a doctor’s office with hope. Genuine, solid hope. This isn’t like the false hope most doctors gave, if any at all. “There’s studies saying a cure’s not too far off.” and “This should be what helps, but if it’s not working for you, you must be doing something wrong.” That kind of medical gaslighting bullshit he’s unfortunately so used to by now.

Dr. Amato kept things honest, telling Steve whoever said a cure was on the horizon was a terrible liar, and doctors shouldn’t ever produce false hope like that. He told Steve he was doing everything right, and that sometimes, unfortunately, you can do everything right— physical therapy, a good night’s sleep, medication, eating well, drinking water, even caving in and finally trying yoga (which Steve loathes now)— and your body can still work against you.

“It might take some time, a long time, but if you’re willing to keep trying and work with what we’ve got, we might be able to find some kind of relief from your pain. It won’t be perfect, and studies are too new for fibromyalgia to determine cures yet, but with what I’ve learned from fibromyalgia patients over the years, every single body is different.”

Hearing that was already refreshing. Finally, a doctor understood that treatment for invisible disabilities like Steve’s weren’t easily helped with a generic, one size fits all, treatment plan.

“It’s a lot of trial and error, and that can be exhausting, as you already know. But getting to the root of the cause is crucial, I think. And judging off of your medical history, and what you’ve shared from what you’ve endured in Hawkins, I’d say a lot of it is both a physical and mental response to trauma. If you’re ready to face that, I believe you can find your way in time. Regardless, your pain is incredibly real. Anyone in the medical field who says fibro isn’t real is a quack.”

Steve wasn’t leaving with any solid answers, but this was the most reassured he felt for his future and well being in… well, ever, honestly.

After setting up a follow-up appointment with Betty, Steve begins to leave the office, when a light tug on his sleeve stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he locks eyes with Frankie, wearing that warm smile that feels like sunshine all over again to him.

“Steve, can I talk to you quick?” She asks softly, and Steve nods before he’s pulled into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry if I came off strong earlier. If that, like, totally didn’t scare you off, I was wondering maybe if you’d wanna hang out sometime?” Her words begin to turn into a nervous ramble as she finishes.

Steve smiles, but can’t think of a proper response. Damn brain fog. Just say yes, idiot.

“That was probably uncalled for, huh? I’m sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I- I’d like to hang out too.” Steve answers sincerely.

“Yeah? Okay, cool.” She smirks as the last word leaves her lips, silently teasing him. Frankie’s digging through her messenger bag, hoping to find a pen and some paper, even an old receipt would work; nothing of the sort comes up, so she pulls out her pencil eyeliner, waving it between her fingers. “Can I? It washes off easily, I promise.”

Steve’s brows furrow for a moment before he gets it, “Oh, yeah, no problem, that works.” He hopes he’s not coming off as too eager, but he truly is looking forward to hanging out with someone who just… gets it.

Awkwardly, Frankie takes Steve’s hand into her own, writing her phone number with the eyeliner on the back of his hand. As she scribble the digits, three things stand out to him.

The way she holds his hand is soft, but certain. Any awkwardness she had at first is shaken off while she finishes writing.

She’s got fingerless gloves on now, which he’s always found them funny; what’s the point of a glove if it doesn’t cover everything?

The tips of her fingers are tinged more pale than her skin tone. Her hands, even with the warm fabric, are fucking freezing.

They weren’t cold when he shook her hand earlier. “Your hands are cold,” He murmurs, kicking himself mentally for how blunt and invasive he must sound. Pulling away, she snaps the cap back onto the eyeliner, giving a lazy smile.

“The Windy City ain’t too kind to those of us with Raynaud’s,” The shrug Frankie gives plays off how much the winters here affect the disorder, and how much of an inconvenience it is to one’s daily routine. “I should really use full gloves, but they make it hard to grip stuff sometimes… I mean, I guess the cold does too, but I’d rather be cold— Jesus, I never shut up.”

“If it helps, once I get to know someone well enough, I never shut up, either.” Steve hopes the poke at himself eases her concern, and judging by the smile she gives him, he thinks it does.

“Well, I look forward to not shutting up with you, hopefully soon.” Frankie teases, reaching for the door. Looking back at him, she says with sincerity, “Get home safe, Steve.”

Before she can head back inside the office, Steve gives a nod and a warm smile, hoping it’s at least a fraction as warm and sunny as her own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Robin!” Steve pushes the apartment door open, rushing in with excitement. “Robin, guess what, hey, guess, just guess—“

She looks up from the magazine she’s leafing through, sitting sideways on the recliner with her legs hanging over. Her eyes are wide with shock at his energy.

“You won a million dollars?”

“What? No. I mean, shit, I wish. But no.” He ends up on the couch, sighing happily to be sprawled out after a long day. If joints could cry, they’d probably be crying tears of joy right now. “Remember the girl from earlier? At the coffee shop?”

Robin nods, “Yeah, what about her?”

“Get this— her dad’s the new doctor I’m seeing, and she happened to come in when I was in the waiting room.” Lazily setting the scene, he plunges into his usual rambling. “We got to talking before my appointment, and she— her name’s Frankie— anyway, she’s just… she’s so cool, Rob. I- I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her. And Dr. Amato is really nice, like… kinda like Hopper, if he was nicer… and a doctor.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit on Hopper—“

“I’m not! I- don’t distract me,” Steve grumbles. “Anyway, it was weirdly… refreshing? Like he didn’t sugarcoat anything, or try telling me there’s a ‘cure on the horizon’, or some shit like that. But he wasn’t a dick, either. I don’t think I’ve met a doctor with that much empathy yet. And it wasn’t any of that bullshit about taking up yoga—“

“Why does everyone seem to think that works?” He’s been suggested this so many times, even Robin’s beginning to get annoyed for him.

Steve snorts, “Wish I fuckin’ knew.” Then he quiets down a bit, emotions hitting him. “I don’t think any doctor’s been this understanding, or validated my pain like this. He even said it’s common to still be in pain even if you do everything right… he- he told me it’s not my fault. Being sick isn’t my fault.”

There’s a pause, because Steve’s not sure if he’s even believing the words leaving his mouth, not after being gaslit by medical professionals for so long.

Robin throws the magazine aside to sit next to her best friend, throwing an arm over his shoulders for a side hug. “Of course it’s not your fault, you never asked for any of this.” She takes notice of the tears building in his eyes as he tries rubbing them away. “Even if you didn’t try everything out there, it’s not your fault. No one should have to suffer the way you have.”

“Especially everyone back h—“

Steve stops himself, still coming to terms that Hawkins is gone. Everyone in the group is safe, living better lives wherever they ended up on the map after the disastrous effects of the Upside Down bleeding into the real world.

“It’s cool, I get what you’re saying.” Robin tries to move the conversation forward before Steve can get hung up on the dismal facts. “Everyone in our group has damage one way or another… none of us deserved that.”

With a sigh, Steve nods before continuing, “He wants me to come back in a month, gave me some options for treatment to look into, see what works, what doesn’t, but he wants to find out why something might not work. Not just brush it off and move onto something just as useless. I really, really don’t want to get my hopes up yet, but it feels so validating to not be treated like a lost cause.”

“None of us are lost causes, ‘specially not you, Dingus.” Robin looks down and notices the eyeliner on Steve’s hand that you left behind. “What’d you get on your hand?”

“Huh?” He looks down, “Oh! That’s Frankie’s number! That—“ The digits are smudged. Some he can slightly make out, but the majority are swept away into a black, blotchy stain on his skin. “Shit. It was her number…”

“Eyeliner? Rookie mistake.”

“Hey, she couldn’t find a pen, or paper.”

“And she didn’t go back into the office for some?”

Steve’s dig back fades away as he wonders the same thing. The pair were right outside of the office. Why didn’t either of them—

Oh. Right.

“Probably brain fog… least for me it was. I couldn’t even think to reply when she asked about hanging out.”

“So call the d—“

“No. That’d be weird. So fucking weird. And wouldn’t it be against the hippo thing?”

“The what?”

“You know, the oath that doctors take, or whatever.”

“Oh my god, Steve, the Hippocratic oath?”

“Yeah! Close enough.”

“Not even, but I’ll give you this one today.”

Steve groans, sinking further into the couch. “I finally meet someone who fucking gets it, and lose their number immediately. She’s gonna think I’m avoiding her.”

The two are silent for a beat, until Robin gets an idea. “One of Frankie’s friends mentioned something about her owing him a Dinosaur Jr. tape, when we were getting coffee this morning.”

“Robin, what the hell do dinosaurs have anything to do with this?”

“No, the band, not the— oh my god,” Robin puts her head in her hands, sighing loudly before she continues, “My point is, there’s a record store next door to the coffee shop. Maybe she works there.”

Steve’s face lights up, but he stops his excitement, “Isn’t that also weird? Just… showing up where she works?”

“Maybe a little, but it’s better than guessing numbers, or ditching her, or trying to ask your damn doctor—“

“Okay, okay, okay!” He huffs. “You’re right. I should go tomorrow, maybe before work.”

“Uh… that’s the other thing—“

Steve’s heart sinks; he already knows what’s coming. It’s happened enough where he can spot the pattern from a mile away.

“They called, huh? Told you to pass the message along? Cowards. Can’t even fuckin’ fire me in person.”

“I tried bringing up the ADA to them, but they gave me some bullshit about the decision to let you go wasn’t related to your health.”

“I worked there for barely a month, and never took a day off.” When this happens, Steve’s on the fence between rage and depression, and right now, he’s angry, rightfully so. “I asked for a goddamn chair to rest between helping customers. That’s all I asked for. I did my job, I was nice, I— This is so fucking… so… so,” Steve can’t even find the words for how angry he is, fists clenching, nails digging into his palms while he screams internally.

“Steve, you’re worth so much more than being treated this way. You know that, right?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees while he runs his hands through his hair, letting his head hang low as his throat tightens with the threat of crying.

“I appreciate you trying to fight it, but employers only get a slap on the wrist for discrimination, if that. Half the time, nothing is investigated. It’s so fucked. Can’t even keep a shitty retail job just for requesting an accommodation.”

“They’ve got a lotta’ nerve for a shitty grocery store.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.” He tries joking it off, but it’s useless. “Like, it’s no loss to get fired from some stupid retail job, but Christ…” Steve picks his head up a bit, mouth still covered by his hands. It’s muffled, nearly missed when he mutters, “I’m so fucking tired, Rob.” His voice wavers, cracks, “I’m so goddamn tired of this.”

Robin knows nothing she says can make him feel better, not right now. She just uses the arm still around his shoulders to give a comforting squeeze, a tiny sign Steve isn’t alone.

At this point, Steve will take any empathy from anyone he can get.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next morning, Steve wakes up with nothing but fatigue pushing him deeper into his bed, despite sleeping for nine hours. He was already struggling in a flare up, but then remembers he lost another job, and it just weighs heavy on his already shit mood.

Does this ever get any better?

He should be happy he was finally heard out by a doctor. He should be glad his best friend defends him. He should be excited he met Frankie, someone who understands first hand how hard it is to exist with a chronic illness.

Instead, Steve just feels numb inside. Outside, everything hurts. He knows he should get up, eat something, start the job search all over again. He also knows if he pushes himself too hard, he’s down for the next several days.

There’s no winning when you’re always sick.

The more time separates Steve from the traumatic life he had back in Hawkins, the more he finds himself wondering if any of this is worth growing from. Sure, everyone in the party had long lasting PTSD— that alone could be debilitating— but no one else ended up with an illness considered fake by most of the world. Even chronic pains and ailments anyone else were left with weren’t as baffling as Steve’s battle with fibromyalgia.

Days like today make Steve feel like sinking into the mattress, and disappearing forever. He talks about it in therapy, and it helps, for a moment. Then when he’s mistreated for his health condition, something out of his control, he feels useless.

Back in Hawkins, Steve was able to at least look out for everyone. Protect his friends. He’d do anything for them if it meant keeping them happy, or safe, preferably both. He put himself last, always. There’s never any regret over taking care of others first, but if he knew it would’ve led to the deterioration of his health, maybe he’d have been a little more selfish and put himself first where necessary.

Jesus, I wish therapy wasn’t at the end of the week.

Rolling over into the pillow face first, he groans, remembering he wanted to stop at the record store, in hopes Frankie would be working and give her number out once more. And he does. He does want to go, he wants to see her, wants to get her number so they could eventually hang out.

Yet Steve can’t find the motivation to get up today. Not even for Frankie. Now, instead of feeling numb, he feels guilt seeping through his heart. Rolling back over to face the wall against his bed, he stares at the sunlight peeking through the blinds, dancing slowly across the wall as time continues on.

That might be one of the worst parts of being chronically ill— no matter how sick you are, the world never stops spinning, never waits for you to catch up. Time just… continues on. And if Steve was being honest with himself, he’d need years to catch himself up to speed.

Fatigue envelopes him, pulling him back into a deep, weighty sleep.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Winter’s nightfall comes before Steve can wake back up, and when he does, he feels even worse. Resting didn’t help, leaving him just disoriented and somehow more tired. An entire day, wasted to fatigue; just another day that could’ve been used to catch up in life, slipping through his fingers.

The phone rings, but he can’t get up. He can’t bring himself to roll out of bed, walk a few feet to the phone on his dresser to answer it. So, it rings. And rings. And rings. And rings—

As the shrill sound abruptly stops, Steve allows his eyes to fall shut again, until there’s a knocking on his door. Groaning, he pulls the blankets over himself, murmuring the weakest, “Go away.”

Rather than politely wait and try again, the door is pushed open; Steve pokes his head up, squints as light pours into his room, with Robin standing in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, wait, do you have a migraine? Fuck, dude, I’m sorry—“ Robin scrambles for the door, about to rush out, but Steve shakes his head, leaning up a bit.

“No, but if I did, I’d kill you right now.” He winces at how miserable he sounds. “Sorry… uh, what’s going on?”

Robin squints around his room, keeping the lights off for his sake, until she finds the phone. She grabs it, grateful the wall jack is long enough to bring the telephone over to him. Setting it down on his nightstand, she replies, “S’for you, Dingus.” Robin leaves it at that before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Steve sighs, picking the handset off the receiver with an unenthusiastic, “Hello?”

“Bad day, huh?”

He immediately recognizes Frankie’s voice, perking up a little as he sits up further.

“How’d you get my number?”

“Robin gave it to me, she stopped by the shop earlier. Told me all about the eyeliner smudging off— I’m so sorry, that was such a dumb idea.”

At first, he smiles faintly, but curiosity gets the best of him. “Okay… why was Robin there? I— I swear, I didn’t ask her to— I was going to come by, but it’s been a hard day—”

“Steve, it’s all good. You don’t owe me an explanation, or anything. I’m glad she told me, though.”

“…. What else did she tell you?”

She giggles softly, “That you two saw me fling my coffee like a damn frisbee yesterday morning, and that you were planning on stopping in, but when I told her you never came by, so she figured you had a bad pain day. Y’know, she seems like a great best friend.”

Steve falls back onto the pillows, phone pressed against the side of his head while he runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, she is—“

“Damn right I am.”

Steve jumps at the sound of Robin’s voice cutting in from another phone in the apartment. “Robin! Get off the— hang up!” Frankie’s laughing hysterically on her end of the call, listening to Steve sigh dramatically as a click! sounds out, signaling Robin finally leaving the line. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I needed the laugh,” Her voice settles into a deflated tone, but only for a moment, leaving Steve curious, but he doesn’t pry. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Heart pumping wildly at the simple question, Steve answers truthfully before he can filter himself, “Well, nothing, now that I lost my job.” He cringes at himself, about to apologize for being so blunt, but she speaks first.

“Good! I— well— okay, not good about being fired, that fucking blows, but,” Steve’s unsure who is better at rambling and word vomiting, Frankie or him, but she’s on a roll. “We’re hiring, y’know. And by we, I mean me, ‘cause I’m the only one left running this place and reallyyyyy can’t do it alone.”

“Wh—“ A scoff of a laugh escapes him. “I don’t think I’d be the right person for that.”

“Why not? You listen to music?”

“Well, yeah, but,” Steve’s dizzy from how fast this conversation is moving. “I- I don’t know a whole lot, I just like whatever’s on the radio, sometimes other stuff, but— you barely know me. Why are you offering me a job?”

“Steve, I’m not offering you a job. You gotta have an interview first, duh.” Frankie’s teasing is lighthearted, playful, and keeps a smile on his face despite feeling confused about everything. “Look, no pressure, but if you’re interested, I’ll be there tomorrow. Or if you just wanna hang out, that’s cool too— unless you don’t wanna hang out, that’s totally fine—“

Steve breathily laughs, “Frankie,” into the phone, bringing her rambling to a halt. “I’ll be there.”

“Oh, okay,” He can hear her smile over the phone through her nervous giggle. “Okay, cool. See you tomorrow, Steve.”

“See you t— wait!” An idea pops into his head. “Don’t get coffee tomorrow.”

“Huh? Why not?” Then it hits her, “Oh, dude, don’t— you don’t have to—“

“Too bad, I remembered your order anyway.” He blushes at his own admission, wondering if it comes off creepy.

She still laughs, just as genuine as every other time Steve’s heard so far. “Yeah, we’re definitely alike if your brain fog fucks everything up except remembering someone’s coffee order. I’ll just have to memorize yours eventually, too. G’night, Steve.”

His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide for the first time all day, “Night, Frankie.”

The first time he’s felt something outside of guilt or numbness all day, and it’s all thanks to her.

… And thanks to Robin, being the nosy best friend she is, but he won’t admit that and let it get to her head.

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x fem!oc #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #sorry i’m using these tags the other ones are so dead 😭#my fics #accident prone

50 notes · View notes

gallavichsreddie1128 · 2 days

Text

Used (Billy Butcher)

Description: Billy decides to use Y/N to get what he wants but it backfires when he falls in love with her.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 4,051k

She sighed, completely nervous as she walked down the aisle to her future husband. The wedding wasn’t crazy big but had all their friends and some family. MM walked her down the aisle since she refused to even speak to her parents since she found out they let Vought inject her with compound V. Her dress was dragging behind her as she looked forward to see Billy. He looked so handsome in his tux and he was staring at her in awe. She looked so beautiful. She got up the stairs and they both faced the priest. Billy thought he couldn’t be anymore lucky than what he was right now. Except this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Billy wasn’t a soft spoken man by any means. He could get aggressive and bossy especially when it came down to Vought stuff. He wanted one thing and one thing only. Revenge. Justice for his now dead wife, Becca. And the man would do anything to get it. “There’s a new member of the Seven?” Hughie asked his girlfriend Annie. She nodded and showed them. “Woah.” “wow.” was said amongst the boys. Y/S/N or Y/N. She had on a white lingerie type costume with angel wings that weren’t part of her skin. “What’s her power?” “She can fly.” Annie said. Billy stared at the picture of the girl. She was breathtaking.

Her costume made her boobs look bigger, thanks to Vought and she looked so sweet. Except Billy was still on edge about Supes. “She looks like an angel.” MM said. “Yeah, literally.” Hughie finished. Annie smiled at the boys. “Well she is an absolute sweetheart and she is single.” Billy didn’t know why but that caught his attention. She was single and she wasn’t a bitch? That was perfect. He smirked and looked at the others. “Well boys we might have ourselves a winner.”

Billy hadn’t really planned this out too much but if he could make her fall for him, he could get information. Information on how to destroy Homelander. So here he was at a convention that she was signing stuff at. He was in line and made sure he would be the last so he could actually talk to her. She had the sweetest smile on as she signed pictures and merch. She didn’t seem to be faking the excitement but she was new so she really didn’t know how Vought worked yet.

Once he was up next to talk to her, he finally heard her voice. It sounded angelic and sweet. He didn’t realize how hard it was gonna be. “Hello.” She greeted him. “Hello luv, Billy Butcher.” He introduces himself. “Love the accent. Makes you a lot sexier.” She flirts. He was caught off guard from her comment. He didn’t realize that she would’ve thought anything of him. Which made it so much easier to get her right where he wanted.

“Billy, fuck.” She moaned as he pounded into her cunt. She was up against a wall and he was holding her as he fucked the living shit out of her. Her tiny body fit perfectly with his, like a puzzle piece. “Holy shit. You’re so sexy.” She moaned out. He could cum from that. She was praising him and saying the hottest shit to him. He groaned in her ear making her pussy flutter around him. “Are you close?” He asked her. She nodded and gasped.

“So fucking close. Gosh you fuck me so well.” She whined. Damn he’s never felt like this before. He was so close to cumming and she was making it worse. He wanted her to cum first. “Open your eyes, luv. I want to see you fall apart.” She opened her eyes and her mouth remained open. He looked at her as her eyes rolled back and she moaned loudly cumming all over his dick. That triggered his release. He placed his face in her neck as he let out a moan and came hard. The hardest he’s ever came in so long. She held him close and calmed down. “This can’t be the last time you’re inside of me.” She said. It wouldn’t be.

“Holy fuck. Can you believe that prick?” Y/N asked Billy. He chuckled at her anger. “Homelander is a lying selfish asshole.” “What made you realize that?” He asked her amused. She shook her head and sat down next to him. “We just found out that we’ve been injected with Compound V and he has the audacity to be okay with it?” Billy shrugged.

“I mean the fucker has everything, luv. Why wouldn’t he be okay with it?” She looked at him and shook her head. “He’s not human at all. That I know.” “So what do you wanna take him down?” Butcher asked. She laughed but then stopped. “That’s not a bad idea. I know Maeve and Starlight hate him. I could get the help.” And that’s how she ended up meeting The Boys.

“Wait, so you hired these guys to help?” Y/N asked her boyfriend. “Yep they can help ya.” He said. The boys were confused on why Butcher was talking about them like that. Did Y/N not know? “Do you guys even have powers?” She asked them. They shook their heads and she sighed. “So how are you gonna help?” She asked them. “We’ve dealt with a lot of things like this.” Frenchie told her. Hughie looked at Butcher and realized that he was using Y/N to get to Homelander. He felt sick and wanted nothing more than to yell at the man. Y/N wasn’t a bad supe like Butcher thinks. But Hughie seemed to be the only one to catch on to Butcher’s plan. “Okay if you say so.” Y/N said, looking at the boys. “Perfect.” Butcher smirked.

“So, you and Butcher huh?” Annie teased Y/N as they walked into the Vought towers. “Shhh I don’t know if it’s super serious yet.” She tells Annie. “Y/N, it’s been months almost a year. Do you love him?” Y/N looked at Annie and smiled. “Of course I do.” “See you need to tell him.” Maybe Annie was right. She should tell Butcher that she loves him. But when would be the right time?

His hips pounded against hers as she was laid on the Seven’s table in the conference room. How did they manage to have sex in here? They were on a mission to grab a file but got distracted. It was very dangerous to be having sex here, but that is what turned them on. “Billy.” She moaned a little too loud, forgetting that they were fucking in the seven’s conference room. His hand covered her mouth, mumbling her moans. “As sexy as those noises are, you need to be quiet.” He groaned.

She nodded but couldn’t help herself. Each snap of his hips felt better and better. Her hands gripped the table, turning her knuckles white. Billy’s other hand went in between them to rub her clit. Her moaning was still loud even with his hand covering her mouth. “You close, luv? We need to hurry.” He said and pounded faster. She arched her back as she felt her high approaching. Her sweet moans turned to whines and whimpers.

He felt himself getting close too, causing him to let out groans of his own. She gasped his name as she came undone. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, seeing this made Billy cum with a moan of her name. His hips worked them through their high. She sat up and cupped his face. “Billy, I love you.” She whispered. He froze in place and stared at her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was using her and she fell in love with him. That wasn’t even the worst part. He loved her too. “I love you too.” He said and he kissed her. Guilt rose in his chest as he realized that they were in too deep.

A year later, their wedding happened and Hughie kept a huge secret that to this day fills him with guilt. Though, he saw Billy falling in love with Y/N, that wasn’t the plan. Billy was using and lying to his now wife. She didn’t even know about Becca or Ryan. She didn’t know who the real Billy was. His backstory, none of it. MM and Frenchie felt guilt as well. They were so confused about why they had to lie to her in the beginning until one drunk night:

The Boys were laughing and drinking, actually having fun for once. There wasn’t any stress about Vought or Compound V, just getting drunk. “That Y/N girl seems really cool, man.” MM told Butcher, pouring himself another glass. “Eh, She’s okay, Just another seed to be planted.” The boys looked at him, confused. “Wait, you’re using her?” Frenchie asked him. “Yeah, I am. Sure she’s a pretty thing and a good fuck. But she’s a supe and she’s just like the rest of em.” “Nah man, I don’t think Y/N is. She hates Homelander.” MM said. Billy shrugged. “She’s just another vought test subject. Once I have what I need she’ll be gone.” Frenchie and MM looked at each other. This was low, even for Billy. Y/N wasn’t a bad person nor did she deserve this.

Which is why MM and Frenchie’s smiles didn’t reach that far up as the two got married. Hughie didn't either but he thought he was the only one that knew. Annie was oblivious to everything and Hughie didn’t have the heart to tell her. Y/N looked happy, she was happy and in love. What she doesn’t know, can’t hurt her. Billy felt happy again, after so long. He had a beautiful wife and a great team. He wasn’t worried about anything right now. He pushed everything to the back of his mind, even the fact that he used her in the beginning.

“Just to think you were just some sexy guy in line at my meet and greet.” She said and looked over at him. He chuckled, “Just to think that we fucked an hour after meeting.” She laughed and shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself, I knew at that very moment that you were the one I wanted.” She tells him. His face softens at her words. “I knew too.” He said but that was a lie though. He didn’t know until months later.

Months later and everything was going great. Billy and Y/N got their own place away from The Boys. They loved them but it was nice to have privacy. Y/N wanted out of The Seven and planned to talk to them but figured that wouldn’t work. Billy told her it would be best to take her file and disappear. She was on edge about it at first, not thinking it was a good idea. She didn’t want them knowing that she was married or where she was. Billy was lucky that it was her idea for them not to know she was married. He didn’t have to stress about her finding anything out. She walked into Vought Towers in her costume so nobody would suspect anything.

She didn’t have her ring on, she never did when she was here. She got in the elevator and hit the floor that she needed to go on. She has never snuck into where the files were placed. The only Seven member aloud to look at the files were Homelander. Her nerves were high as she walked out of the elevator and to the door. The door was locked as she suspected it would be. But thanks to Frenchie she knew how to undo locks. She looked around to make sure she was alone. Once the cost was clear she unlocked the door and snuck in. Stan Edgar’s office that he thankfully was not at today.

She looked around for a moment and sighed. His office seemed normal. She saw the filing cabinet and went to it. She carefully opened it and started looking for hers. She found it after a minute and grabbed it. She read it and chuckled. They had a lot of info on her, just not the important stuff. She was about to close the cabinet when someone opened the door. She gasped and looked at whoever came in. “Y/N?” The person asked.

She turned around and saw Homelander. “Hey!” She said with a fake smile. “What are you doing in here?” He asked. She really didn’t know how to lie her way out of it. She wasn’t planning for this to happen. “I uh just wanted to see my file.” She said. “Your file?” She held it up in her hands. “Yeah, after I found out about Compound V I stopped talking to my parents but wanted to get in contact with them to get the rest of my shit because I just bought a house.” Nice save. “Gotcha. You got a new place?” He asked. She nodded. “Yep, in the city.” Homelander seemed to be buying everything she was saying.

She quickly got out of there with a breath of relief. She almost got caught but she felt proud that she saved herself. Homelander on the other hand was very curious about where she lived. He never figured out where she did before so he took the opportunity to follow her. She got home and unaware that she was being followed and set the file down on the table. Billy was out with The Boys so she had the place to herself.

He came home a few hours later. “Got the file.” She said pointing it out. He grabbed it and looked through it. It was creepy how much stuff they knew about her. “Good. Now ya can finally leave.” He said to her. She nodded and took the file. She shook her head. “I almost got caught though, saved my ass.” She said. “Who caught ya?” “Homelander. He uh came into the room after I had gotten it but I told him the best lie I've ever told.” She said. “What was the lie?” “That I needed to get in contact with my parents for my shit because I moved.” “And he bought that?” “Seemed to.” She shrugged. Homelander bought it up until he hovered about her house with his number one enemy. He couldn’t believe that Y/N had betrayed him. Especially with Billy.

Y/N had to go into Vought’s tower one more time to pack up her shit. She would have yesterday but she didn’t want Homelander seeing after catching her with her file. As she was packing she heard a knock at the door. She went and opened it and there stood Homelander. “Can I help you?” She asked. He smiled and pushed her aside, walking in her office. “Uh excuse me? I didn’t invite you in.” She said. He chuckled and turned around to face her. “Why did you lie to me yesterday?” He asked. She looked confused, “What do you mean?” “You lied to me about why you had your file.” He said. Oh shit. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did and you are working with Billy Butcher.” He yelled. “Who?” She asked. Though she was confused on how Homelander knew him. “Oh don’t play stupid. I saw that you two live together.” He growled. Her eyes widened. “You followed me?” She asked him. “Yes I did because you’re a lying little bitch.” He said and walked closer to her. She backed up against the door. “How do you know Billy?” She asked. He looked at her confused. “What the fuck do you mean?” “How do you know him?” He chuckled. “You know damn well how I know him.” She shook head and looked up at him. “No. I don’t .” She said. By her heartbeat he could tell she wasn’t lying. “You are working for him and you don’t know?”

“I’m not working for him.” She said. “But you live with him.” “He’s my husband.” She whispered. Homelander’s face dropped. “You’re married to him?” She nodded. “And you don’t know how we know each other?” He asked. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She said. He pulled her arm causing her to screech in pain. He pulled her to Stan’s office and took her inside. “Why are we here?” She asked. “Go in the filing cabinet.” He told her, motioning towards it. She looked at him confused. “Go look under B.” He told her. She walked over to cabinet and opened it. She looked at the letter B and all the files under it. She saw one that had the name “Butcher.” on it, well two. She pulled them both out.

She looked at the one with the woman on it first and saw that she was married to Billy. Y/N gasped and almost dropped the files. She read through the file and saw that the woman was dead but had a son named Ryan. She looked at Billy’s and wanted to cry. He had been keeping this from her. “Ryan is my son, not Billy’s.” Homelander said. Tears streaming down her face. “He was married?” She asked. “Y/N, he thought for the longest time that I killed Becca and he’s been after me ever since.” She sobbed. “So how did she die?” Y/N asked, turning towards him.

“Ryan, our son, accidentally killed her and my girlfriend at the time.” Y/N looked broken and shocked. “So he’s been trying to kill you for that?” She asked. Homelander nodded. “I take it since you didn’t know any of this, he’s probably using you to get to me.” He tells her. The files drop from her hands and she breaks down. “He was wanted, along with 4 others that he works with.” Hughie, Frenchie, MM and Kumiko.

She got home, late that night. She ignored Billy’s calls and had to be anywhere but there. She sighed as she opened the door to the house and closed it. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call ya all day.” Billy exclaimed. She looked at him and it took everything in her body not to break. He noticed that her eyes were empty. “Are ya okay?” He asked and went to touch her but she pulled away. “You wanna tell who Becca is?” She asked. His face dropped. “Or the fact that you and Homelander go way back?”

“Or the fact that you’ve been using me for information on Homelander?” She screamed. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Huh, Billy? You wanna explain?” “H-how do you know any of that?” He asked. She scoffed in disbelief. “That shouldn’t be the concern here but since it is to you I saw the files. Yours and Beccas.” She yelled. “You’ve been using me, you don’t love me.” She whispered, tears streaming down her face. “That’s not true.” He said. “Which part? The part that you were using me or the part that you don’t love?” She yelled.

“I do love ya.” She shook her head. “No.” She sobbed. “You don’t. You wouldn’t have lied to me.” She was right. He knew that but what could he say to make any of this better. “Look I know I should have told you about my wife and that I knew Homelander but if we could just sit down and talk about this that would be great.” “You wanna sit down and talk? What excuse do you have?” She yelled. “I don’t have any excuses. But I wanna tell you everything. Just let me give you that.” She didn’t move from her spot. “Tell me right now.”

“Homelander raped my wife. I had thought for the longest time she was dead and he had killed her. She was alive and had a kid. The kid wasn’t mine, it was that cunt Homelander’s. I’ve known before I met you that he was a piece of shit. So when I saw you, yes I thought you would be great use for information on him.” She scoffed. “But then I actually got to know ya and I fell in love with ya.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry about Becca, Billy but you shouldn’t have used me or lied to me.” She said. “I know.”

“I actually loved you from the beginning and to figure out that this was all a lie from the enemy himself.” “It’s not all a lie. I do love ya.” He walked closer to her. She stepped back. “No.” she mumbled. She slid off the ring. “We were never on the same page. You never cared about me. This ring means nothing, it never did.” She said and threw it at him. “Y/N-” “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “Please just stop. I’m tired and i’m over this.” She sighed and walked out of the house, leaving him in tears.

She drove to where The Boys were staying, not wanting to be around Billy. She opened the door and they all turned their heads. She noticed a very handsome guy that they were talking to. “Hey is Billy with ya?” Frenchie asked. Y/N shook her head. “No, he’s not.” “Are you okay?” Hughie asked her. She shook her head and tried to hold back the tears. “No, I’m not.” Hughie ran over to her. “What’s wrong?” She sighed and looked at him. “He used me to get information on Homelander and he lied to me. But I’m sure you already knew that.” She said, glaring at him. His jaw dropped. “Y/N, I wanted to tell you so many times but you guys looked happy.” She held up her hand.

“Just stop. I don’t need this right now.” She walked around him and grabbed the bottle of vodka that was on the table. They all gave her pity looks. “You guys don’t owe me like he does but it would have been nice to know that he was a shitty guy.” She said and walked into one of the rooms. She sighed and sat down. She looked around and noticed that she was in Billy’s old room. She sighed and took the vodka and drank from it. She heard footsteps and she looked up. The guy that she saw earlier. “Who are you?” She asked. “Ben.” She nodded.

He sat on the bed next to her. He chuckled as she drank straight from the bottle. “Something funny, Ben?” She asked. “No it’s just you’re too pretty to be heartbroken over a guy like Butcher.” She laughed, a genuine laugh. “Let me guess you guys go way back too?” She asked. “Just a week.” He told her. She nodded. “Well if it only took you a week to figure out he sucks, why'd it take me 2 years?” He chuckled at her questions. “Looks like you love him.” She shook her head. “Yeah, pathetic right? He lied to me about every little fucking thing and used me for information on Homelander.”

“Sounds like a dick.” They both laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m trama dumping on you.” “Nonsense.” He shook his head. She laid on the bed with a sigh. He followed her. “I’m surprised he’s not here, looking for me.” She said. “He’s an idiot.” “Yeah but so am i.” Ben turned his head towards her. “Pretty hot for an idiot then.” She turned to look at him. “Are you hitting on me?” She asked. “Yeah. I’d be an idiot not to.” He said. She chuckled and turned her whole body towards him.

“You don’t even know me.” She said. “Yeah but you seem like you need to be taken care of and not by some jackass.” “How do I know you’re not a jackass?” She asked. “You don’t but I can assure you that I’m not gonna lie to you about my past life or using you. I’m just trying to fuck you.” She stared at him and her eyes kept going from his eyes to his lips. He noticed her doing this and cupped her face. He turned his body towards her and moved closer. She didn’t move away, she didn’t want to. She let him lean in and kiss her. There wasn’t fireworks, sparks or butterflies but damn it felt good. “Y/N?” She pulled away from the kiss and gasped.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher smut #billy butcher #karl urban #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys amazon #the boys season 3 #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy #jensen ackles

45 notes · View notes

finn-m-corvex · 2 days

Text

Lightning in a Cubicle Pt. 4

And here it is! At long last! The fourth part of Lightning in a Cubicle! We have finally crossed the halfway marker and are on our way to the finale, which is looking like two more parts away (5 and 6) and that'll be a relief for me, honestly. I know this is quite late, but I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Words: 3.4k

Slight TWs for very very very small wanting to rot in hell instead of the Administration! Taglist @rainofthetwilight @lightning-chicken @i-love-jay-walker and @sir-robyn! Enjoy! Remember if you want to be on future taglists, please tell me explicitly!

Sora was seriously growing on Jay, and it was a problem.

A couple of weeks had passed since the girl first became his intern, and she was probably the best thing that he could’ve ever asked for. She was efficient, on time, productive, and always managed to make him laugh on a day day. Plus, she was always on his side whenever Shitty Sharon decided to try and start shit, as her name implied. Overall, the past two weeks were probably the best that Jay ever experienced while working with the Administration, and he couldn’t think of anything else that would make it even better.

Well, there was one thing, but he already knew that there was no way he was ever getting those memories back.

“...so I told the guy to shove off if he didn’t want pictures of his ass hanging around the office,” Sora said between bites of food that the two picked up from the cafeteria, “because you know that I would’ve put his ass on the copier.”

“Oh, I know,” Jay said, looking at the girl fondly as she stuck her feet up on his desk. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry about it, especially when his cubicle was as tiny as it was. “Then what happened?”

She continued to regale him with tales of her adventures in the mailroom three floors down, and Jay did his best to listen, but he was distracted.

Every night since Sora had shown up he would have dreams. Weird dreams of things that he couldn’t place, people that he couldn’t remember, and in the morning he would do his best to sketch whatever remnants he could pick out from the haze of his mind. The pictures were hanging up all around his apartment with push pins and thumbtacks, and Jay hoped that his inspection would be delayed. Otherwise he might get sent off to the psychiatric ward, and fined for all of the new drywall that would have to be installed.

Did the Administration even have a psychiatric ward? With how often upper management drives the lower classes crazy, they better have one. And it better not be coming out of Jay’s paycheck.

“Hey,” Sora said, snapping her fingers in front of his face, “are you even listening? Geez, don’t tell me we’ve gotta get you hearing aids now.”

“I’m listening,” Jay protested, “just thinking at the same time. You were saying something about one of the guys sticking his hand up the pneumatic tube?”

Jay’s brain kept working while Sora talked. All of his searches for someone named Lloyd turned up with nothing, unless he was somehow dreaming about the legendary Green Ninja, but there was no way that someone as ordinary as him would have any association with a ninja. Jay didn’t even know that Ninjago had ninja! Which you would think would be something that he would remember considering he was from Ninjago!

And yet, faint memories tugged at the farthest corners of his mind, there but just barely out of his reach. Most of them were of Cole in his black gi, great green scar on his forehead and eyes of charcoal brown, but there were some of a younger man in green next to a taller man in red, a harsh scar over the latter’s eye and irises a molten brown. One in white, with shiny metallic skin that gleamed in the sunlight and eyes glowing icy blue, but the one that twisted the knife is his gut the most was the one woman in his memories. She had beauty greater than the depths of the sea, with eyes that floated between blues and greens that he had only seen in pictures of ocean waves.

They were the Ninja.

He found things about all five of the Ninja: green, red, black, white, and gray or cyan since the articles couldn’t decide what color she officially was. She was the most gorgeous woman that Jay ever laid eyes on, and he knew that he would be thrilled if she ever became his manager—

“Jay!”

“What?” he said, annoyed.

The girl sighed. “Alright, now I know you’re not listening. What’s got you so distracted? I know you don’t like working overtime, but I thought the pay was good enough to help you at least pretend to be doing something.”

Usually it was, but even that sweet overtime couldn’t push his thoughts out of his head. “You said you lived in the Crossroads for a while, right? Did you learn anything about the Ninja?”

Sora looked surprised, and Jay knew how much of a risk this was. “I may have heard some things, why?”

“I-I was looking at some stuff about them to try and learn what they were like,” Jay said, but he decided to backtrack. “You know what? It’s nothing. We should probably just be heading home.”

“Wait,” Sora said, springing up after him as he stood and started grabbing up his things, “you can talk to me, Jay. What’s wrong?”

And he wanted to so badly; Jay trusted her more than he trusted anyone else in this place. Their trip to the aquarium had only strengthened their bond into something that Jay never knew he would have. Before she came into his life he probably would’ve said that he trusted Luke the most, but ever since he first met Sora he started acting more and more cagey whenever the two would walk by. He would only talk in short sentences to her, sometimes not at all, and it rubbed Jay the wrong way. “It’s nothing, really. Do you need me to walk you home?”

“Uh,” Sora paused, “I don’t think so. I should be okay.”

The two of them started walking out of the office, Jay bidding goodbye to the rest of his exhausted coworkers as they went. Luke was nowhere to be found, and the man standing there in the security uniform instead of Luke instantly brought a smile to Jay’s face. The shaggy hair was achingly familiar, and the man looked up to see who was exiting. A smile split Jay’s face in response to the man’s, and for some reason it just felt right to drop his briefcase and sprint to the man.

“Cole!” Jay exclaimed, jumping into the bigger man’s arms and hugging him tight. Cole laughed, reciprocating, and a rush of familiarity made him light-headed even though Jay only met this guy once before. Jay stayed there for a minute or two before realizing how weird it probably was to be hugging your security guard, and pulled back after a minute; Cole’s grip made it a little difficult, almost as if the ravenette didn’t want to let Jay go.

His head started throbbing, trying to conjure up all of the fragments that he could remember about Cole, but the only things that came to his mind were the drawings hanging up on his walls. They couldn’t be everything that Jay had from Cole, not when his arms made him feel safer than the Administration security forces ever did.

Smile still on his face, Cole put his hands on his hips. “Guess who got the job?”

“You did?” Jay guessed, and Cole flexed his large muscles as confirmation. Someone coughed from behind them and Jay belatedly realized that Sora was still standing there, looking very confused. Her eyes were wide as they looked at Cole, and Cole’s eyes widened in response.

“Oh! Sora, this is Cole. Cole, this is my intern Sora. She’s great,” Jay babbled, not noticing the tension starting to leak into the air. Instead, all he could focus on was that now he had his two favorite people in the entirety of the Administration in the same hallway. You would be surprised at how hard that was to accomplish in a building with over 300 floors.

“Yeah, we’ve met before,” Sora said stiffly, and Jay caught a brief glimpse of Cole making a shushing motion before he turned to look at his intern.

“Oh shit, really?”

“I saw her in the elevator the other day,” Cole said quickly, and Sora’s face scrunched in confusion before clearing. “We had a good talk about, uh, the printers and everything! Right Sora?”

“Printers?” Jay asked.

“Right! Printers!” Sora said, picking up Jay’s briefcase and handing it to him. “Pesky little things, right? C’mon, we should get going. We still have to get to your apartment.”

Jay sighed, patting Cole’s arm as he faced the now fixed elevator. “She’s right. Sorry man, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow—”

“I can walk with you,” Cole blurted, and Jay paused.

“Don’t you have to stay here and keep watch?”

“With all due respect, Jay, I don’t think anyone’s going to be breaking into the accounting department after 8 P.M. I can walk you to your house and come back. I’ll even walk Sora to wherever she needs to be so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Well, what did he have to lose? His job? Maybe that would be a free excuse to finally get out of this damn place.

“If you’re sure,” Jay said, walking to the elevator. He tried to hide the pep in his step, shoving his lightning down as far as it would go. There had already been way too many close calls with Sora, he couldn’t slip up now. “I’m on floor 275, so it might take a couple minutes.”

“Totally fine,” Cole assured, watching as Jay drew out his keycard and swiped it. The elevator dinged not even a minute later, and the three of them stepped inside as the doors closed behind them with their signature soft woosh. Cole was standing abnormally close to Jay, something that the man would’ve normally minded if it was anyone but Cole. Somehow it just felt right when it was Cole.

Some strange feeling of dread started to creep over him, but he knew it wasn’t from Cole and Sora. Memories tugged at his senses, and his sight started to blur with colors that Jay wasn’t familiar with as sounds pinged off of the elevator walls. What was happening?

Jay started babbling about random nonsense to pass the time, a nervous habit of his, but neither Cole nor Sora tried to stop him. If anything, Cole looked like he was hanging on every one of Jay’s words, and it was a nice change from the constant ignoring or fake interest from Jay’s coworkers. Now that Jay was looking at Cole properly, trying to focus on something he could see and process, he did kinda look like the black ninja from the pictures. His hair was a bit longer, and his face was a bit more weathered, but there was definitely a resemblance.

“Say, Cole,” Jay started, cutting his rant about the horrors of cardstock paper short, “would you happen to know anything about a group called the Ninja?”

Cole choked on air. Sora looked slightly alarmed and quickly whacked him on the back, Cole finally catching his breath and looking at Jay with wide eyes. “What?”

“If you’re from Ninjago, then you should know who the Ninja are, right?” Jay continued. His mouth felt weird from saying the word.

“O-Oh yeah,” Cole scratched the back of his head, “I guess you could say that. I, uh, actually knew them before the Merge happened?”

“What was the girl like?” Jay asked, fiddling with his sleeves. He couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu, even though he knew for a fact that he had never been in this kind of situation before. “She’s really pretty, you know.”

The elevator whirred as it went up, and Jay noticed that Cole didn’t seem to be feeling any of the normal motion sickness effects. Maybe he was already accustomed to it. “I know,” Cole said, “I think you and her would’ve gotten along really well, Jay.”

“Seriously?” Jay’s face brightened, and Sora made a fake gagging sound in the background. “Shut it, Sora. What did she like? What did she eat? Is she still here? Is she nice?”

He grabbed the front of Cole’s shirt, reeling with sensory input from the memories, preparing himself to ask the most important question of all. “Is her favorite color blue?!”

The security guard looked a little startled at how close Jay had gotten in the past minute, but then he relaxed, chuckling. “Yeah, buddy, her favorite color is blue.”

Buddy. The word awakened something in Jay, and suddenly he was clutching onto Cole for a reason other than to be dramatic.

Lightning flashed in his head, blisteringly hot and turning his vision white as he gripped onto Cole’s shirt. Cole was saying his name but Jay couldn’t speak, his tongue feeling like a wad of cotton in his mouth as he was gasping for air. The elevator kept going up and up and up, but all Jay felt was falling down-

Crashing onto his knees, Jay kept heaving, feeling Sora’s hand on his back and Cole’s on his chest as his vision blurred with tears. Finally, the elevator came to a stop, and Jay couldn’t help the relief that came over him when he realized that he was finally going to be able to go home. But no matter how much he tried his knees wouldn’t move, and more tears came to his eyes when he realized that the others were going to have to help him get home. They were going to see what was in the apartment.

They were going to abandon him. Who wants to be friends with someone who was losing his fucking mind?

“Get him up,” Cole ordered, and Sora came up on Jay’s other side. She draped his arm across her shoulders and lifted, and the two of them dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway. Jay was still getting his bearings back, head spinning out of control as the carpeted floor suddenly looked very inviting yet again. Anything was better than having to face them after something like this.

Sora scanned the hallway, looking at each of the numbered plates. “I don’t know which one is his!”

“64,” Jay croaked, and Cole found it almost immediately. The poor office worker tried to give the security guard his keycard, and Cole refused it at first, instead taking up a stance that indicated that he was going to kick Jay’s door down. Jay did not feel like explaining that to the house inspection team on top of everything else. “You break my door down and I’ll break your spine.”

“You could definitely try,” Cole grunted, but he heeded Jay’s warning, instead taking the keycard and swiping it.

A soft click, and the larger man pushed the door open. Sora brought Jay in and set him down on his ratty old couch, the man sinking into the cushions and slamming his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look around his apartment. Sora rubbed his shoulder, asking if he was okay, and then she noticed the drawings.

“Jay, what the hell is all of this?” she said, reaching out and touching one of the many pieces of paper. It was the first one he did back in his office, before he ever met her, of the Black Ninja in all of his glory and bearing a striking resemblance to the new security guard. Cole was also examining them, biting his lip as his fingers brushed across the one with the Black Ninja falling into the dark cloud. Jay never did manage to find any information on something like that happening in Ninjago. “Are-are you going crazy?”

“I…” Jay paused, “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

Because he didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

And that scared him.

Looking away from the drawing, he watched as Cole’s hands tightened into fists, his face contorting into something that Jay didn’t recognize. Resignation? “There’s something that I should probably tell you,” Cole said softly, turning to look Jay in the eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here, Jay. You never were.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jay said bitterly, blunt with hurt. “You think that I don’t know that I wasn’t meant to be here?”

“How much do you remember?”

Jay’s shoulders hitched. “Nothing. I don’t remember anything before this stupid place. All of these, all of them, they’re from my dreams. I don’t know what they’re trying to tell me, and I-I don’t even know if they mean anything.”

There was a box of tissues placed down next to him, and Jay glanced up to see Sora giving him a soft smile. “Here, these might help. Just take a few minutes, we’re not going anywhere.”

Grabbing up one of the tissues, Jay began to try and clean himself up a little, but he felt just as shattered and broken as he did on the first day he woke up. He had woken up in a bed, the same bed in his apartment, with only a note on the nightstand about how he had been in a coma from a workplace accident and that he was expected to be in his office at the normal time.

He didn’t know where his office was. He didn’t know the normal time. All he knew was that nothing, nothing felt right when he woke up and it hadn’t gotten better in three years of working in the Administration. There was always some small voice inside of him, whispering that he was destined for something greater than fixing copy machines, but-but..

Jay was trapped. He didn’t even know what he could say to get him out of that place.

But..but maybe they could help him get out.

Sora picked something up out of the box with his gi, left open on his messy desk, and Jay’s heart sank when he saw the light gleaming off of it. It was something that he only had second-hand knowledge about from his parents, and even that was fuzzy, but it was the only explanation he had to go off of because the Administration did not consider information about Ninjago traditions very important.

His Ying-Yang medallion.

Cole sucked in a breath when he saw it, eyes watering. “You still have that?”

“You know what it is?” Jay asked, standing up and instantly having to sit back down from the dizziness. He motioned for Sora to come closer, and took the medallion when she offered it. “Please, Cole, you have to tell me everything you know about this.”

Please. Please. They—they had to know something he didn’t, something to get him out and to see her—

Silence.

Sora wouldn’t meet Jay’s eyes, but he wasn’t giving her much of his attention; most of his attention was on the security guard, whose eyes softened, and Jay was startled to see tears forming at the corners. Cole quickly wiped them away with his jacket sleeve, grunting, before looking back up at Jay. Earthen brown on electric blue. Jay had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Maybe it had something to do with the drawing of the two figures trapped deep in an arena pit, staring each other down from atop a pillar. It was dark, and there was a green blade gleaming in the corner of his vision when he was fighting for his spot on the pillar, but he could still hear the sounds of screaming applause echoing in his ears. Jay knew now who was the one in the black suit, but..he never managed to dream up who the second person could’ve possibly been. Whose eyes he was looking through.

“Her-her name is Nya,” Cole started, his hands clenched into fists. “She’s the Elemental Master of Water, and my-my sister. You’re my brother.”

“My parents didn’t have another kid,” Jay said. Something wasn’t right. “They were too old. Is your name even Cole? Or was that a lie too?” The idea of Cole lying to him about this was nauseating, and Jay wished that he was still sitting down in the elevator, hitting the bottom floor and wishing that the cable would’ve snapped so he would be plummeting straight down to hell. Maybe he was already there.

“I’m not Ed and Edna’s kid, and I wasn’t lying about my name. I’m not lying to you,” breathing out of his nose, Cole met Jay’s eyes, hardening with a resolve that sent tingles up Jay’s spine. “Jay, I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you, okay? You cannot freak out on me.”

Jay nodded, struggling to swallow past the lump of anxiety and fear in his throat. What-what was he?

Cole sighed. “You’re a Ninja, Jay.”

Yeah, he was in hell. Maybe he would’ve preferred the high water.

#ninjago #ninjago jay #finn's writing #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago cole #ninjago sora #lightning in a cubicle #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #finn's ninjago aus

24 notes · View notes

sskim-milkk · 2 days

Text

Alright The Bad Batch is over and I have some THOUGHTS

Warning: spoilers (kinda) for the finale!

Wow, wow, wow! I watched the bad batch finale a few hours ago and have since been lost in thought about how CRAZY that finale was and what this show has come to mean to me over the past 3 or so years.

First of all, the finale was amazing. My friend and I had to pause multiple times to say WHAT THE HELL! I could not have imagined a better ending to it. The epilogue with older Hunter and Omega especially had me feeling emotional. I’m just so happy they got their happy ending.

And while I am still sad we didn’t see Tech alive again, I knew the ending they got was exactly what Tech sacrificed himself for. And someone pointed this out in a different post, but Tech lives on with his brothers and especially with Omega. She learned so much from him throughout the show and we can see that through her actions and brains. They loved each other so much.

I’m interested to see what may happen with the remaining plot points that didn’t get resolved. What happened with Cody? What about Omega and her force sensitivity? But I’m honestly also fine if we don’t see Omega or the batch again. The ending was just so perfect, and sometimes it’s nice to just leave things as is.

Anyway, I’m really going to miss experiencing the pending excitement of a new episode or season. I hope the fandom remains alive. I know we’ll all eventually move on and get invested into other shows and characters, but I hope the batch remains in our heads and hearts for a long time and we interact in the fandom from time to time.

This show came out at such a monumental point in my life. Finishing high school, beginning college, and a bunch of other crazy stuff happening around and amidst that. I have loved nothing more than interacting with other fans via Instagram, tumblr and ao3. This show reignited a love for writing in me, and I’ve loved being able to write stories for them. I hope to continue to do so. And the friends I’ve made through the fandom are absolutely amazing and I’m so grateful to know them all 🩷

This show was handled with such care and love. Was it perfect? No, but pretty damn close. It taught me a lot about learning and discovering who you are, family, friends, and love. I appreciate the creators and everyone who worked on the bad batch so much for how well they handled the show and its characters.

I know I’m probably blabbering on here. And sure, at the end of the day it is “just a show” I guess, but what’s come from that show for me has become such an important part of my life. I know I will always look back fondly on this show, remembering it was a constant in my life during many changes and new adventures.

To The Bad Batch, from the bottom of my heart, thank you ❤️

#help what do I do now #lol #skimmy thoughts #the bad batch #star wars #star wars tbb #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb spoilers #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb season 3 spoilers #tbb s3 spoilers

22 notes · View notes

joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 1 day

Text

Evermore: Part. 2: Chapter. Three

Hello everyone! I hope all is well with everyone and that everyone is having a good week so far. Work is work, and I love it!

2 Months Later

Andy pulled up to the base, flashed his ID to the guard, drove right through, and was still driving his best friend's truck. As he drove, he looked down and smiled.

When he came home from his morning run, he saw a note on the table indicating that you had made him coffee and packed lunch so he wouldn't have to grab food. Since living alone, he has been used to not cooking for himself and just eating out. He only knows how to cook instant noodles, Rice, and Eggs. Now that he’s back home, just having something like this made him happy, especially since it came from you.

Once Andy parked at his designated spot, he got out, grabbed his things, and headed into the law offices. Saluting some people on his way, he walked into the building and was greeted by his secretary. She stood up quickly, and before she could say anything, Andy opened the door and was greeted by a man sitting on the opposite side of his desk.

The man turned around, and Andy immediately recognized him. He turned back to his secretary and signaled that it was okay, and she closed the door.

“Major Navon, what brings you here?” Andy asked, taking a seat at his desk.

“Well, General Barber. I’m not quite sure.” Sam said, placing the thick concealed file in front of Andy. He frowned and glanced back at Sam.

“What’s this?” Andy asked. Sam sighed and wiped his face.

“Look, I know it’s been five years since your friend's death, but something came up, and I didn’t have a choice but to dig up his files.”

“What do you mean? Ari died in a Humvee accident.” Andy asked, knowing for sure that’s what happened.

“Just recently, more like a month ago, there’s been talk about that incident. So I asked one of the lawyers and the MPs.” Sam paused and leaned forward.

“Someone has been messing with the reports. Ari Levinson and part of the platoon in the car were murdered.” Sam said.

Andy stared at Sam for a moment, almost wanting to laugh. But Sam was serious, and he quickly dismissed that thought.

“Sam, I don’t. This can’t be true, Sam.” Andy said, trying to process the information.

“Okay, but we both know the explosion that happened, right?” Andy added.

“Yes, that is correct. The Humvee exploded, and the driver lost control. That’s what his files say.” Sam said as Andy opened the confidential documents.

Andy read through the files, and seeing Ari for the first time tore his heart away. Seeing the gruesome way he passed hurt him. Andy closed the file and looked over to Sam.

“I have to look this over with my team. I assume you want me to take this case?” Andy asked.

Sam sighed and crossed his legs over, “Yes, nobody wants to take it. They all assume it’s a complete accident, and there is concrete evidence. And knowing you and your reputation? You can get this done.”

Andy thought for a moment and leaned back into his chair. “Only on one condition.”

“Anything,” Sam responded.

Andy sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Y/N cannot l know about this until I get enough evidence.”

Sam sat up, and the same with Andy. Sam then held out his hand, and Andy took it.

“A deal. If you have any questions-“

“I got it, Sam. I'll have my team come as soon as possible,” Andy said.

And with that, Sam left. The moment the door closed, Andy sat down and leaned back into his chair. He sat there for a moment and then reached for his office phone.

Yes sir?

Hi Margie, I need you to gather the team and get them to Bedford as soon as possible.

Was there a reason, sir?

I have a high-profile case that is a high priority.

Okay, and was there anything else, sir?

Yes, give any case that I have to the Jr’s. I need my full attention on this one.

And with that, Andy hung up and went to work.

After a long day, Andy found himself driving home. You had called him earlier to say there was dinner at the house, and Jake was home, too. That put a sour taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t be jealous or upset. You deserve to be happy, but there is something about the man that he doesn’t like. By the time Andy had arrived, Jake’s car was in the driveway. Andy parked Ari’s truck next to Jake’s.

As he entered, he could hear conversation and soft responses from Chloe, and Andy sighed.

“Hey, Bug!” Andy called out, putting his bag down. The sound of the chair moving and little feet were heard.

“Uncle DeeDee!” Chloe yelled as she ran towards him, and he picked her up.

“Hi, Chloe. Did you have a good day?” Andy asked.

Chloe wiped her hair away from her face and smiled.

“We played in the park, and I did many pictures!” Chloe said with excitement.

“She indeed had a good day.” Andy heard that beautiful voice. He looked to the kitchen entranceway, only to see you and that bastard. Andy smiled and headed over to you.

Jake was about to shake his hand when he noticed the pin on his jacket. Jake raised his hand and gave him a salute.

“General,” Jake said. Andy gave a half smile and saluted him back. You rolled your eyes, and Chloe laughed.

“Anyway, Andy, you must be hungry. Have a seat, and I’ll make you a plate. It’s linguine and fettuccine Sauce, with a salad and bread.” You said, turning around and towards the kitchen. Andy placed Chloe down, and she ran to her seat, taking him with her. Once he was down at his seat, Jake sat before Andy. It was quiet for a moment.

“I hear that you and Y/N have been friends since she was five,” Jake said. Andy nodded. That is true, along with my best friend.”

Before Jake could respond, Chloe was by Andy’s side, tapping him on his arm. He looked to his side and saw she had a cold brown bottle.

“Uncle DeeDee, here’s your drink!” Chloe said.

Andy smiled and took the cold beverage from her. “Thank you!”

After dinner, Chloe was sitting on the couch watching TV, and your phone rang while you were cleaning the kitchen. Andy was in the bathroom, washing his hands. You looked all over the kitchen for it until you realized that it was in your bag.

“Jake, can you get my phone? It’s in my bag in the living room.” You said.

Jake nodded and headed to the living room. As he got to the table, Jake opened the bag, and a thick folder came out. Jake frowned and opened the file.

Ari Steven Levinson

Deceased

US ARMY CAPTAIN, 501st AIRBORNE DIVISION

Jake’s whole body drained of blood, and his body started shaking.

KILLED IN ACTION. A CAR EXPLODED IN FRONT OF HIS JEEP, CAUSING HIS DRIVER TO LOSE CONTROL AND SLAM INTO A BUILDING.

“That’s my bag.”

Jake heard and turned around to see Andy standing behind him. Andy showed no expression as he snatched the file from him and placed it back into his bag. Then Andy grabbed Y/N’s bag and shoved it against Jake’s chest. He looked at Andy and quickly went back to the kitchen. Andy placed the file into his bag and closed the clasp on it. Before he headed back into the kitchen, Jake walked past him, and you followed behind.

“Is there something wrong?” Andy heard Y/N, and Jake sighed.

“I got a random important call from my major. I don’t know what it is, but it seems urgent,” Jake said, and Andy turned slightly. He knew listening was rude, but he couldn’t help it. The way Jake acted, and his body language told him he was lying.

For as long as he’s been a lawyer and the fact he’s damn good at it, he knows when someone is lying. And Jake is one of them.

The front door opened and closed. Andy then turned around to see you stumped.

“What happened?” Andy asked, placing his hands into his pockets. You sighed and shrugged your shoulders.

“I don’t know. He went to get my bag, and when he returned, Jake looked like he had seen a ghost,” you said.

Andy looked at you for a moment. “Are you worried? You look concerned.”

You sighed again and shook your head. Before Andy responded, Chloe came in and hugged her mom’s leg. The two of you knew that it was her bedtime. You then picked her up and placed her on your hip.

“Sleepy bug?” You asked.

Holding onto her Pua, she nodded and laid her head on your shoulder.

“Okay, say good night to Uncle DeeDee.” You said. Chloe lifted her head and held out her arms towards him. Andy then scooped her up and placed her onto his hip.

“Good night, Bug! Sleep tight and-“ Andy started.

“And no, let the scarwy monsters eat me!” Chloe said, giggling. Andy kissed her cheek and placed her down. Chloe ran to her mom and brought her upstairs.

“I’ll finish cleaning up here,” Andy said as he returned to the kitchen.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.” You said.

30 Minutes Later

Andy sat in the family room with two glasses of Sweet Pinot Grigio. He looked behind him to see you taking a seat next to him. You smiled while picking up the glass.

“Before we start the movie, tomorrow is Saturday, Andy. Do you have any plans?” You asked.

Andy knew why Saturdays were important. Even when he was deployed in Germany, you would video call him and spend a few moments with his best friend.

“I’m free. What time do you want to leave? I’ll drive. I was also thinking of spending the day there, too.” Andy said.

You smiled once more. “Oh, that’s a good idea. Let’s have a picnic at the beach, and Chloe wants me to teach her how to skate.”

Andy laughed as a memory came to him. “You remember when Ari tried to teach you?”

Your face started to blush, which made Andy laugh even more.

“Yeah, and that ended up being our first kiss.” You said.

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x female reader #ari levinson x reader #andy barber x you #ari levinson angst

20 notes · View notes

tafeekafee · 2 days

Text

⌛🐿️ Wash it away, oh, make it rain now

Sickie: Hongjoong

Caretaker: Seonghwa

"We should get some food", Wooyoung mused, looking around at the other members.

He, Yunho, San, Hongjoong and Seonghwa were exploring the Coachella grounds together while Yeosang, Mingi and Jongho had decided to rest up a bit at their trailer in the backstage area of the festival. Their show yesterday, while fun, had been very tiring and nobody was surprised that the three of them wanted some peace and quiet.

"I'm hungry", San agreed, "no, hyung, don't you dare."

"Hi hungry, I'm Hongjoong", the captain quipped, though he was the only one finding it remotely funny.

"And you wonder why ATINY keep referring to you as the dad of the group", Wooyoung groaned, rolling his eyes and, just for funsies, decided that pushing Hongjoong hat into his face would be a great idea.

"I'm just living up to what they already expect", Hongjoong countered, not even bothered by the action, just adjusting his hat. He was used to much worse. "What do you want to eat?"

"I'm not hungry, it’s too hot", Yunho mumbled, trailing behind the three of them with Seonghwa.

The eldest sighed and turned to look at him from where he had been busy waving at a group of fans. "Yunho-yah, I know you don't like the heat. But unless you think you are going to puke if you eat, you should get some nutrition into your body especially if you want to come to the concerts tonight. If you do think so, we should get you laying down in the shade."

"I'll be fine", Yunho groaned, fanning himself, "it's just so warm."

“It’s California”, San said, his voice a mix of teasing and concern, “what did you expect?”

“Less heat?”, Yunho said weakly, “fine, I guess something small can’t hurt.”

“Good, I was worried”, Seonghwa said.

“Also, this is why ATINY calls you mother”, San added onto the previous joke. Seonghwa just laughed and halfheartedly swatted at him.

It was Hongjoong’s turn to roll his eyes. The kids - uh, the younger members - really were a handful. So he decided to change the topic: “What do you feel like eating, Yunho-yah?”

“Something cold?”, Yunho suggested, “I don’t think I want hot food now.”

“Ice cream?”, Wooyoung suggested sneakily.

“Despite what ATINY thinks, you are not actually a child, so I am not going to stop you from eating ice cream for lunch. I am just going to say it’s a stupid idea”, Hongjoong remarked.

“Well, who is in?”, San asked, raising his hand in time with Wooyoung. Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Yunho sighed.

“What about these Açaí Bowls or whatever they are called?”, Hongjoong suggested, “I think they are cold. I never had them but always meant to try them.”

“As long as they are cold, I am in”, Yunho agreed and Seonghwa nodded.

After a quick talk with their managers and security team they split up to get their respective foods. Since all their English had significantly improved Hongjoong wasn’t worried at all about letting Wooyoung and San go off alone with some staff.

Luckily for Yunho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong the line for the food wasn’t so long so they managed to order pretty quickly. Not that Hongjoong was really sure what was in the bowls itself - the problem of short lines: no time to really translate food names which was still one of the harder things he struggled with - but they looked great and so the three of them decided to order three different versions to share.

As expected the food was pretty good and to their relief Yunho seemed to feel better after eating a good portion of the cold food. Maybe he really had only needed a cold drink, some sugar and most importantly the shade of the picnic table they were at. Wooyoung and San both had gotten huge orders of ice cream and Hongjoong couldn’t even fault them for it. All the food was so good.

⌛

Two hours later Hongjoong found himself at the VIP area of one of the stages, watching some artist he had forgotten the name of. Well, he had forgotten how the name was spelled and the pronunciation he had in mind didn’t make sense.

It didn’t matter, Seonghwa had wanted to go and so naturally Hongjoong had agreed to come. They had been joined by Mingi, Yunho and Jongho a few minutes ago, while WooSanSang were off somewhere else.

They were vibing to the music and Hongjoong could tell that the other members really enjoyed the set, as well as the staff that had joined them. While the staff, especially the managers and security, obviously had to stay with the members for the most part, they had managed to work out a schedule where the different staff members were able to see the sets they wanted to see. Hongjoong had only thought it fair when they had started to plan everything - for many of them it was their only chance to enjoy Coachella too.

However, it was maybe only twenty minutes into the set when Hongjoong started to think something was going wrong. While just a few minutes ago he had been enthusiastically jumping around to the music, enjoying the different styles of music they got in contact with at the festival - now he was starting to feel … off. He couldn’t describe it any other way.

There was tiredness in his muscles he hadn’t noticed before and he wasn’t able to motivate himself into jumping and enjoying the show anymore. Everything was slightly tilting, the effect barely even there. Still he was questioning if it really was dizziness he was experiencing or if he was just affected by the stage lights. All his enthusiasm was gone - replaced by exhaustion and a weird, heavy feeling in his stomach.

Maybe he was just a bit dehydrated and exhausted by the past week. Hongjoong slipped away from Seonghwa’s side for a moment to approach a manager.

“Hyung, do we have something to drink?”, he asked, trying to be as quiet as possible while the music was blasting in the background.

“Uh, I think we have some beer? And coke?”, the manager said.

Hongjoong grimaced. He didn’t feel like having a sweet, sugary drink and, even less so, alcohol. “I was actually hoping for water?”, he said reluctantly.

“Let me check”, the manager said and went to check in with one of the other managers. A minute later he re-appeared with a half-full bottle of water, holding it out in a sympathetic way. “That's all that’s left. It’s luke-warm but don’t worry, the others had distributed it into cups before.”

“Thanks, hyung”, Hongjoong said and took a sip. He nearly spat it out again - as the manager had said, it was lukewarm and very unappealing. But better than nothing, he supposed, and swallowed. Water was water after all.

Hongjoong returned to his spot between Jongho and Seonghwa, deciding to just watch the show, not dance as hard as Seonghwa, Mingi and Yunho did and turn in early tonight.

The water sat heavily in his stomach, making everything uncomfortable. The captain was sweating hard, even despite the sun setting quickly, and his last reserves of energy were quickly fading into nothingness. There was a dull ache in his stomach, not unlike when he drank too much before doing a heavy workout or dance practice. For a moment he considered crouching down for a moment, just to rest, but he was still an idol in a public space. He had of course noticed the few cameras on the group, especially with how much the other members were enjoying the music. No, he could hold on.

⌛

Hongjoong could most definitely not hold on. He had finished the sips of water but he was starting to think that that might have been a mistake. The stomach pain had turned into painful cramps, he was hot and cold at the same time and he was starting to feel really nauseous and weak. While he did not want to admit to feeling unwell, he knew he could not endure. If anything went wrong, there were so many eyes on them…

So all that was left for him to do was to decide who he asked for help. He would have just gone back to the manager but he didn’t want to worry the members with just disappearing. Yunho and Mingi weren’t next to him and they were having too much fun for Hongjoong to disturb them. Jongho, too, was deeply enamored with the performance and Hongjoong didn’t want to bother the youngest. They all knew how much the maknae was stressing out about being the “K-Pop boy with the cool high notes” in the eyes of the public at the moment, how Jongho was so worried about each performance he had thrown up before their set the day before. No, he could not take these moments of happiness and relaxation from him.

The only option left was Seonghwa. Seonghwa who had looked forward to this artist but would drop everything for any of his dongsaengs if the need arose. Hongjoong was too selfish and, frankly, too unwell to really care at the moment. He just wanted to lie down away from the public eye. Preferably with some medication for the nausea but he would take being away for now.

So, dropping all his reservations, he tugged at the sleeve of Seonghwa’s jacket, leaning a bit closer to his friend. Seonghwa smiled at him and leaned down a bit, so that he could face Hongjoong. “What’s up?”, he asked, happiness painted on his face.

For a moment Hongjoong faltered. He wanted Seonghwa to keep looking this happy but he also didn’t feel like falling flat on his face from exhaustion and nausea in front of ATINY, so he mumbled into Seonghwa’s ear, the older having turned a bit so he could hear Hongjoong better. “I don’t feel good.”

Seonghwa frowned and turned to look at him. “You need to speak up, it’s so noisy”, he half-yelled. Right, concert. With a sigh, Hongjoong nodded. He didn’t think he could speak much louder, his throat feeling weird, but he had to. So when Seonghwa turned his head again so he could speak, Hongjoong called as loudly as he could but careful that nobody else could hear: “Hyung, I don’t feel good. I want to go back to the trailer.”

Seonghwa whipped around to look at him, worry shining in his eyes as he mustered Hongjoong. Hongjoong, who was still clutching his sleeve and hopefully didn’t look as bad as he felt. “What’s wrong?”, Seonghwa asked, placing a hopefully unobtrusive arm around Hongjoong’s waist.

“I don’t know, I just started feeling nauseous and not good”, Hongjoong admitted, resisting the urge to rest his head on his hyung’s shoulder.

“Alright, come on”, Seonghwa said, but before they could leave he leaned across Hongjoong to speak with Jongho. Hongjoong couldn’t hear what Seonghwa said but Jongho’s eyes widened in alarm before he nodded.

Hongjoong let Seonghwa pull him to the managers standing behind them, one hand still on Hongjoong’s back. “Hyung”, Seonghwa said to the same manager Hongjoong had spoken to earlier, “Joong-ah is not feeling well. We need to go back to the trailers.”

The manager instantly had a worried frown on his face and nodded, waving two security guards over. “Let’s go”, he said.

Honestly, Hongjoong was a bit overwhelmed by how quickly everything progressed but he was glad that it did. He really was starting to feel awful, his stomach cramping badly and the nausea getting worse with every step. In the sight of ATINY in the enclosed VIP space Hongjoong had resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his bloated stomach, but now he couldn’t bring himself to care. His stomach was killing him.

It was awful really, how fast everything was going downhill. His legs were shaking with each step, causing Hongjoong to be afraid they would give out under him any second. His stomach felt unsettled in a way he wasn’t sure which direction his food wanted out, he only knew it would leave at some point. He just hoped he could make it to some private area.

Now further away from the music, in the crisp night air, Seonghwa was walking closely beside Hongjoong. They were blindly following the manager, the security guards taking up the rear.

“How are you feeling? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”, Seonghwa asked quietly, aware that Hongjoong would not want everybody to know how badly he was feeling. Hongjoong sighed, wincing as his stomach cramped again. He stumbled a bit, only Seonghwa’s quick reflexes helping him keep his footing. At least they were mostly alone with most people at one of the shows.

“Hyung?”, Seonghwa called before Hongjoong could say anything, “can we stop for a second?”

The manager turned around, a sorry smile on his face. “It’s only a few hundred meters till we arrive at the VIP area, we can take a break there. Unless, Joong-ah, you really can’t go on.”

Hongjoong shook his head. While he really was not doing good and he had to keep swallowing a few times until he could speak, he did want to be in private. “I can hold out.” Satisfied, the manager nodded and obediently they followed.

⌛

Once they reached the VIP area, Hongjoong couldn’t help but collapse against Seonghwa, energy spent. He just wanted to lie down. Why did Coachella have to be so big? It took ages to get around. Hongjoong truly thought he couldn’t walk to the trailer anymore. It would still be another ten-fifteen minutes walk after all.

Seonghwa supported him to a set of lounging chairs and Hongjoong could have cried in relief when he was able to sit. Standing was exhausting. Immediately he doubled over and pressed his hands against his stomach.

“I’ll call for a golf cart to take us back”, the manager said, squeezing Hongjoong shoulder in silent support before moving away a bit to talk on his phone.

In the meantime, Soenghwa had knelt down in front of Hongjoong, pushing back sweaty hair from his face and taking Hongjoong’s small hand in one of his. “Joong-ah?”, he asked quietly, his voice comforting, “help me figure out what’s wrong. I’m so worried right now.”

“I just started feeling off, so I thought I was dehydrated and drank some water. But now my stomach is killing me, it hurts really badly, and I’m nauseous and bloated and I don’t feel good”, Hongjoong whispered, close to tears. He just wanted to sleep, not feel anything for a moment. He curled over further as his stomach cramped again and he had to swallow harshly.

Seonghwa recoiled a bit, moving to the side, though not letting go of Hongjoong’s hand. “Are you going to be sick?”, he asked, an edge of panic in his voice.

“Maybe”, Hongjoong admitted, pressing his wrist to his mouth in hopes it would help. They sat like this for a few minutes, Seonghwa patiently holding Hongjoong’s hand and at times rubbing his back, whispering comforting nonsense all while Hongjoong desperately tried to stop himself from throwing up.

Suddenly his stomach lurched again, at the same time as it cramped and Hongjoong groaned in pain. That seemed to be the last straw. “Hyung”, he gasped, panicked, “hyung, I …”

Seonghwa, bless him, seemed to have understood and he was already pulling Hongjoong to his feet, leading him over to an area of palm trees. Hongjoong didn’t even have time to pull his hand away from his mouth before he was sick for the first time. He heaved again nearly immediately, his stomach contents splattering against the bark of a poor tree.

Hongjoong just hoped nobody recognized them, just thinking he was some visitor who had had a bit too much to drink. Seonghwa seemed to sense his fear and whispered: “Don’t worry, it’s okay. Nobody is watching, the security guards are blocking the view and looking away themselves. You’re okay, focus on yourself.”

It took a few minutes until Hongjoong felt like he could breathe again, his stomach slowly stopping its assault. Wiping his mouth with his wrist, he let himself fall back against his hyung, knowing Seonghwa would always catch him.

“Feel better?”, the older man asked quietly and Hongjoong nodded weakly, closing his eyes. He was so exhausted he could barely muster the energy to be embarrassed. Seonghwa gently led him back to the lounging chairs and Hongjoong dropped down hard.

The manager held a bottle of water and asked Hongjoong to hold out his hand, pouring some water over it to clean off the puke. It would have to be enough for now. Then the manager handed him the bottle of water and gratefully Hongjoong took a few sips. He wasn’t sure they would stay down, honestly he doubted it, but if he was to throw up again he wanted a bit of time without the terrible taste of puke on his tongue.

“Hyung, when will the golf cart be here?”, Seonghwa asked the manager.

“It should be here soon, I hope, they couldn’t say”, the manager replied.

“Okay. What are you thinking? Heat exhaustion? Stomach virus? Bad food?” Seonghwa turned his attention to Hongjoong, sitting down on the chair next to him.

Hongjoong shrugged. “We had the same food all day and you and Yunho seem to feel good, so I doubt it’s that. Honestly, I don’t know. If it’s the heat shouldn’t that have happened earlier?”

“Excuse me?”, a female voice called out in English and all three of them whipped their heads up. Three girls stood with the security guards, looking at Seonghwa and Hongjoong with wide eyes. “We’re really sorry to disturb you but we’re ATINY and we wanted to ask if it’s possible to take a picture?”

Hongjoong sighed internally. He didn’t want to interact with them, no matter how nice the girls seemed. He loved fan interactions but … no, he couldn’t deal with that today. The manager was already shaking his head but Hongjoong could see the sadness and embarrassment in the three girls’s faces.

“One picture we can do”, he replied, brain taking a bit longer to switch to English than normally. The look on their faces was worth it though. Seonghwa painted a smile on his face, knowing he could not give away his worry.

They got up from the chairs and Hongjoong congratulated himself that he only stumbled slightly. His stomach didn’t hurt as badly as it had before and standing up for a few minutes for ATINY was doable.

The girl who had spoken at first handed the manager her phone and the two idols posed with the girls. Hongjoong hoped he looked presentable enough - he had never feared that he would at one point need to take pictures when he had puked just a few minutes ago. He just took great care in not touching them - not sure his hands were completely clean and not wanting them to get sick if he was infectious. Hopefully, they didn't notice anything off, maybe write off his hesitation as respect.

“You’re my bias”, one girl said shyly to Hongjoong and he thanked her quietly. One of the other girls complimented Seonghwa’s looks and his Wonderland performance of the day before.

Luckily, the three of them were very kind and respectful, so after thanking them profusely they left rather quickly. The moment they were out of sight, Hongjoong stumbled, his knees going weak. One of the security guards and Seonghwa managed to grab his arms before he could fall and then, finally, the golf cart arrived.

The manager took the front seat, Seonghwa helped Hongjoong settle in the middle row so he could face forwards and the security guards hopped into the back row, facing backwards.

“Do you think it was the Acai bowls? Maybe one of the ingre…?”, Seonghwa asked but was interrupted by Hongjoong, who moaned. “Don’t talk about anything food-related.”

“Okay, okay”, Seonghwa muttered comfortingly. “Rest, you can lie down soon. Just a few minutes.”

The few minutes were terrible. The ride was anything but smooth, it was as if they could feel every small blade of grass. Hongjoong could do nothing but clutch Soenghwa’s hand in the hidden space between them and pray.

⌛

The moment they arrived at their trailer, Hongjoong couldn’t hold it in anymore. He jumped down from his seat, knees nearly giving out under him, and stumbled a few steps to place his hands on his knees. He gagged and gagged until a tiny splatter of sick came up. With just how nauseous he was he thought more would come up but apparently it wasn’t to be so.

“Let’s lay you down inside”, Seonghwa said, a hand on the small of his back. “Manager-hyung is trying to organize the car to the hotel but there seems to be some problem. You can rest here now, though. A medic is on the way, just in case.”

Completely exhausted, Hongjoong just let Seonghwa help him inside. His legs were so tired and shaking he nearly stumbled on the steps to the trailer but again Seonghwa saved him. Yet, with the couch in sight, Hongjoong’s knees completely gave out and he sank against the wall - vertigo too much to overcome.

“No, no, come on. We’re practically there”, Seonghwa said and Hongjoong was dragged to the couch, immediately laid onto his side. He curled into a small ball, knees pulled to his chest in hopes to alleviate the cramps in his middle. Seonghwa crouched down beside him, brushing back his hair.

The manager arrived beside them, holding out a trash can and placing it in easy reach. “Just in case”, he said, “anything else we can do for you?”

“I just want to sleep”, Hongjoong mumbled, his eyes closing on their own accord. He opened his eyes at a cold touch at his fingers - Seonghwa was rubbing hand disinfectant on his still dirty-feeling hand. It barely made Hongjoong feel better or cleaner. He closed his eyes again.

“Alright, I’ll be in the sitting area over there. Try to stay awake until the medic is here. Call if you need me, I’ll let you know when the car to the hotel is close. Feel better soon, Joong-ah”, the manager said, leaving them alone. As one of their long-time managers he knew how much Hongjoong valued privacy in moments of vulnerability.

Staying awake, like the manager had suggested, didn’t prove to be a problem. Barely a few minutes had passed when Hongjoong started to feel the unpleasant, burning sensation in his chest and his mouth started to taste sour. He scrambled to sit up, startling Seonghwa who quickly handed him the trash can.

Hongjoong groaned, pulling it into his lap and spat out a mouthful of disgusting bile. Seonghwa took a seat next to him, rubbing his back and whispering comfort. Sitting up hardly helped against the acid reflux - Hongjoong had to keep spitting out wads of sour saliva, strands dangling from his mouth. He pressed a hand against his aching chest, choking slightly as he tried to swallow against the accumulating saliva. It hurt.

Hongjoong didn’t even notice he was crying until Seonghwa used the sleeve of his long-armed shirt to wipe his face. “It’s okay, you’re okay, breathe, Joong-ah”, the elder whispered gently, “you’re okay.”

“It hurts, Hwa”, Hongjoong whispered, fighting to stay composed. He hated being sick. He hated being sick in public. And he especially hated being sick when he and Seonghwa and their manager and the security guards could have been enjoying the concert. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the fun with his own stupidity.

After Seonghwa had mentioned their lunch, he had come to the realization he must have either mistranslated or overlooked an ingredient in one of the bowls. It was so stupid, he knew he had a lot of intolerances and still, here he was, throwing up.

“I’m sorry I am ruining your evening”, Hongjoong apologized, adding onto his last statement before Seonghwa could reply.

“I know it hurts, Joong-ah”, Seonghwa said, running his hand through Hongjoong’s hair, “and I know you feel guilty. Please don’t. We don’t know if it was the food or what else. Just focus on feeling better, okay?”

All Hongjoong could do was spit up another mouthful of bile, which finally - as he had feared it would - caused vomiting again. He harshly gagged, breathing taking on a faster pace in anticipation and anxiety. Purplish sick, a reflection of all his bad choices of the day, splattered against the plastic bag, mixing with the previous yellowish bile. Hongjoong had to close his eyes at the sight of chunks - some kind of berries he would never be able to look at or eat again.

Then panic set in. A chunk of something was starting to block his airways and he coughed, trying to dislodge it. He couldn’t help but let out a low whine, scared as the oxygen was kept from him. Fresh tears ran down his cheeks as he fought for breath.

Seonghwa switched from rubbing his back to first gently then a bit rougher patting it until Hongjoong was able to bring up whatever was blocking his airways. He heaved in a deep breath, eyes burning badly from the tears.

⌛

And amidst everything - there was a knock on the trailer door before it opened and two paramedics entered. Both were carrying the typical huge backpacks and smiled at the two members. The manager came to greet them and soon Hongjoong was crowded by the two while the manager took the bucket to wash it out in the trailer’s bathroom.

“Hello Hongjoong”, the woman greeted with a smile, managing to not completely mispronounce his name, “my name is Laura and this is Will. Can you tell us how you are feeling?”

Hongjoong nodded but needed a moment to gather himself. While he spoke English well enough he most certainly didn’t have much knowledge in the area of medical jargon. Maybe he should have watched more of Wooyoung’s medical dramas with him. “I started feeling sick at the concert, uh, I threw up a few times? My tummy hurts. I think I ate something that … wasn’t good for my body?” He really didn’t know how to explain food intolerances in English.

“Okay, I’m sorry to hear that. Let us take your pulse and temperature and all that, okay?”, she said. “Food poisoning can be bad.”

Oh, so he had said it wrong. Or there was some miscommunication.

“No, I … uh … I have like … lactose intolerance? But with, uh, fruit and vegetables”, he tried and received a nod from her.

“Do you have any trouble breathing?”, the other paramedic asked. Hongjoong shook his head, leaning back against Seonghwa while they did their tests. Neither him nor Seonghwa, nor the manager who had joined them again, understood much of what they were doing but they didn’t look too worried.

“You’re really dehydrated”, the female medic said, “we’d like to do …”

That was about all Hongjoong could translate and so the man pulled out a needle and a bag of fluids. Great. Really great. Defeated, Hongjoong nodded his agreement and let the woman poke at his elbow. Luckily he normally had good veins and she didn’t have much trouble putting the line in. It was uncomfortable, yes, but Hongjoong could deal with it if it helped.

Then the woman showed them her phone screen, displaying google translate: “Eat crackers and drink plain water and sports drinks for a day or two. Nothing too sweet or spicy. If you continue throwing up after tonight or show other symptoms go to a hospital.”

“Yes, I can do that”, Hongjoong said, his strength vanishing and getting replaced by exhaustion and a heaviness in his limbs.

“Try to sleep. We will be back to take out the I.V. in about half an hour.” The woman’s phone read.

Sleepily, Hongjoong nodded. The paramedics backed up and left, but before Hongjoong could doze off, the manager knelt down by his side: “Stay awake for a second, Joong-ah. The car will be here in about half an hour too. The concert will be over by that time, so the rest of the members will come with us. Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah”, Hongjoong mumbled. He didn’t necessarily fancy having the younger members see him like this but it would be unfair to make them wait.

“Alright, nap time”, Seonghwa said, brushing back Hongjoong’s hair. He helped the captain lie back down on the couch without disturbing the I.V. line. At least the acid reflux seemed to have gotten better, making it possible to lie flat again, but the stomach cramps had not gone away. The movement of laying down triggered another wave of pain and Hongjoong gasped, instinctively curling into himself and pulling his knees to his stomach.

“Let’s try to stretch out your legs”, Seonghwa suggested, a comforting hand on Hongjoong’s hip. “It might help the pain.” Carefully and slowly the eldest moved Hongjoong’s legs, giving Hongjoong the chance to tell him to stop if the pain got worse. It didn’t - in fact it was much better once Hongjoong’s legs were fully stretched out across the couch.

“Better?”, Seonghwa asked and Hongjoong mumbled an affirmation. He was already half-asleep when Seonghwa lifted his upper body to rest Hongjoong’s head on his lap.

“Tell me if I should stop”, Seonghwa whispered and for a moment Hongjoong was confused. Then his shirt was lifted and a warm hand came to rest on his aching stomach. Hongjoong sighed in comfort. It helped a lot. Then Seonghwa started to rub soothing circles against taunt muscles and Hongjoong was definitely in some sort of heaven.

⌛

That sentiment held for about twenty minutes until the captain woke up suddenly and immediately had to lunge for the bucket just in time to get sick again. It most certainly was not a nice sensation to wake up to and Seonghwa seemed startled too. The pressure of his hand was too much and Hongjoong grasped Seonghwa’s fingers, pulling his hand away from his upset stomach to interlace their fingers. It was a lifeline that Hongjoong clung to, next to Seonghwa stroking his hair. Hongjoong wasn’t even sure he was hitting the bucket but slowly the heaving stopped. He stayed leaning over the receptacle just in case.

“What the…?”, San asked loudly.

When Hongjoong looked up he saw Yeosang, who had entered behind San, turn around on the spot and push Wooyoung back out the door, much to the loud confusion of the younger. Better for Wooyoung not to see, there was no need for an emetophobia-fueled panic attack. Hongjoong sank back down into Seonghwa’s lap, feeling much worse than he had before his nap.

“Hyungs?”, San questioned, worriedly, and came closer, “Seonghwa-hyung? What’s wrong with Hongjoong-hyung?”

“Probably ate something he shouldn’t have”, Seonghwa explained, “I got this. Go check on Wooyoung, if you stay here he won’t be able to share with you and I’m not going to help you figure out roommate arrangements today. I got this under control.”

San agreed and turned to leave, when he was stopped by the manager. “The cars are here. San-ah, did you guys see Yunho, Mingi and Jongho?”

“No, but Jongho-yah texted they are on their way back, that’s why we came back”, San replied and left.

He was nearly immediately replaced by one of the paramedics who unhooked Hongjoong’s I.V. and deemed him ready to go. Hongjoong was so tired that the conversation passed in a blur and he was only pulled back to really when the uneasy looking manager asked: “Okay, Hongjoong-ah, think you can make it back to the parking lot?”

Of course Hongjoong could. Especially with six worried dongsaengs outside.

But when Seonghwa helped him to his feet, Hongjoong’s knees buckled under him and he was only saved by the elder wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s back. The cramps in his gut had not let up and the captain wasn’t able to stand up straight, muscles too out of sorts to let him uncoil his body.

“Are you sure you can walk?”, the manager wondered.

“Yes”, Hongjoong said through gritted teeth. He would not show vulnerability to the outside world, not more than he already had. “Just let me take it slow.”

They stepped out into the cold night air and Hongjoong shivered. Immediately a warm jacket was wrapped around his back. Jongho was already looking like he was freezing but he had a determined look on his face.

“Don’t protest, hyung. I will ride with WooSanSang and we’ll be at the car faster than you. Besides, I’m not the one throwing up”, the maknae pointed out. Hongjoong sighed and thanked him.

Wooyoung, Yeosang, San and Jongho hurried in front of them while Seonghwa, Yunho and Mingi walked slowly to accommodate Hongjoong’s small steps. Each meter they walked seemed like an ocean and a mountain range at the same time and by the time the cars were in sight, Hongjoong would have cried if he had any fluids left.

⌛

The rather long ride to the hotel - apparently there had been an accident which was why the cars had taken especially long to get them - passed in a tired and nauseous blur. While Hongjoong normally loved looking out the window, especially as it helped his motion sickness, but now he was just grateful for any second he wasn’t staring at the bottom of a plastic bag or at his stomach contents in said plastic bags.

Not to be overdramatic but Hongjoong might have actually dryly cried in relief when the hotel came into sight. They were quick to get to their rooms and once they had bid Yunho and Mingi good-night, the two disappearing into the rooms they respectively shared with Jongho and Yeosang, Hongjoong collapsed onto his bed, fully-clothed.

He was sweaty, coarse sand stuck to every part of him and make-up nearly cried off but he couldn’t care less.

Seonghwa, however, cared. But he was as gentle as he could be, taking off Hongjoong’s outer clothes and wiping the dirt away with a wet towel, then cleaning off his face with a make-up remover.

“Think you can eat some crackers?”, he asked, sitting down next to Hongjoong onto the bed. Hongjoong shook his head. He was just glad for any moment he was not being sick, he was not going to risk setting anything off.

“Drink some gatorade at least”, Seonghwa said and lifted Hongjoong’s head. Too tired to fight him, Hongjoong complied and but groaned at the disgusting taste. Sports drinks had never been his favorite and combined with the taste of bile it was rather disgusting.

“Water?”, he asked, wanting to wash the taste away and nearly immediately Seonghwa tipped a bottle of the clear fluid against his lips.

“I put the trash bin beside you. Wake me if you need anything, and I mean anything, Joong-ah. You can rest now”, Seonghwa said and placed a feather-light kiss against Hongjoong’s temple.

The captain was asleep before Seonghwa even had the chance to get up from his side.

#Kpop #Kpop sick #Kpop sickfic #Sickfic #Emeto #🧚🏻‍♀️#Ateez #Ateez sick #Sick ateez #Ateez sickfic #⌛#coachella #food intolerances #request fill #requests open #i hope you like it #kpop blog #🐿️

23 notes · View notes

strawberryshortpace · 4 months

Text

I’m re-reading the selection series and I feel like more people should read the spin-off with America and Maxon’s daughter cause the lessons are lessoning

She wants to be seen as serious and professional so she forbids herself from showing any feeling that might have her deemed ‘emotional’

She stays away from doing/liking feminine things cause it might make people take her less seriously

She doesn’t even consider romance as a possibility since it might make her facade crack and have people think she’s too weak to rule

And the series is her learning that she can be feminine and show her emotions AND be the most powerful person in the kingdom. She can have a crown AND find love

#I saw yet another post about a story about a #‘strong female character who needs no man’#and those stories are fun #especially since we didn’t get them for so long #but now it’s so overdone and I want to see this #I want to see more stories that allow women to be both #the selection #the selection series #america singer #maxon schreave

25 notes · View notes

bomnun · 7 months

Text

my glass is so half full of tipco juice honestly

#yes the situation we ended up in is so unfair and so depressing but at the same time #stuff like c9 saying he’s sooo much happier nowadays literally glowing and #both him and innovation saying they’ll see and perform for fans soon #and innovation even saying he’s planning on releasing A FULL ALBUM next year which would never in any timeline happen under blue box…#I am seated!!#I just…hope square get at least some opportunities to see fans #especially shinon since he said he’s probably enlisting next month now #since they’re not gonna put any money into that at least let him guest at bamra and stay a long time before or after :(#idk. im determined to see things work out given time #I don’t want to dwell on what didn’t happen even though it should have #bc there are still possibilities for moving forward #unitwt is constantly trying to make itself more depressed and I just don’t see the point in that #I wanna support them I want them to do well even with the shitty cards we were dealt

4 notes · View notes

labyrynth · 2 years

Text

imma be honest this whole toothpaste flag nonsense feels a whole lot like mark hamill going “aww, everyone has a musical theme EXCEPT for luke…i want a theme too!!” and then everyone else going “mark. you have a theme. luke is the main character, mark. the MAIN THEME is your theme.”

*points at gilbert baker flag* it’s right there

#ranting in tags bc that’s just how we do things here #like the other flags exist bc the rainbow flag is the GAY flag #we were called the GAY COMMUNITY for a very very long time #it was called GAY RIGHTS #and since SOME of y’all are still harping about that ‘bbbut queer is a slur!!!! wehh!!’ bullshit #the cishets don’t feel comfortable calling us the queer community #so instead they just stumble over however many letters of the alphabet soup they can remember #like i’m not really a fan of the lesbiaj flag either for a few reasons #one of which is the amount of politicking around it & how frequently lesbians apparently have no issue throwing another group under the bus #every fucking year some well meaning creator does a pride lineup & without fail someone gets mad that they didn’t use the ‘right’ flag #saying like ‘oh so you could include the AsExUaL flag but not lesbian flag iteration 4.02VersionB? just say you’re lesbophobic u lesbophobe #like ok bro so 1) why don’t you send them a picture of the flag you’re talking about #2) would you even buy it if they DID have it??#3) are you willing to source materials?? the problem with both the sunset and toothpaste flags is that their palettes are near monochrome #and with certain things it can be difficult finding enough materials that are simultaneously different enough that they look distinct #while still looking similar enough that they actually MATCH #especially if you’re trying to do the 7 stripe versions #4) did they ACTUALLY not include that flag or did they just not include the version that YOU wanted #see: used lipstick or labrys flag instead of sunset #speaking of which i ALREADY saw some poor schmuck getting yelled at for not including th toothpaste flag (they used the regular rainbow one)#like can you fucking chill #one of the other reasons i dislike both flags is the fact that they’re both for same sex attraction. again that flag already exists.#‘same sex attraction (no girls allowed)’ is really not as progressive as some of y’all seem to think #bc the whole point of having to establish female dominated areas is BECAUSE every other space is INHERENTLY male dominated #but on the other hand some lesbians act like being lesbian means they’re not gay #idk maybe it’s just the radfems being weird about it #and then there seems to be a weird trend of automatically labeling every gay woman a Lesbian (as compared to little L lesbian)#and basically assigning them a new flag that is supposedly more ‘inclusive’ than the lipstick lesbian flag #except it’s just the lipstick lesbian flag recolored and the ‘butch’ elements have more in common with the BEAR flag than any butch flag #if u wanna represent ur subculture fine. ‘gay man’ & ‘gay woman’ alone are not subcultures tho. anyway i hit tag limit so i guess i’m done.

20 notes · View notes

kenmakaashi · 2 years

Text

i feel so lost w this ending…… specifically kinn and Porsche’s ending

#I don’t like it #it just feels like porsche was defining himself as something other than kinn’s property for so long to now porsche is telling kinn his life #is kinn’s and porsche joined up w them (kinn technically but ughhhh I don’t feel good about it)#things got really confusing with the whole Korn is did no hes not And your mom is back #like we didn’t even get time to process what that means for him and them #idk idk this is just me ranting but I don’t get it #I think I just feel that porsche should’ve chosen some third option. that being on kinn’s side didnt have to mean he would be truly within #their world.. so he isn’t just ‘I followed you kinn.. to be with you’ I don’t like that for him #I liked vegas and Pete’s ending for the most part but I don’t always enjoy the surprise! they’re alive just for the effect of pulling a #gotcha on the audience.. especially since they did it with like 6 other people in this episode #I’m upset about Kim and porchay’s plot not being fully rounded out #and Yeah.. you could make your assumptions but I…… I WANT TO SEE THEM HAPPY TOGETHER AT LEAST ONE LAST TIME!! is that such a big thing to #ask =_=#kinnporsche

13 notes · View notes

concoulor · 10 months

Text

still upset about my friend breaking up with me & that happened almost 2 years ago now

#thinking about it because the date is coming up again #it still bothers me a lot because how could you do that to me! I had the worst day of my life (so far)#and then the worst panic attack of my life (so far) after because I felt so guilty about needing her to understand my needs #I physically mentally all that could not do what she wanted me to do and then was very nasty to me and never spoke to me again #how could you do that to someone! especially me since we had been friends since 1st grade and a few weeks prior you were staying at my hous #when your dad kicked you out!!!!! I’m not gonna explain the whole situation here obvi but #if a person you have been close friends with your entire life can’t do what you want them to and is severely unwell about it is never #talking to them and blocking them on everything okay jesus christ I sent her this long ass message #& she was ok with it for a while & then got really bitchy with me because she was angry and then never spoke to me again I didn’t even get #to explain how terrible I felt about not meeting her expectations/not being able to do what she wanted in person cause she wouldn’t fucking #talk to me ever again 🥲 whatever fuck her I really don’t think I did anything wrong I’m tearing up as I type this lmao

1 note · View note

arachine · 7 months

Text

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing.

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks.

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince:

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’”

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up.

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad.

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?”

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there.

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily.

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy.

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.”

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level.

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes.

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him.

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after.

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.”

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping.

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner.

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence.

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question.

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod.

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement.

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her.

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul.

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall.

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat.

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice.

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed.

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life.

“You tried any dating apps?”

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?”

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?”

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces.

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes.

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars.

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!”

“Right…”

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too.

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match.

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace.

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail.

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’.

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry.

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch.

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response.

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself.

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality.

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.”

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone.

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type.

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more.

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit.

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders.

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it.

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties).

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile.

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds.

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are!

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol).

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so?

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice.

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say.

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other.

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it.

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this).

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too.

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual.

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago.

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half.

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’.

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way.

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult.

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’”

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call.

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body.

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!”

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother.

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking.

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.”

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention.

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki.

“Come in, hon!”

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room.

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception.

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment.

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time.

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly.

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana.

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate.

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you.

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone.

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them.

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here.

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know.

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–”

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him.

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it.

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something.

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder.

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t.

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact.

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase.

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger.

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?”

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now.

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway.

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go.

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs.

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’.

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children.

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep.

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him.

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted.

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight.

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity.

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say.

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date.

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further.

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now.

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot.

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first.

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out.

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch.

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks.

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?”

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you.

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation.

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.”

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting.

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious.

“Wait, what?”

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d.

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance.

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness.

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating.

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?”

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes.

“I don’t know…” you trail.

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow.

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway.

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you.

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.”

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?”

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.”

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter.

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed.

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate.

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating.

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed.

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit.

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental?

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence.

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more.

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.”

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver.

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers.

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door.

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?”

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time.

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?”

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?”

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you.

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?”

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal.

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly.

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.”

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat.

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence.

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?”

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows.

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?”

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?”

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly.

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter.

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?”

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass.

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased.

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment.

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?”

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy.

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed.

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!”

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.”

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.”

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song.

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns.

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them.

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame.

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage.

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems.

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were.

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down.

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling.

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful.

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs.

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.”

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay.

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles).

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it.

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs.

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.”

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago.

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.”

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees.

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound.

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core.

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love.

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.”

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you.

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation.

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins.

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?”

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue.

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit.

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.”

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor.

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them.

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.”

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone.

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand.

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you.

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears.

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers.

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously.

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.”

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm.

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind.

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.”

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You.

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally.

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt.

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give.

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.”

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium.

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.”

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days.

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp.

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration.

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.”

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you.

Soon, that silence is broken.

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads.

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying.

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you.

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages.

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants.

“Shit!”

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you.

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!”

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom.

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

#art by: @yamada_souko (twt)#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk smut

7K notes · View notes