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collectivecloseness · 1 year

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Perv!Eddie humping bestfriend! reader or using their hand to jerk off while they're sleeping at a sleepover

(Cw: perv!eddie, somno, 18+)

Ohhh absolutely. Eddie’s just so enamoured with you. Absolutely in love with you. Severely aching to be with you, to have you all the time. So he comes up with these little schemes.

Even though Eddie’s a nasty perv, and he knows it, he’s also not brave enough to tell you how he feels. Not yet. He’s sure if you ‘caught him’ then he could smirk and find that confidence while he makes you feel good, then that would be a great time for him to do what he needs. Eddie knows just how to work his magic on you, maybe you’re harbouring a little crush for the town metal head too.

So he invites you over for a sleepover! Or more so, you were already coming over to smoke pot, and Eddie was just being his entertaining self long enough for the time to simply slip you by. And when you finally noticed how dark it was outside, Eddie circled his arms around your waist and spun you closer, away from his door. Still dancing with you in the kitchen, to the George Michael song he swore he’d only listen to if he was playfully ‘jamming out’ to it, with you. A fact that always made you shyly smile. He convinces you to stay, still swaying with you to the music. Spinning you around and around with his hand until you got dizzy, and he caught you again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, on your lower back.

You were pretty tired anyway, Eddie always had a way of tuckering you out, whether it was from his own energy, or getting you to do things. And Eddie says Wayne’s already gone, it’s perfect!

Eddie even gets you in his clothes for pyjamas and God, he could actually drool. But sorry, his ac is busted, and most of his comfortable pants are dirty or in the wash. Eddie even lightly kicks away a pair of grey sweats, that clearly have white patches on them. Him kicking them under the bed had been the reason you’d seen those stains, looking away to spare his modesty. Even though Eddie had kicked them on purpose, to really set in that his comfy pants were dirty. And to maybe put a thing or two in your mind. You didn’t want them!

You can put on one of his shirts and keep your underwear on, you can even run straight under the covers, he promises he won’t peek - he covers his eyes with his hands as he says that, pushing two of his fingers apart, and coyly smiling at you, before pressing them in harder. Keeping them over his face, even as he heard you giggle at his antics.

When you suggest taking up the sofa, Eddie profoundly swears against it. He’s your best friend! He doesn’t have cooties, does he? You two are just friends! You do way more intimate things all the time. A fact that gets you to bend your head even at the suggestion, making Eddie’s heart beat faster, wondering if you remember those ‘practice’ kissing sessions, or the spin the bottle games, or the way he holds you just like a boyfriend does, touches you in those ways, how he carries you places, plays with you, all the sweet pet names you constantly call each other. Don’t you trust him? Come on sweetheart... It’s just sleeping! You’ll both be out before you even know it. And hey, he’s not uncomfortable with it! So don’t worry.

You jump into the covers while Eddie still has his back turned, which helps because he doesn’t have to cover up his smirk, not that he would of anyway. And he can feel your eyes on him. Which is when he drops his jeans, leaving him in his black boxers, as Eddie takes off his shirt for the day.

When Eddie turns around you’re still looking at him, like you can’t turn away, and Eddie’s so pleased with himself, as he goes to find a pyjama shirt, a shorter one. “Oh, by the way, do you like my new piece? I thought it’d also be your kind of thing.” Eddie comes forward, showing you his bare, tattooed, chest, and he swears he sees your hands itch towards him.

Instead you just nod, humming and Eddie smiles. Putting on his shirt (in a bit of a show), just to ease you in a bit. And since he knows you definitely like his bare chest, maybe it’s something he can give you as a treat later. As well as being something to keep you wanting, something you’re going to be thinking about until you dream, so close yet unattainable, just like you were for him. Until tonight.

You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, once he’d reached over your body to turn off the lamp, and he even gave you a kiss to the corner of your lips, a simple kiss goodnight, one you returned to his cheek. Cute. You snuggled into his chest, resting your arms on his torso, and Eddie gets to hold you. Something he really enjoys, holding you in his arms. And soon, you’re drifting off to sleep, but not before slipping your leg between his, and your palm spreads over his chest, over where his new tattoo is, lips pressed into his shirt. Then, after about an hour of just holding you, Eddie gets to have a different kind of fun.

Something he’d been thinking about since the moment he met you. And something he just can’t help, he just needs you so badly.

You’ve turned around a little at this point, in sleep. Your back to him, but still clinging onto his arm that had been around your front (over your tits), drooling slightly on his hand. Eddie didn’t mind, drool away baby, so said Eddie, lightly brushing your ever soft cheek. Eddie’s other hand was laying on the curve of your waist.

He lifts the covers up now, to get a peek at your ass, your thighs, your hips, covered by only your panties. Goddamn, you’re as pretty as he imagined. Eddie lightly rests his hand on your outer thigh, no rings at this time of night, his guitar player fingers stroking up and down your smooth skin. Did you moisturise your thighs as well? Or did you just always feel this good?

Lifting the covers a little more, not wanting to expose you to the air too much, Eddie gets a proper look at what you’re wearing. Comfortable black panties, high on your hips, shielding them, but lacy at the sides. The material only just covering your ass. Something that would be found indecent to the civilians of Hawkins Indiana, but something so so sexy to Eddie. “Wear this just for me baby? So pretty on you.” Eddie mumbled, your body only rising and falling softly with breath in response. He loved that you wore black panties to come and see him, you knew that that was his favourite colour. And holy shit did they look good on you.

Eddie slid his hands down your panties, not anywhere private just yet though. Only down your hips. Eddie shuddered a breath as he got his hand down there, his calloused fingertips reaching the end hem of your panties at the side, and then going further. Eddie just held your hip for a while. Before rubbing his hands smoothly, up and down your hip. Massaging his thumb over the bone, bringing his palm back up to lay on your waist, rubbing you lovingly there.

With a sigh, Eddie decided to lay his thumb on the luxurious curve of your waist, his fingertips venturing down again, and sliding beneath your pretty panties. Having to bite his lip, with an annoyed face, to stop himself from circling your hip. He didnt want to fuck things up and wake you. Not yet.

Eddie slowly lowered your panties, only a little. Not enough to indecently expose you, not yet. Just so he could see those hips, so your waist could be free, so he could be teased just that bit more.

Fuck Eddie hates teasing himself. He can’t even edge himself with your stolen vibrator, he couldn’t do this. The vibrator you cried to him about, terrified your parents had found it and were waiting to tell you off for. Admitting you even had one to him a moment of vulnerability after Eddie calmly coaxed you into telling him what’s wrong when faced with you crying.

Eddie wasn’t really planning on returning it, but fuck, he couldn’t watch you cry. Especially not when you were crying to him, shaking into his chest. And anyway, once Eddie returned it behind a ‘jammed’ desk drawer it must’ve fallen into, he was returning it very well loved and used, so watching you use it again from your window was actually way more fun, after he’d already used it himself enough times.

Eddie pulls your panties up, wedging them in between your ass cheeks, and tight on your mound, wondering if that feels good for you too, even in sleep. And finally being able to have more of your ass on display, your shapely pussy tight against the clothing. God... what Eddie wouldn’t give to be able to lick your pussy. Even once, even through your clothes!

...Fuck it, he’d give risking his plan. Eddie wasn’t a strong man. Eddie leaned down, his hands fisting his sheets so he didn’t squeeze you instead, as he peered his big brown eyes down at you. Before his nose pressed into the curve of your ass, and he let his long tongue flatten against your pussy. Licking up in a long stripe against your cunt, before shifting his head up, only to see you wriggling in sleep, still comfortably on his pillow he’d humped last night picturing you. Fuck... even through your panties you tasted good. Eddie licked his lips again, patting away some drool from the corner of them with the back of his hand.

He really wanted to go back in, but that would wake you too quickly. And he wanted to stick to his plan. Cupping himself through his own underwear, he could tell he’d need to soon, before he exploded. But Eddie releases his grip, he doesn’t need to touch himself anymore. He has you.

Eddie gets back to the position he was in before, taking one more look at you, so perfect like this in front of him, and places his hand on your warm, bare back. Before thrusting himself gently into the curve of your ass.

Again, Eddie does this, his hand now on your waist, steadying you, so he’s not jiggling you about too much, he wouldn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.

He humps slowly against your ass, more so pressing the outline of his hard cock in his boxers against you, sliding it over your backside, before wiggling down, and humping up into your warm cunt. Sighing shakily as he forces himself to gulp down a breath, keeping his hands gentle on your waist, as he humps his clothed cock over your heated cunt, and into the bottom of your ass, doing this over, and over, until his thrusts were at a slow, but steady and rhythmic pace.

Eddie wraps his arm around your stomach, then quickly changes as he realises his opportunity, holding his bat tatted arm over the length of your torso, his hand talking a greedy, but still gentle, grab of your tit. Holding your breast in his hand, and pressing his nose into your back as he shoots out a needy sigh, at being able to feel your nipple through his shirt. It wasn’t even cold in here.

He keeps dryhumping you, desperately trying not to squeeze, but just fondling your breast instead. Were you feeling this? Were you dreaming about him? God he hoped you were. Eddie moans into your shoulder blade, his face smushed there to avoid any loud sounds, as his cock ruts hard against you, feeeling your pussy lips starting to open up around him, his other hand bringing your panties up tighter, allowing his cock to slip through them just a bit, even with both your pants on.

Eddie couldn’t stand if you were dreaming about someone else. He ruts more, sloppy. Eddie needs you, needs you like air, for him to keep going through his day. He pants heavily onto your back, and he’s sure you’d be able to feel the wet heat, sticking your shirt to you. Eddie would do anything for you, and he can’t believe he’s finally here, so close to getting what he wants. He presses a small kiss to the back of your neck, rutting up further into you, even through your panties, like he was trying to rip a goddamn hole through them and...

God. Were you wet?

Eddie forced himself to lean back just a little, his tongue between his lips as he trembled a whine. And while there was definitely a spot of pre in his underwear, the white glob being obvious in your black pants too, Eddie looked down as saw a wet patch in your underwear. Dark, and right where your pussy lay, sticky, and wet.

Oh my god.

Eddie dove in again, his hand reaching under your shirt to grab your tit properly as he moaned quietly into your ear, his face on yours, hair all over you, as he repeated his humping. His pace picking up as he slammed into your backside, needing your cunt so so so badly.

When you start to wake up, Eddie’s already drooling down your neck, it slipping down his shirt and past your tits. You’d think he was just drooling in his sleep, if it wasn’t for the voice that so obviously belonged to Eddie, moaning, in your ears. And more so, the fact you woke up with pleasant spikes shooting through your cunt. And you could feel Eddie rutting against you.

A gasp left you before you could even stop it, although it was more of a moan. Eddie squeezed your tit now, finally able to, and you just held onto his hand through the shirt, brain still waking up.

“Here. Lemme help you.” Eddie whispers right under your ear, into your cheek, his drooling lips moving against you. And before you know it your top is thrown off, and you’re backing into Eddie even more at the sudden exposure.

Something Eddie throughly enjoys, holding you closer, his other hand meshed with your hair on your shoulder, as he humps up further into you.

You’re starting to wake up more now, sure you just fell asleep at your best friends house. “E-Eddie?-“

You’re cut off with a squeak, as Eddie’s hand that was on your tit, is suddenly over your mouth.

“Please.” Eddie groans, humping up into you and you can hear the slap of both your thighs. Not sure if it was you who was so wet, creating that sticky sound, or Eddie. “Just let me have this. Be such a good girl for me. Even lick my cum out of your perfect little cunt once I’m done. Lick you clean, promise. Know you just want me so bad.” Eddie whines into your face this time, gutturally, and unashamedly needily so. Turning his head it seems on purpose, so his hot breath hits your cheek even more, as he whines into you.

You take Eddie’s hand, firmly in yours, but when you bring it away from your mouth, and further down than where you tit is, Eddie momentarily pauses.

But it’s not enough for you to even notice, because you’re already putting Eddie’s very skilled fingers you’ve always taken notice of, down your pants, and against your soaked thumping clit. “Please Eddie. Was close before you woke me up.”

You didn’t even know where this was coming from. You just woke up in a haze of lust, and didn’t care about your best friend dry humping you with all his love when you’d never done anything like this before. You just knew Eddie was making you feel good, and you wanted him to finish what he started. No thoughts. Just what Eddie had made you feel.

Eddie of course snatches his opportunity, moaning grossly indecently in your ears, which only made you moan back, holding his toned arm as Eddie rubbed your clit furiously, worshipping it with his fingers, and knuckles, and thumb, his heel, and his entire hand for all it was worth, moaning lewd words into your ears, as he drooled against your cheek, which were only making you wetter. His bouncing curls you loved so much sticking to your dampened face, as Eddie kept grinding on you.

Bringing his hand up to stick his fingers in his mouth, something that made you rock back into his rock solid bulge as you watched in pure lust, Eddie looking like he was about to cum just from tasting you, before sticking his wet fingers right back against your clit. “Fuck yeah. Shit baby, been wanting you for so long. Glad you finally got your fuckin eyes open. God, I’m gonna cum in you till I actually pass out in this bed. You’re mine now. Want to be mine? Want you so bad. Kept fucking my fist to you every night. Used your vibrator so much it almost broke. Want to be mine? Know you do. Bout to cum all over me. I can fuckin feel it. So dirty for me. Knew you wanted me.” Eddie bites your ear, tugging on it as he pants moans of swears and praise and filth into your ear.

Eddie’s quickly cumming in his pants, crying out your name in his loud voice as he keeps humping you, his hand crushed under your body but still rubbing your clit with speed as he humps you into the bed, spreading his cum all over your painted pussy until you’re spraying in his hand. Screaming out Eddie’s name, which only gets him to cum more, spreading it over you as much as he can as he thrusts his dick against the wet warmth of your cum ridden pants, fucking himself against it, and holding you so closely, all the while you ride his hand, gripping onto your best friend just as tight. Both of you adding new stains to Eddie’s bed.

#if u ever wonder why sometimes I take longer to respond to asks half the time it’s bc I can NOT stop talking lmfao #I swear I thought this would be like 1/5 the length when I started #Eddie Munson/reader #citrussy #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson #stranger things #anon #ask #Eddie Munson drabble #Eddie Munson blurb #Eddie Munson thoughts

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tuagonia · 3 years

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mistletoe - adam du mortain x f! detective

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x f!detective Summary: The detective catches an unsuspecting Adam under the mistletoe during the division’s holiday party. Rating: G/T (to be sure).Pretty tame, just fluff. Warning: alcohol mention. Word Count: 2.3k Note: I just really really wanted to write this scene that cropped up in my head during a f u n bout of insomnia. I’d like to think this takes place teetering on the edge right before the deep romance sweeps these two fools away. Anyway i used this fic as a way to get over my fear of writing for twc and to get to know my detective... before i launch into the other ideas i have.

—

It’s not that she’s drunk.

No. Not drunk.

Happy, most definitely, and loquacious. More than the usual amount of conversation that he’s used to. And more laughter.

Definitely more laughter.

It’s an unrefined, rough, pitched-at-the-end sound he’s grown used to (fond of?) over the last year.

Where the more uncouth the subject... the more untamed it becomes, and fighting the stiff edges of his mouth to remain in place becomes an active task.

There’s something so unsuspecting about it too, like how everything concerning her has been up to now.

Olivia dances with Felix and Nate, and his oldest friend attempts to teach her how to move with the steps that feel like a lifetime ago. Where her shoulders, ankles, hips twist and she turns on the spot.

She sways with the motions of days gone past, as if she’s caught time in her hands — the elixir to it in her mug of wine clasped firmly in her grip — and Nate praises her.

Adam didn’t catch the name, he didn’t care for it six decades ago and he doesn’t think he’ll bother remembering it now. But he’s certain it’s something as ridiculous sounding as it looks... if she weren’t doing it surprising justice.

When she spins in Felix’s arms, the silver, sparkling discs of her dress catch in the station’s white light and he’s dazzled...more than he usually already is.

No. Not drunk.

Just happy.

In the handful of instances she stops by him during her social rounds, she asks if he wants anything -- a refill of the uninspiring wine? -- and his responses are short. Yes. No. Good. Hmm. And when he doesn’t have the words he manages a slight shake of his head or a passive shrug.

Too distracted by the smile on her face, the mischief he can see twinkling behind her eyes. Sometimes, he can believe it. That she was a troublemaker, up to no good with too much time on her hands, and not this...woman...this decorous facade of pencil skirts, unscuffed heels, and neatly ironed blouses.

He can hear it in the deep, unearthed tone she takes when she lands a passing, unassuming, coquettish comment.

The reason he keeps his answers mono-syllabic.

He watches as she hovers over the snack table, where the food has undoubtedly gone cold, compiling a paper plate of random assortments and grabbing a tin of soda. And when he can no longer see her, he follows the sound of her heels out of the main floor towards the entrance -- barely visible from the wall he’s been hugging all night.

Olivia places the plate on the officer’s desk currently on graveyard duty. He's been longingly listening to and watching the party taking place just a few steps away. But he thanks the detective kindly, playfully clinks tin against mug of wine.

She meets his eye on the way back -- brief, ever so brief -- before turning her gaze downward.

“You should come,” she said, directing her attention to the rest of the group. She avoided his stare, almost always avoiding his stare when it came to matters of bypassing his jurisdiction. But flitted reflexively to him, and then swivelled back to Nate and Felix (briefly over Mason), and she repeated. “All of you. You’re practically honourary members of the division.”

And although she didn’t say it to him, Adam knows (hopes?) she expected him to answer the invitation.

Earlier in the evening (much earlier because how long is this going to go on for?), Nate asks him if he’s enjoying himself and Adam muddles together a gruff answer.

His response, with the words “work commitment” hardly audible, prompts bark-like laughter from the second-in-command and claps him on the shoulder before heading back towards the crowd.

At the end of the night, which finally arrives right when Adam decides he can’t take another rendition of the tracklist that’s been on loop for the past four hours, he stays behind to help the detective clean up.

He sends the rest of the unit home, much to Mason’s relief and much to Felix’s displeasure, and volunteers to make sure the detective catches her cab and gets home safely.

Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself after Felix winks at him, corralled out of the station by Nate.

And then they’re alone... save for the officer who’s gone on his break.

She moves about space, clearing paper cups and forgotten plates of food in a large garbage bag. And she talks, and talks, and talks.

Adam loses track of what exactly, he’s just too busy listening to the quality of her voice. A little hoarse after all the chatting over the music and enthusiastic laughter. It gives it a new edge, one he could grow to like -- the sudden deep, tender quality of it.

Definitely not drunk as she launches into a spiel about something or other Nate taught her last week.

She tends to do this, jabber on about absolutely nothing in particular when it’s just the two of them. And although he prefers silence, he welcomes it. Because sometimes she’s not actually talking to him, instead using the stoic agent’s still presence to bounce ideas off of.

Not like he minds.

He’ll be whatever she needs him to be.

Adam tenses, unaware of where the thought could have surfaced out of so easily. He shocks himself out of his trance, out of following the detective around the room with soft, measured steps. Out of the unconscious non-committal noises he punctuates breaks in her speech with.

He stops just short of the doorway of the kitchenette.

Olivia turns to face him after dumping a number of coffee cups in the sink. She quirks an eyebrow, wiping her hands in a tea towel before casting it aside. Her mouth opens, but whatever witty remark she has ready dies in her throat.

Adam can’t decipher the zoetrope of emotions that flicker then disappear, hiding and lurking behind a wily smile. Her mouth is the colour of wild berries, purples and reds, and the crisp jasmine notes in her perfume remind him of a frosty mid-afternoon -- low winter sun in his eyes as he wades through a forest.

He can’t look right at her.

Gleaming winks of silver, a peek of white teeth, and a twinkle behind a dark curtain of hair.

“What?”

He can scarcely recognise his voice, mostly a husky and unexpected croak.

A full view of pearly teeth and the stretch of Mondeuse Blanche shiraz-coloured lips.

Adam almost misses the throw-away manner she points a finger up in the space in between them. For a fraction of a second, he’s distracted from the sudden kick of her heart and flickers his gaze to where she’s directing him.

Obnoxious oval-shaped gold leaves, thickly crowded plastic branches, and pearly-coloured fake berries hover in the space he’s decidedly placed between them. His stomach lurches in immediate recognition of the artificial plant.

“Mistletoe,” she chuckles an airy sort of sound. Different from all the crass, rough gleeful noises she made all night.

A sound, maybe, she might wield against his sanity?

Adam’s gone rigid, the heat he’s been staving off all night makes a mockery of him, only egged on by the tugging of her lips when he glances back down at her.

She steps closer and he can’t react fast enough, genetic mutations damned under her vexatious gaze. Her heart thumps a little heavier, a chaotically determined sound he can’t fend off.

His own heart starts up that racket he’s grown to call reckless.

“I heard,” she begins, so close now he can see the little scar on her nose from an old piercing. Tannin, oak, and jasmines -- the sparkling and sweet scent of violet from her lipstick, “that it’s bad luck...to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe.”

The click of the ‘k’ and the hiss of the ‘s’ in that word hanging so heavy in the air, the breath of its remnants brush his cheek. Faintly, his mind wanders between two realms. One of old wives tales and superstitions where a kiss is required for every berry in the bunch and, the second, how, if it weren’t for those heels, where would that breath have landed instead?

Her sly grin is tickled by his lack of response, the stiffness creeping into his muscles and his conflicted expression.

“Commanding Agent, do you -- maybe -- want to help me…” she begins, another step closer and this time he doesn't think he wants to move, “fight off any unnecessary misfortunes?”

Adam doesn’t recognise himself. He doesn’t know where it comes from, or how he’s sanctioned the movement of his body. It’s minimal, but to Olivia, who has spent the last year fighting off the hunger from the nearly nonexistent mementoes, it’s colossal.

The smug smile on her face nearly slips.

It’s the tiniest, faintest, barely discernible half-nod as his gaze refuses to leave the curve of her lower lip. Fuller, rounder... he’s thought of the seam of her mouth longer than he’d like to dwell on.

She moves forward and there are no thoughts just the drumming in his chest that pounds a deafening beat. Her hand finds his first, a comfort from the heat roaring inside him, and he responds by tracing the lines of her palms with jittery fingertips.

Olivia shivers and why does that thrill him? He wonders how long until she decides to put him out of his misery.

Please. Please. Please. The thumping against his ribcage wants to meet the erratic pulse of hers.

Roused by his response, her other hand so warm and soft draws a curious path up his arm, over the swell of his bicep and past his shoulder before it hesitates to fully press at the back of his neck where he knows she can feel fevered skin.

It takes her an eternity, staring up at him with hooded eyes, dark fluttering eyelashes almost touching the tops of her cheeks. And he’d wait until whatever comes after that eternity.

This is the closest she’s ever been to him and he can’t help but revere the details he once took for granted.

Olivia rises and the hand behind his neck cautiously coaxes him to meet her.

And then, right as he thinks the world beneath his feet as he knows it will be thrown off its axis, she tilts her head a fraction and the hot press of her mouth meets his blushing cheek instead.

She lingers and everything amplifies.

She is a dizzying bottle of Chianti, left out in the sun too long, and warming him all the way down with each indulgent sip.

A field of blooming shrubs of jasmines.

Warm, brisk, spring morning sun.

He hears her deeply inhale, and does he have the same effect on her like she does on him?

His heightened senses register the moment she parts and moves away, suddenly cold and left with the weight of the cream of her lipstick.

Her touch is deliberate, soaking up the feel of his skin, the fine hairs at his nape, under her gliding palms -- and she settles back on her heels.

The imprint of her lips remains on his cheek, willing it to singe him -- mark him -- so he never has to forget what they feel like. The pressure of her mouth, the moment her breath shuddered.

Olivia makes to touch his cheek, to wipe away all evidence with the sweep of her thumb, but Adam stops her. He catches her wrist with reflexes she’ll never get used to.

He closes his eyes and he tunes in to the demanding call of his heart, thundering, thundering, thundering. And it won’t still.

Just a moment longer.

Is what it would ask.

Just a moment longer, so he can memorise the feel of her mark on his skin -- of the instance she cherished him, made room for him, during a fleeting blip that will be her life.

Olivia moves again, fighting against the gentle strength of his hand, and she rubs the pad of her thumb once, twice, three times. Until the smudge of her affection is reduced to a memory.

She smiles, unlike the smiles she shared earlier. There is no arrogance, no teasing, no playful ridicule.

She smiles -- with those lips that have touched him.

A sharp ringing echoes in the tiny kitchenette and, like he’s waking from a deep sleep, he blinks away the haze of their bewitchment.

As if nothing happened, Olivia digs into her purse, sources her mobile and answers. The conversation is brief, he doesn’t follow any of it, still reeling from her magnetism.

“My cab’s outside,” she says when she hangs up.

Still paralyzed, Olivia meets his eye and grins, before she drops her gaze to the floor.

She shakes her head and releases a small, anxious laugh. She touches his arm when she moves past him, out of the kitchenette, and heads for the exit.

He watches her leave, listening to the light click-clack of heels, still shaking her head and-- he practically hears the smile in her voice when she calls out behind her.

“Happy holidays, Commanding Agent du Mortain.”

Note II: Yeah, it’s The Twist. Nate was teaching Felix and Olivia the twist....because I said so and because i hc N being really into the 60s/70s music scene....long legs.....in....flared....jeans. So many typos. But if I didn’t post it when I did I was never going to post it.

#the wayhaven chronicles #a du mortain #adam du mortain #adam du mortain x detective #i wrote this in a haze of sleep deprivation ...bone smack the teeth #writing #y’all see typos you look away I’m too fra jeel e.#the amount of #repetition is astounding lol okay I’m done rereading before I go 🍌#I really loved an italicized word huh #tuagonia writes twc

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harrysgoldenline · 4 years

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can i get a harry one shot where you are really insecure about the whole album/ camille thing and u talk to sarah about it and ur crying and harry notices and comes over but u run away and sarah tells him everything and he comes to find you but you pretend like ur fine but he sees through it and he goes off on this lone speech about how much he loves you and how ur the only person he will ever love and u both are just happy it’s out and the open and a happy ending ?

OMG MY FIRST REQUEST!! YES OF COURSE! I REALLY REALLY REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT ! and if anyone else has any requests, send them my way!!! :)

——————————————————————————

My Muse

Y/N was distraught.

She loved Harry, his music, his career and could not be more proud of him, his success and who he has become.

Although, she was struggling.

This whole album has been about Harry discovering himself, who he is... but also about his ex-girlfriend Camille.

Y/N knew about Harry everything he went through after their relationship ended, he was struggling greatly. They met around half a year after the break up, but she could see Harry was still struggling. She could see how he would keep to himself around new people, especially out in public. He was quite and wouldn’t speak out much, very different then how their mutual friend, Sarah had always described him.

Sarah has always talked highly of him, being in his band they grew very close and she often got to see how he went through his different writing processes. She saw him before and after shows and she knew him before and after Camille. Something Y/N could not relate to.

As time passed, the two got together, forming what their friends called a power couple. Harry and Y/N were completely inseparable, growing closer and closer as each day passed.

Harry opened up to her a few months into the relationship, sitting her down and letting her know exactly what happened in the relationship and why it was so difficult for him when it ended. He told her that since it was a huge part of the album, he might have to talk about it a bit, without saying names of course but she knew that everyone else already knew who he was going to be talking about.

“It’s okay, Harry. I totally understand. Don’t worry about it.” She would always say, giving him a smile and a soft kiss onto his jawline.

Y/N wasn’t lying, she did understand why and she didn’t want him to worry about her, not now. Not when his second album is taking off, hitting the top of the charts in preorder alone.

She did enjoy the majority of interviews. Hearing him tell funny stories of the writing process, or always getting emotional as he opens up about finding himself, his true sound and how he doesn’t feel like he needs to hold back anymore. But interview after interview, it got harder. Hearing him talk about the love he felt and then the unbearable pain after it was gone. She felt inadequate. Wondering if nothing went wrong, where would she be? Would Harry still fall for her when Sarah introduced him like he said he did?

Although, Y/N never brought up these concerns to him. Especially after the album drop he was on top of the world, explaining how he has never felt happier and more free, but she couldn’t help thinking if he would be happier with her by his side instead.

“Y/N, are you alright?” A voice brings her out, looking up and seeing Sarah standing there at the door, offering her a soft smile.

“Oh hi! Yeah, I’m totally fine don’t worry about me.” She nodded, looking back at the monitor, watching Harry messing around on stage with Mitch after finishing up a soundcheck nearly a minute ago. They often liked to stay for a while, messing around on stage, this often gave Sarah and Y/N sometime to catch up as their boys hung out together.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she sat next to her on the couch, “Cmon (Y/N), you know you can trust me with anything.”

“How’d Harry do?” She asked, trying to ease in, hearing Harry strum in the background to Cherry, causing Y/N to bite her bottom lip.

“Good... was just a sound check. Everything running fine- seriously what’s going on?” Sarah insisted, interrupting herself.

“What was he like? With her?”

A silence fills the room until Sarah let’s out a sigh, muttering a soft ‘oh honey’ before scooting closer, arms going around her friend protectively. Sarah knew she was struggling, but with it being such a difficult subject, she didn’t want to pry too much. She wanted to wait until Y/N was ready to confide in her, but instead she bottled it up.

“Fuck, sorry I shouldn’t have asked thats... sorry it’s none of my business.” Y/N quickly says, forcing a laugh and wiping her eyes, standing up quickly and going to look for her purse.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know how hard this has been for you.” Her friend agrees, standing and following her, “have you and Harry talked about it? Talked about how this has been for you?”

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip hard as her eyes were squeezed shut, knowing if she spoke a word she would break down, she had been holding it in for too long.

“Do you wanna talk about it with him?”

She shrugged at this, honestly not knowing the answer. If she did, she didn’t know if Harry would stop all together, making his album less authentic or If he would be upset she held it in, or even said anything about it at all. But she genuinely didn’t know if she could hold it in any longer.

“You can tell me.” Sarah nodded, hugging her tightly, “let it out.”

“It hurts” Y/N breaks, letting out a sob, “it seems like- like all he talks about is her! And I know he wrote this whole thing before we met and- do you think he still loves her?”

“Y/N, no.” She says, pulling her back and wiping the tears from her friends face, “I’ve seen this man before, during and after both of you, and I have never seen him this happy. Ever”

She shakes her head, not believing her. “It can’t be me. It’s the album, the success! He’s himself now, so that’s what’s making him happy. I didn’t help him- she did.”

“Y/N stop” Sarah demanded, grabbing her shoulders and moving her hair out of her face, “Harry is in love with you! I remember him coming to me, asking me for advice when you went out on your first date.”

She shakes her head, disbelief and doubt being pumped through her veins, “it just doesn’t make sense! Look at her and then look at me. Who would you choose?”

“You”

“Stop.” She argues, rolling her eyes, “she’s skinnier and prettier and older! She’s way older than me, way older than him. Is that what he wants? I’m younger than him, Sarah. Young enough where there’s a million articles about it.”

“You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t calm down.” Sarah demands, “please? Just calm down and we can talk about this. What does your age have to do with anything? You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“No, I should stop. Mitch and Harry will be back any second.” She sniffles, looking at herself in the mirror and sighing, dabbing at the skin around her eyes to try and depuff them.

“You can’t hold this in.” Sarah whispers, hugging her friend again, “please? Talk to me?”

“I love him and it’s scary because I don’t know-“ Y/N begins but quickly stops, hearing her boyfriends loud laughter, soon getting louder as he opened the door.

Y/N shoots Sarah a sympathetic look, silently begging her to remain quiet and not say a word, which she nods, giving Mitch and Harry a smile as they walk in the door, each boy going to each of them.

“Hey babe!” Harry smirks, kissing her before pulling back, eyebrows furrowing together and he lowers his voice, “are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m okay!” She smiles, “poked my eye when I was fixing my makeup. Anyways, what are you guys up to?”

“We were gonna go grab some food before the show! Where do you wanna go?” He asks, hands going around her waist.

“Oh I’m not hungry.” She quickly responds, “been feeling a bit off all day so I might stay behind. I wanna feel better for your show.”

Harry frowns, pulling her closer to him before leading her out of the lounge room, leaving Mitch and Sarah as they continue their own conversation. Harry leads her off to his private dressing room.

“What’s up?” He frowns, lifting his hand to her face and rubbing her cheek softly, “what happened?”

“Nothing, Harry.” She smiles, her heart growing at his concern. Yet, she knows she can’t tell him. Not now, hours before his mini Fine Line show in London. The last thing she wants to be is a distraction, “don’t worry about me, really! And I feel like I’ve been budging in too much, go bond with the band!”

“You’re not interrupting anything. I want you here.”

“I know and I appreciate that, really, love being around you and everybody.” She giggles, “but I’m not gonna be there the whole tour and I gotta get used to that.”

“I wish you could be.” He frowns, pulling her right against his chest, “always want you next to me.... or below me.”

“Harry!” She laughed, pulling back and playfully pushing him, “you’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you, my love.” He dopily smirks, kissing her, softly.

She giggled against his lips, pulling him closer for another, each kiss making her worries drift further and further away. Mind reeling as his hands fall down her waist, gripping her bum as he pushes her closer, his lips falling down to her neck.

“Hey man, Sar-“ Mitchs voice causing them to jump away from each other, the three of them turning red as he clears his throat, “Um- sorry. I was just saying that Sarah said she’s gonna take a nap before the show too so I think it’s just just gonna be us and the other guys.”

“Sounds good!” He smirks, feeling a bit smug after what Mitch just walked in on, he turns back to Y/N, tucking a hair behind her ear, “you can stay in here if you want, lock the door and take a nap or whatever you need. Nobody should bother you and I’ll be back before you know it. Okay?”

She nodded, thanking him before pressing a kiss to his lips, “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you more, babygirl.” He smiles, kissing the top of her head before waving goodbye, following Mitch out.

She sighs, falling back on the couch and closing her eyes, mind muddled with confusion. Moments like that make her feel so silly, wondering why she ever worried in the first place. She does trust Harry, she doesn’t worry about him going out to try and find someone else, but she always wonders if he prefers to be with her, just has Y/N because he doesn’t have that option anymore.

She can’t help but lay awake, spending many sleepless nights just comparing herself to her. Camille was beautiful, and nobody could deny that. She had such grace and Y/N felt like her French accent and demeanor made her much more interesting then her own plain American ways. She wonders if Harry wishes Y/N was older, rather than being multiple years younger. She wondered if it annoyed him, bothered him that she had a great lack of experience. Harry was all she’d ever known and all she wants forever.

But did he feel the same? Did he actually love her? Does he actually find her as beautiful as he said? She found it hard to believe, especially seeing all he has had in the past. It makes her feel guilty, guilty for feeling so upset and hurt by seeing and hearing about people he was with prior, even though they’d never met at the time.

The door swings open, startling her and causing her to jump and heart to pound as she prepared what she would say next to Sarah, but it wasn’t her, it was Harry.

“What? What are you doing here?” She rushes, clutching her chest to try and calm her racing heart, I thought you were going to get food? Did you forget something?”

“Yes.” He mumbles, sinking down onto the couch next to her and holding her face in his hands, “I forgot to tell you how important you are to me. More than any album, place on the charts, anything.”

“W-what? Where is this coming from, Bubs?”

“Sarah told me what you said to her.” He frowns, eyes sparkling, “and I’m the biggest fucking arsehole I didn’t stop to talk to you about it once. To stop and actually ask you about it.”

“Harry, really, I’m just being-“

“Y/N listen, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You’re my person. You’re it for me.” He whispers, leaning his forehead against her, tears forming in her eyes as she’s filled with so many emotions, “you gotta believe me, lovie.”

“I love you, Harry.” She sniffles, “I believe you, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is all my fault. I should’ve talked to you more, I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you, I’m so sorry.” He rambles, “you are the love of my life Y/N. Yes, I was in love before but this? With you? It’s so strong and real and terrifying. I’ve never felt this before. I want to be with you. Forever. Nobody else. And I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am to not have made that clear.”

“I should’ve told you from the beginning how I felt.” She admits, “I don’t want you to stop talking about it in interviews if that’s what you want to say, you should say it. It’s just really hard to hear you talk about her all the time.”

“I’m sorry my love. I don’t deserve you, don’t deserve your support.” He whispers, kissing her hands, “I am so beyond lucky to have you. You are the most beautiful, kind, considerate woman in the whole world. I don’t know how I got you.”

“Stop it.” She blushes, bringing her hands away from his lips and up to his face, shaking her head in disbelief, wondering how he even existed, “you are truly the most perfect man.”

“Now you stop.” He chuckles, cheeks turning pink, “I’m praising you here... really though love. You are my muse. I have millions of songs written about you.”

“Really?” She whispers, eyes wide, “you’re not just saying that?”

“What do you think Mitch and I are doing all the time?” He laughs, “we make Sarah go because we know she’d tell!”

“Well you’re right, because she told you what I said after I told her not too.” She blushes, looking down at her lap.

“Oh stop that you know she did the right thing.” He laughs, dragging her a bit closer to him so her legs lay over his lap, “Honestly, I was scared to show you them, thought I was open before wait till you hear these.”

“Can I? Can I hear them? Please?”

“I guess since you have good manners.” He smirks, pulling her on top of him. She giggles and he pulls her onto his lap, “you can hear ‘em all. Don’t know what I was waiting for... guess I was just scared?”

“Of what, Bubby?” She frowns, arms resting around his shoulders as she looks up at him.

“I don’t know... I just... I know you’re the one, so it’s kinda scary I guess...not knowing if you feel the same.”

“I do.” She squeaks, “I love you so much- wanna be with you forever.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, squeezing her hips tight causing her to squeal, falling into him, “I’ve been yours since the day we met. You inspire me, Y/N. You are my muse. I’d choose you over anyone. You are my priority.”

He leans in, kissing her softly, almost as if he was afraid of breaking her in two. His lips fell to her neck, sucking on her favorite spot and her grip tightened on him, head falling to the side a bit and she lets out a soft whimper.

“Harry, please...” she squeaked, hips pressing down into him involuntarily.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” He whispers lowly, pulling up the bottom of her dress and over her head, “gonna take care of you until the day I die, my love.”

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years

Text

⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost

↣ inspired by @haik-choo’s post

↣ wc: 2.4k

↣ warnings: emotional pain, swearing, mentions of sex (not outright anything).

↣ format: mixed

↣ song recommendation: 5 Seconds of Summer - Lover Of Mine & 5 Seconds Of Summer - Ghost Of You

↣ preamble: atsumu miya never understands what he has until its too late. from a young age, he only focused on his own satisfaction and accordingly, his own pleasure. the only reason your relationship was able to stand the test of time was solely because of your accommodating nature. but sometimes, it still hurts… the lack of appreciation. would he truly care if you stopped leaving him little love notes in your shared apartment? would he notice if you stopped keeping pace with him during your morning walks? did he even care that you only woke up at the ungodly hour to spend more time with him? with those questions unanswered, some days you wonder if love should hurt this much.

After winning five consecutive matches, a formal banquet was arranged to celebrate MSBY’s notable achievement. The guest-list was littered with numerous B list celebrities, with the occasional A lister promising to attend. What was originally planned to be a small gathering morphed into an evening gala that attracted media coverage, and a significant crowd. Some were desperate to secure an invite solely to catch a glimpse of one of the star players; while others were significantly more interested in the foreign chief that would be designing the menu for the function. Whatever the motivation, each attendee expelled an aura of excitement, one that was highly contagious. Accompanying the delectable atmosphere was a sugary scent wafting throughout the establishment. It was what Atsumu Miya deemed heaven on earth.

The blonde setter had the stem of a wineglass tucked between two fingers nonchalantly, occasionally swaying the maroon liquid as he surveyed those around him. He adored these gatherings for numerous reasons, one being the unnaturally attractive crowd it allured. Not that he planned on approaching any of them with nefarious intentions – he had a date after-all. The same one for the last four years. You. However, he refused to believe there was any harm in simply admiring from afar what he could have but chose not to. It provided him a rush of exhilaration, knowing that if he chose, he could secure the interest of any woman within the vicinity. Oh yes, if only they were so lucky. But alas, they were not. Simply having their attention and compliments was enough, he was disinterested in the satisfaction of sleeping with them. The truth was, while they were surely attractive, none of them would provide him the consistency that came neatly packaged with you. To be blunt, you were easy. Low maintenance, as he explained two nights ago to his brother. Even now, rather than remain glued to his side, you were somewhere in the crowd, mingling with someone unknown. He preferred it this way, and you knew it.

Half an hour before dinner was to be served, Atsumu was invited to take a shot with the MSBY Ace. Bokuto’s best friend refused to drink, vowing to return home early to complete a manuscript, and so he sought a new drinking buddy. But when he approached the setter, his thoughts of drinking were replaced with a newfound concern. Atsumu notified his team-mate that his hair required a quick touch up. His usual spikes were beginning to droop, resembling a withering flower.

“Akaashi! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Tsum, do you have any gel?” A pout registered upon his lips as he attempted to sharpen the ends of his hair using his index finger and thumb. What if someone caught a photo of him appearing less than satisfactory? The Ace, ordinary or not, should appear extraordinary on a night dedicated to celebrating him (and his team-mates).

“I don’t think it looks that bad, Bokuto-san.” The black-haired writer shook his head, prior to bringing the rim of his coffee cup to his lips. Okay, maybe he could have something earlier. But to his defence, he had only noticed the imperfection now. With a wave of exhaustion weighing over his eyelids, he was less perceptive than usual.

“You know lying to him ain’t gonna fix the problem, right?” Atsumu shifted his narrowed gaze at Akaashi questioningly, something the other male did not appreciate. “And do you really have to ask? Of course, I do. Come on.” The blonde tapped against his lower jacket pocket, where a thin container of hair-serum was kept.

“I’m going to my seat. I’ll meet you there when you’re done.” The comment was directed solely at Bokuto, in a tone that indicated the writer would rather not spend any ‘quality’ time with the setter unless forced to. The brunette was not his biggest fan to say the least.

“I’ll be back soon.” He was well aware that his best friend and team-mate were not particularly fond of one another, placing distance was perhaps the best available option. Once the writer was no longer present, the pair began walking towards the bathroom. “Say… Tsum, where’s y/n?” Instinctively, the Ace’s golden irises searched the space around them for your familiar face.

“I dunno. Somewhere. I’m sure I’ll see her at the dinner table, since we’re sitting together.” The disinterest laced in his tone startled the other male, who failed to mask his bewilderment. Atsumu ignored the puzzlement that shined in his team-mate’s eyes, dismissing the action with a limp shrug before entering the bathroom first.

Bokuto trailed in a second later, pausing at the mirror with a hand extended forward. “You guys are really weird.”

Retrieving the container from his pouch, the blonde handed his team-mate the gel then began adjusting his own appearance, beginning by ushering aside some fallen strands. The observation that was offered only brought a little laugh to exit his mouth. “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

“You don’t act like a real couple.” Bokuto did not intend to respond immediately, particularly because he desired to avoid the stare he was now receiving through the mirror. The lack of hesitation was not well received by the MSBY setter.

“We don’t need to abide by norms to be a couple, Bokkun.” Despite the sour taste curling around his tongue, Atsumu managed to maintain a smile on his lips, finding humour in his own explanation.

“Alright, so is that why you haven’t proposed yet?” The white-haired Ace mentally scolded himself for his lack of restraint. He should have bit his tongue. Oh, if only he bit his tongue –

However, this was not the first time the question was posed to him. In fact, two days ago, it was exact topic that resulted in a very heated argument with his twin-brother. He truly did not understand why proposing was necessary. You both already lived together – was that not enough?

“It’s not that serious.” Tugging at his sleeves, the setter then adjusted his cufflinks. “I love her, but I’m not sure she’s the one. I don’t know if I can really give everything up forever, for her. For the time-being, I don’t mind. But I’m not giving everything up just yet.” The final sentence uttered by the blonde was more of an affirmation to himself, one that did not register well with his team-mate. It seemed that everyone but Atsumu could see how much you did for him. His unappreciated nature was rather toxic.

“That doesn’t sound like love, dude.”

No. It certainly did not.

They say that the truth will always be revealed sooner or later. Perhaps Atsumu Miya’s true feelings would have been revealed later, if he chose to lower his voice and restrict his sincerity. Had he known that you were outside, he certainly would have taken some precautions. But how could he have known that you were searching for him, when you ran into Akaashi? Who unfortunately knew exactly where he was?

How many warnings were issued by your friends over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? What would they say now? How many red flags did you ignore?

How curious how easily you confused ache for butterflies.

The strain circling inside of your temples morphed into a throb as the liquid distorting your vision began spilling down your cheeks, dragging your mascara along with it. Behind you someone whispered your name, fear gripping their throat and muffling the sound. But you were unable to recognize who the voice belonged to, as you no longer held the luxury of having a stable state of mind.

Lifting your trembling fingers to the area below your eyelids, you stumbled attempting to discard the substance hanging on your lashes. “I need to go. I… Oh, I’m stupid. I just… I need to leave. Please.” Sluggishly, you shifted your body to face the person who addressed you earlier, seeking any aid that was offered. You couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“I know. Come on.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi accidentally stumbled onto the scene just as Atsumu began responding to the inquiry. He was not staggered to hear the cruel statements fall casually from his team-mate’s lips. Similar statements were uttered in the locker-room on numerous occasions. It was your reaction that tugged at his heart. No one deserved to hear the one they loved speak with such venom, and certainly not you. “Let’s go before they come out, shall we?”

The thrill of partying as a newly single bachelor provided Atsumu Miya temporary satisfaction. Each night a stranger’s mouth was attached to his, as he clung to them, desperate to combat the vanilla scent that circulated in the apartment, even weeks after your departure. How many girls had now laid in the exact spot you once occupied on the bed? Dozens? And yet, every morning when he awoke, he continuously thought it was you in his arms, and not someone whose name he did not bother remembering. His endeavours to erase you were fruitless. Not due to a lack of effort, but because the truth was… He didn’t want to forget you.

It took a month for the realization to settle in. No longer interested in the meaningless sex that was offered by mistresses of the night, he found himself unable to leave the apartment unless there was a match scheduled. It was the only location where he could feel some connection to you. Particularly when intoxicated, he swore he could hear you whisper soothing sentiments into his ears, dispelling his fears that you no longer loved him.

But each morning, reality would register once more, providing him a metaphorical jab to his chest.

Today was no different.

It had been forty days since the gala. Forty days to mull over how just how much you did for him, and just how little he did for you. It wasn’t always like this. Over the years, he became too accustomed to your giving nature. Soon, he developed a toxic mentality that he was entitled to everything you provided. But it wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t. At least that was what he repeated to himself, hoping it was the truth.

After downing a liter of water, the throbbing in his head had dimmed to a tolerable level. And once the lights no longer strained his eyes, he reached for his phone, determination igniting in his heart.

“Hi.” The greeting was exhaled softly into the phone, as anxiety prompted your heart to beat irregularly. The uncertainty of what would be said by your former lover had your thoughts tangled into an incoherent mess.

“Hey. Thanks for talking with me.” Atsumu pressed a fist against his mouth, muffling the small whimper that threatened to sound. Oh fuck. You actually picked up. A single word overwhelmed him with the storm of emotions he usually suppressed with alcohol.

A little hum was given to acknowledge his gratitude, it was honestly the best you could offer. But it was unlike you to be so quiet. The thought that he impacted you this much only expanded the guilt he was suffocating in.

“Was I always this bad?” The setter’s eyes stung with fresh tears forming along his lids. Did he even deserve to speak with you now?

Inhaling a lengthy breath of air, silence greeted him for a minute as you mustered the courage to respond. You knew you should hate him. and yet, hearing the tremor in his voice broke your heart. Was it really your fault that you still loved him?

“You weren’t.” You prayed the words were audible, since you were unsure whether you would be able to repeat yourself.

The blonde found the slightest bit of relief in your response, although it only eased a tenth of the tension he was battling to contain. Swallowing once, he strived to stabilize his breathing.

“Will you give me another chance?”

You caught onto the small crack in his voice, symbolizing his distress and sincerity simultaneously. But you wished you hadn’t.

“Atsumu. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a future with me.” Even now, stating a reminder of what you heard activated the emotional wound you spent the last month attempting to heal. Could you truly ever get passed this?

“I can’t see a future without you in it.” He interjected, not missing a beat. He refused to deny it any longer. He was an idiot, but he loved you. It was more than the fact you were low maintenance. He knew that now.

“I feel like I wasted four years, do you understand that?” His confession promoted a swarm of butterflies to parade inside of your stomach, but the mental reminder of your friends scoldings kept you grounded. Pretty words would not heal the damage. Not this time. “I’m sorry. I can’t waste any more…”

“You won’t have to, y/n. I promise. Let me take care of you this time. It will be different.” At this point he was essentially begging you to place trust in his promises, even if he had no credibility.

Maybe it was unhealthy how much you wished his promise to be true. How desperate you were to lower your armor and envelope him into your embrace instead. You knew your friends would never approve of him, but his pleads were weaved together with a vulnerability you had never heard before. Before you could stop yourself, the one word the setter was waiting for left your mouth.

“Okay.” Dropping your face into your palm, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip.

The second you agreed, the blonde was already on his feet, fetching his keys before rushing to the front door. It had been so long since the setter was flooded with joy, he could barely contain himself. “Where are you? I’m coming to you now.” Clicking the lock to a close, he nestled his phone against his shoulder.

Upon hearing the shuffling in his background followed by his question, you instantly shot up to your feet, feeling a surge of hope enter your system. “Don’t you have practice soon?” You certainly did not expect this. Not at all.

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, he blew out a scoff. “I don’t fucking care. I need you in my arms now. Text me the address and I’ll be there. I fucking love you, y/n I love you so much. I’ll never let you go again. I promise.”

It should be noted that he wholeheartedly intended to keep that promise, and thankfully… he did.

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @shakiraisawesome

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu miya #atsumu imagines #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #atsumu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines

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revivebook · 3 years

Note

did my long ask from last night go through? cause if not I'm going to be a little sad that my comparison of u and fall has been lost to the void <//3

(if it didn't its no worries I'm writing another soft thing for today for u! :D)

- soft anon

You are absolutely fucking amazing I care you So Bad what the fuck i MISSED U. I wasn’t able to reply to you for a while because of stuff in ebcord, and then the stuff yesterday stressing me out to the point where I wanted to mostly take a half day away orz but oml your asks were one of the main things that stopped me from taking a longer one you have No Idea of your power

Okokok I’m only showing this ask of yours since I’ve decided I’m going to hoard the Beeg ones you sent like some kind of dragon So Prepare For Vagueness. Our asks only no one else gets to see

(it’s still going to be fuckoff levels of long bc I want to talk abt All the things u sent and I am so very sorry u do not have to respond especially in a specific way i just have so much to say constantly all of the time)

but softy softy softy softy oh my god fuckin. I know when you sent your first ask it was during a Different flood but we have gotten so much content over the last few days I am still in shock bc of it. I know in the last chunk of time, there’s been Discussions but literally nothing will sway me of the opinion that these bitches are Gay gay

ALSO SHOUTOUT TO YOUR NEAR IDENTITY REVEAL YOU RANBOO KINNIE. First 5 mil subs then 3 mil?? Whats Next Hmm the bar keeps getting lower smh my head

Andohohohmygoddd oh my god the. The Pumpkins,, this is so soft why do you live up to your name so well I SOB?? AND. I LOVE GREEN AND ORANGE SO MUCH. I’ve said before on here that green is deffo my favorite color, and I’ve loved orange for AGESSSS its just?? So Nice???? Hearing that I have those vibes is the best vibe check I have ever gotten you are,, far too sweet???

AND AND. THE SCENARIO,,,, I was born in the autumn, and even though I say my favorite season is whatever season is currently happening because I just like all of them So Much, I’d wager that fall is consistently the one I find myself like... wanting to Be In the most. And you have Absolutely nailed down why here ohhh my god oh my god oh my god th. I do not have any of the words necessary to tell my feelings abt this but Holy Shit are you a writer or something you are SO GOOD at illustrating your points i am So. clenches fist. holy god

AND UR OTHER BIG ASK. CRIES. I was so tempted to spam the dash replying I am withholding from all but you instead. Fuckin,, the same sort of stuff you wrote about me reminding you of different kinds of laughter. I am going to Yell So Much I will ABSOLUTELY look forward to getting to hear you laugh n knowing it is You holyfuckingshit

AND I ALSO FEEL THAT SMSMSM i Adore listening to peoples laughs it sparks so much joy it’s insane?? It’s one of the things I look forward to the most by Far when I meet to people I am just,, human beings are so epic sometimes I love it here

M slightly exhausted so the end of my reply is Lackluster and I am so sorry orz but just. You are so wonderful and epic and cool and and and. o(-( i care you So Bad you better have had the best few days ever dammit you don’t deserve anything less stay safe ok???

—love, ram

#i am So Sorry for the lateness i swear to u I wasnt ignoring tou my brain just wants to always reply to you Right #I fuckin WUV u okok you are like. my little monster energy drink u fuel me #.bleats #// long post #.askers #o(-( so tired but so much happier that i was able to talk at u again i am content #.my little medical issue

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magniloquent-raven · 4 years

Note

Number 73 "take mine" I'm thinking jacket sharing with Harringrove (either offering the jacket) if you have time!! 💖 💖

so. it’s not jacket sharing, i hope that’s okay!! and it’s actually a sequel to your first prompt? @bambixxblue and i were talking about a fix-it sequel where billy comes back and im weak for fix-its so i ended up with this. it’s. angsty. but also. soft? idk, i hope u like it anyway!!

basically the premise is billy and hopper were both in russia and had to break out together. posted on ao3

—-

Max turned seventeen three weeks ago. It’s hard to keep track of the days sometimes but Billy’s pretty sure he’s right. It’s hard to wrap his brain around Max being seventeen. When he pictures her in his head she’s still a bratty twelve-year-old with skinned knees who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth.

He tells Hop. Tells him about the birthdays he was there for, wonders about the ones he wasn’t. Cries a little too. Funny how easy it is to do that now. It used to be an ordeal, would burn and claw at him until he broke. He’s too exhausted for that nowadays, lets his tears fall unfettered and ignores the shame that still sneaks up on him when he does.

They have to be quiet, always afraid of being caught again. Billy’s constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows. It’s stupid to risk it, for something so trivial, but he can’t stop the words from spilling out.

“You miss her.” It’s not a question. Hop doesn’t ask that kind of shit, he just knows. Which is why Billy doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.

He pats Billy’s shoulder awkwardly. It’s the clumsy kind of affection a father is supposed to offer and it sets Billy off again, tears dripping down his nose and cutting streaks through the dirt smeared on his cheeks.

They’re holed up in an abandoned warehouse this time. Waiting. Always waiting. The plan is to stow away in the next cargo hold with enough space but in the meantime they’re fugitives, laying low wherever they can find empty, forgotten places.

Hop tells him about El while they wait. Billy’s heard most of his stories by now, but he listens anyway. Listens to the wobble in his voice as he talks about teaching El to read, hears the question under it all, about whether he’ll ever see her again.

Billy wishes he had an answer.

The first time Billy set foot in Hawkins, Indiana, he was seventeen, angry and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.

It’s three days after his twenty-second birthday the second time. An icy December evening, dark and windy. He’s exhausted. He hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s a patchwork tapestry of scars that weren’t there before, a battered effigy of the person he used to be, cobbled together with scraps of what he could salvage.

Hawkins is the same unremarkable, rinky-dink town it always was. Seeing it again is a relief and a punch in the gut all at once. It’s all he’s wanted for three years, but it’s terrifying.

They end up in Loch Nora, of all places. The Byers’ old house was empty, and going too far into town is risky.

It doesn’t feel real. Standing on Steve Harrington’s front porch, suddenly all too aware of the layer of sweat and grime on his skin. This place is too clean, too quiet. Peaceful, in a way that can’t be true.

Billy chews on his thumbnail, stands behind Hopper while he bangs on the door. There are no cars in the driveway, which means at the very least Steve’s parents won’t answer the door. But there’s no guarantee that Steve even lives here anymore.

He’s getting antsy, glancing around, heart pounding.

Then the door swings open.

Billy is seventeen, half-drunk and stinking like beer, colder than he’ll let on because fucking Indiana and its shitty weather, wiping the drool from his chin when he spots him across a room, already half in love by the time he’s clambered over a couch to get a closer look.

He blinks. He’s twenty-two, pale and shivering, thumbnail still between his teeth, and Steve Harrington’s doe eyes still make him weak in the knees.

Steve’s hair is longer, brushing his shoulders, but other than that he doesn’t look any different. Except that he isn’t looking at Billy with thinly veiled contempt or anger.

“Hey, kid.” Hopper says. “Gonna let us inside, or what?”

Steve is silent. Staring, lips parted. One hand still on the doorknob, the other slack at his side. He sways dangerously, and Billy tenses, prepared to catch him if he falls over. He doesn’t, but Billy’s still itching to touch him.

“Am I dreaming?” Steve blurts, looking dazed, unable to decide who to look at and ending up unfocused and hazy.

Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants. The memory feels like someone else’s. A lifetime ago.

Billy bites down on his lip, battling an inexplicable, and slightly hysterical, urge to laugh.

“Dream about me often, Harrington?” Billy says, because apparently it takes more than nearly dying and spending three years as a fugitive to get over his inability to keep his mouth shut around pretty boys (or one in particular). Though now his voice comes out soft, quiet, betraying genuine sentiment. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than the armor of taunts he used to cover that shit up with.

Probably worse.

Steve’s looking at him. Only him. Billy had almost forgotten how addictive that is. He watches Steve’s mouth open and close, tracks the way one corner curls up a little when he lets out a little disbelieving huff that isn’t quite a laugh. “More than you’d think,” he murmurs.

And Billy’s brain shuts off. There are a thousand questions stuck up there, but he can’t get a single one of them out because he’s too busy trying to get past, more than you’d think, echoing through his head in surround sound.

He’s startled out of his Steve-induced haze by Hopper’s pointed cough.

It seems like he’s not the only one, because Steve visibly flinches, “Right, shit,” he stammers, “Get—uh, get inside.” He ushers them in, glancing around, checking the street behind them.

The Harrington residence is one of those big fancy houses with more rooms than anyone could possibly need, but that means multiple bathrooms so Steve (as politely as possible) tells them they can both shower whenever they feel like it. And he fusses. A lot. All nervous hands clutching his elbows and teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between Billy and Hopper like he’s sure they’ll vanish any second and never have been there at all.

Billy isn’t sure how to deal with it, so he avoids his eyes. Then misses looking at him.

An hour later they’re all in the kitchen. Billy keeps plucking at the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt, trying to keep calm. It’s too much, all at once. His skin feels raw, weird and tight. The overhead light is too bright, and the smell of Steve on everything is making him lightheaded. The soft detergent scent from his clothes, the shampoo Billy used when he showered (his hair is a lot longer than it used to be, it took forever to detangle it all).

Steve makes some calls. It’s late, too late to be calling people’s houses but he does it anyway.

Not long after, the front door bursts open.

Max is taller than he remembers. Rougher around the edges. Her hair is a choppy mess, auburn waves sticking out in every direction, curling around her ears, and there’s the sharp glimmer of silver in one lobe. She’s wearing a jean jacket with a torn elbow.

And she’s crying, messy and red-eyed, not bothering to wipe the snot from her nose.

“Where. The fuck. Have you been?” she sobs, shoulders shaking, and she practically trips forward in her hurry to throw her arms around Billy’s neck.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Feels unsteady, like he’ll fall to pieces if he moves wrong.

“I’m here now,” is all he can manage. She doesn’t need to hear about military hospitals and Russian prisons, about being kept in a cell, wondering if he’d ever see sunlight again… She doesn’t need that right now. Hell, he’s not ready to talk about it. Might never be.

He hugs her back, torn between wanting to squeeze as hard as he can, make sure she’s real, and being terrified of breaking her.

She still uses that shitty coconut-scented soap, and that’s what shatters him. He’s crying into her shoulder, clutching the back of her jacket. He used to dwarf her, remembers her being tiny and fragile, despite her fierceness, yet now she’s supporting his weight while he buckles.

They’ve never actually hugged before, he realizes, and that realization opens a door he wishes he could’ve left closed a little longer.

Guilt. Like undertow, pulling him back to harsh reality, cold steel gripping his heart, weighing it down. He should’ve been better. Treated her better. And now she’s here, crying like she actually missed him, and he doesn’t deserve it.

He pulls away, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.

She’s still looking at him, hands on his shoulders, a wobbly smile on her face.

Billy is overwhelmed again. It must show, because suddenly Steve is at Max’s side, eyes gentle and his soft mouth pinched in a frown, “Max. Maybe give him some space.”

She clenches her jaw, probably physically holding back an argument, and nods, stepping back despite the reluctance written all over her face.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, barely louder than a whisper. Then he can’t stop himself from saying it, again and again, gaze fixed on the floor, tears still dripping down his chin. He has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to finally stem the tide of apologies. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to will the world away.

“Billy.” Steve’s voice is soft. He has a nice voice, so Billy focuses on it, through all the angry buzzing in his ears. “Billy, I need you to nod if you’re listening.” He doesn’t want to, he wants to curl up and fucking die, anything but be a person right now because everything hurts and there isn’t enough air in this room and— “Billy?”

He bows his head, twitches, it’s barely a nod but it’s all he’s got.

“Okay, good. Can I touch your hand?”

Billy’s heart stutters, aches. He’s having a hard time concentrating through the burn in the back of his throat, the static drowning out his thoughts. He nods again.

Steve’s fingers are gentle, pulling Billy’s hand from where it had tangled in his hair. He hadn’t noticed the fingernails digging into his scalp until Steve took one of his hands away. It ends up pressed against something warm, soft material under his fingers, moving slow—oh. His hand is on Steve’s chest.

“Can you breathe with me? Concentrate on me, okay?”

He does.

Steve’s cradling his hand. He’s got callouses along the top of his palm, barely there but present. He’s breathing deep, calm and steady. But despite his outward demeanour his heart is racing, Billy can feel it through his shirt. He curls his fingers into the sensation, fingertips digging in as far as he can push them.

Billy almost forgets to breathe he’s so fixated on Steve’s heartbeat.

It does its job either way though, because exhaustion is starting to hit him as the static recedes. He sags, relaxes. Every muscle in his body feels leaden.

He opens his eyes, squints against the sudden light.

He’s almost afraid to look up. Afraid of being judged, of triggering another episode, so fucking terrified, all the time—

“Billy?”

His fingers twitch reflexively, tightening his grip on Steve’s polo.

“You good?” His voice is still so soft, and so close it hurts.

It takes several long moments for Billy to collect himself. Then he looks up.

Max is hovering, standing behind Steve with wide eyes, her worry palpable. Hopper looks grim, but then again, he kind of always does. He’s a respectable distance away, watching. And Steve… Steve is right there still, holding Billy’s hand and looking at him like he cares, doe eyes shining, fixed on Billy’s face.

“I’m okay,” Billy says, voice rough. He sounds like hell, but they all visibly relax anyway.

The room is silent for too long after that. It feels tense in a distant way, like it would be awkward if Billy had the energy to care, was awake enough to feel anything but vaguely fuzzy. He’s still got a handful of shirt and doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon. Steve’s the only thing keeping him upright, and he hasn’t let go either.

“Did… did I do something wrong?” Max asks, her voice is small and tremulous and cuts right through Billy.

“No!” he’s quick to cut in, “No. Max. It’s…” Billy trembles, stutters to a stop. He has no idea how to explain, even to himself, let alone Max. Steve squeezes his hand. His stomach flips. “It’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him, but she doesn’t argue. He wishes he could make it better, but he’s got no idea how.

“We should all get some sleep,” Steve says.

And that’s that. His tone brooks no argument, even in a room full of stubborn assholes. Apparently, the past few years have given Steve time to hone his babysitting skills. Or maybe they’re all just as exhausted as Billy is.

There’s some squabbling about sleeping arrangements though.

Everyone insists Hopper take the master bedroom, Steve says his parents won’t know or care, his old friends did worse than sleep in that bed. They all poke at him until he relents and trudges off, bidding them a quiet goodnight.

Then Billy says he’ll take the couch and both Steve and Max yell at him.

Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, guys,” he mutters. He’s not about to make Max sleep on the weird little couch (he’s done enough to her already) and putting Steve out in his own house would be shitty. “It’s not like I haven’t slept on worse.” He winces as he says it, realizing as the words come out of his mouth that it’s probably the wrong thing to say. It was meant as a reassurance, that he would in fact be fine with the couch, because at least it’s clean and warm, but all it does is make Max look sad and put a little wrinkle between Steve’s eyebrows.

“I’ve slept on this couch before,” Max says, a stubborn tilt to her jaw, “I’ll take it.”

Steve scoffs at that, “You complain every time you have to sleep on that couch, Max. Take the guest bed. Billy can take mine.” His fingers tense when he says it, and Billy realizes they’re still holding hands. His hand slipped from Steve’s shirt while they were bullying Hopper into taking the master suite, but Steve has yet to let go.

And… suddenly he wants nothing more than to sleep in Steve’s bed. But. “Only if you come with me,” he blurts.

Which is really not how he should have said that, but it’s out there now.

“Oh my god,” he hears Max mutter.

His whole head feels like it’s on fire. “Shit. I—I mean—”

“Okay,” Steve says hurriedly, then clears his throat, “Yeah. That. That works. Uh. Okay.” He’s glancing at Max awkwardly, nervous, but she just rolls her eyes. Billy barely notices her do it, too busy looking at Steve, his heart hammering.

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m—” It’s her turn to look uncertain, but it’s only for a second. “Me and El are dating. We’ve been trying to figure out how to tell everyone, and—yeah. Anyway. I’m not going to judge you, or whatever.”

Well, that was not at all what Billy was expecting. He takes a moment to worry about both of them, be terrified of what would happen to them if someone found out. Then he remembers that El can kill people with her brain and Max once threatened to castrate him with a spiked bat. The knot of anxiety doesn’t dissipate but he’s freaking out less.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve asks, sounding more bemused than anything.

Max turns pink, and it’s kind of fascinating to watch. She’s flustered. That’s adorable. “Since, um. Since April.”

“Happy for you, kid,” Billy says. And he means it. He barely knows El, in theory, but really. The kid’s been in his head. He could recite every story Hopper’s told him about her from memory. He died protecting her.

He knows her well enough to know she’s good for Max, and he loves Max enough to want her to have good things.

She grins, bright and real. Billy’s fairly certain he’s never seen her that happy before, and his heart clenches.

“I’m not sure who I’m supposed to give the shovel talk to here,” Steve says, more to himself than anything.

Billy snickers, and tugs on Steve’s hand, “Like you could take either of them.”

Steve steps closer, looking faux-offended, “I’ll have you know I won a fight once.”

“Yeah, three years ago. You’re a has-been, Harrington,” Max chimes in.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I’m seventeen, dingus.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

He missed them so much. Missed something he, if he’s being honest with himself, never really had in the first place. They both hated his guts before, and he… he was a mess. Still is. Just a different kind now. But being here, being part of this, is something he always on some level wanted and…

“Oh my god, Billy, are you okay?” Max asks, concern bleeding into her voice.

He’s crying again, smiles through the tears. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #a raven's writing desk #i kind of want more to this #like #el didn't even SHOW P #UP*#but it's almost 2am #rn #and #this is already so long lmao

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sinful-imagines · 4 years

Text

3 times Koichi was the mom friend and one time he was just a mom

aka The dumb Duwang Gang fic I spent far too long on

AO3 link

Word count: 5442

It was a late Sunday afternoon, and Koichi was enjoying some much needed relaxation time. He wasn’t really doing anything in particular, just laying in bed and listening to the same handful of songs on repeat. Everything was calm and peaceful, just like Koichi wanted.

So of course that’s when he gets a call from one of the most chaotic people in his life, Josuke.

When they first met, Josuke seemed similar to Koichi in the sense that he was relaxed and levelheaded, but as their friendship developed he realized that this was not the case. Koichi didn’t mind all that much though, it was nice to have a bit of spice in his life. Sometimes it was a bit too much, though.

He picked up the call after a few rings, a bit sad that his relaxation had been interrupted. But he tried to push that thought aside and let a smile grace his face. “Hey, what’s up?” He asked, sitting up and unplugging his headphones.

“Oh, not much. But could I ask you for a favor?” Koichi was intrigued by this, seeing as Josuke rarely ever asked for favors, causing his mind to run with possible circumstances.

“Sure! What do you need?” Koichi responded a bit too quickly, wanting to be a nice and reliable friend.

“Oh thank god, I was so worried that you’d say no. I want to order something online but we’re moving soon so I don’t want it to arrive at our old address, so could I ship it to your place? I’ll pay you a few hundred yen for the trouble,” Koichi’s face lit up at that. He could be a good friend and get paid at the same time? It sounded perfect, and Koichi couldn’t wait to help out.

“Absolutely! Just wondering though, what are you get-” Koichi started, but was cut off as Josuke hung up the call. He thought it was odd, but didn’t put too much thought into it. He sighed, laying back down and smiling.

A few weeks later, a package arrived at Koichi’s door. Despite the fact that it was addressed to ‘Koochie Horse’ he immediately assumed it was Josuke’s package. He still had no idea about the contents of it, having completely forgotten about it until a few moments ago. Although he knew that it was probably nosy to snoop through whatever Josuke had bought, curiosity got the best of him and he decided to open up the package. After all, it was probably just a new textbook or that new racing game he’d been talking about for a while.

Right?

Wrong.

The first thing innocent little Koichi saw upon opening the package was a small round container with the label ‘Gamer Girl Bath Water.’ He was confused to say the least and decided to take it out of the package, gasping quietly at the realization that it was in fact someone’s bathwater. Disgusted and disappointed at the same time, Koichi ran upstairs to give Josuke a call. He clicked on the contact as quickly as he could and eagerly waited for a response.

“Yo, what’s u-”

“The package came.”

“Wait I can explain-” Josuke pleaded, very obviously holding back a laugh. “I did it ironically, I don’t actually want someone’s bathwater. Well, unless it’s Okuyasu’s. But he’s not selling it anyway so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Josuke.. I..” Koichi paused for a minute to contemplate his life decisions that lead up to this moment, then continued. “I’m so disappointed in you. And I’m not even going to mention the last you wanting to buy Okuyasu’s bath water because that’s disgusting.” Koichi sighed, setting the accursed bath water on his nightstand.

“I don’t blame you. Even Oku was disappointed in me, and I’m pretty sure he subscribed to her Onlyfans.”

“That one wasn’t ironic, was it?” Koichi replied, his disappointment growing significantly as he realized that Okuyasu had paid for porn of a gamer girl.

“Nope.”

“I thought so.”

After the whole bath water incident, Koichi became much more wary of Josuke’s antics. So when he asked if he wanted to have a sleepover for the first time, he was pretty nervous. Not to say that he wasn’t excited, he was just anxious that he was going to somehow be pressured into buying someone’s bath water.

Luckily for Koichi, the night went completely normally at first. Well, as close to normally as you could ever get in Morioh. The three of them played a few different video games and talked about the serial killer running around the town, typical teenage stuff. It was only when Okuyasu started complaining that he was hungry did the mom friend in Koichi come out. The group walked to Josuke’s refrigerator after getting tired of Okuyasu’s complaining and collectively sighed as they saw the contents of it. There was a whole watermelon, a few eggs, and a singular slice of cheese. Just as Okuyasu suggested eating the watermelon whole, the group noticed something else on a lower shelf of the refrigerator. It was a small container of cookie dough from Kame Yu. It caused the three of them to gasp in excitement, but for different reasons. Josuke and Okuyasu, like most people, were planning to eat the cookie dough raw and then regret that decision when their stomachs were screaming in pain. Koichi, however, was planning to actually make the cookies. There should be enough dough to make at least one cookie for everyone, so that was the obvious way to go about things in his mind. He grabbed the container and took a quick glance at the back of it, which earned a confused look from the two idiots.

“Oi Koichi, you’re not going to actually bake those, right?” Josuke asked, bewildered at the idea that anyone would waste perfectly good cookie dough by cooking it.

“Of course I’m going to bake it.. that’s what you do with cookie dough?” Koichi replied, incredibly confused. Unless they were going to shove it up their asses (which he wouldn’t put past them) he couldn’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t want him to bake the cookies. And then it hit him. “Wait, were you guys planning to eat it raw?” Koichi asked, the disappointment he was feeling evident in his voice.

“Well duh. Besides, that shit is too complicated anyway,” Okuyasu muttered, looking at Josuke for a split second to make sure that he wasn’t the only insane one.

“Okuyasu you literally just put it in the oven. It’s not that complicated. Also it says DO NOT EAT RAW in massive lettering,” Koichi said, gesturing towards the comic sans warning on the front of the container.

“Koichi you’re not even tall enough to reach the pan you need to put the cookies in. Plus they’ll take like 20 minutes to bake and if I have to listen to Okuyasu complain about how hungry he is one more time then I’m going to explode.” Josuke replied, stealing the container from Koichi and opening it up. “Oh wow, there’s more in here than I thought. There’s probably enough for you to make a few cookies and for us to have some of it if you still want to make them.”

Koichi shook his head at first, but began to think about it more and more. He was getting hungry as well and didn’t feel like eating an entire watermelon so this was really his only option. Besides, he would have the opportunity to prove that he wasn’t insane and that cookie dough was better when made into actual cookies. Koichi took the container back from Josuke’s hand and carefully scooped out 5 balls of dough with a spoon that was laying on the counter. In retrospect he probably should have washed the spoon first, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you both end up with stomach aches.” Koichi warned as he handed the now halfway empty container of cookie dough back to the idiots. They ran back to Josuke’s room quickly and left Koichi to bake his cookies in peace. The first thing he needed to do was find a pan to cook them in, which proved difficult. He searched through almost every cabinet and drawer in his kitchen, only to find nothing but old cook books and cookie sheets. (which he also needed but not as much as the actual pan) Just as he was about to admit defeat, he noticed two more cabinets far above the oven that he was nowhere near tall enough to reach.

Shit.

Getting Josuke or Okuyasu to help wasn’t an option because he was NOT going to deal with the months of teasing that would result from it, so he had to improvise. He felt bad snooping around Josuke’s house, but he didn’t really have any other option. Koichi started by looking in his living room, and while he didn’t find any stools he did find a half asleep Tomoko next to an empty bottle of wine and a porno magazine. While that was interesting it wasn’t what he needed, so he kept looking. Eventually he found a sturdy looking chair and figured that would work as a stool. Luckily it did, and he was able to actually start making the cookies. He’s familiar with the Kame Yu brand of cookie dough, so it didn’t take him long at all to get them in the proper shape and size. Double checking the time and temperature, he put the tray into Josuke’s oven and waited. He considered going back to talk the two idiots but decided against it after hearing one of them scream “JUST BECAUSE I PUT SOMETHING IN MY ASS ONCE DOESN’T MEAN I’M GAY!” It caused Tomoko to stir a little bit, and that worried Koichi too much to leave the kitchen.

After about 10 minutes of staring at the oven it finally beeped, signaling that the cookies were done. As Koichi opened the oven he smiled widely. They turned out perfectly; they were just the right size and they were the perfect shade of golden brown. They still needed to cool off though, but Koichi didn’t feel like waiting any longer. Besides, he could just wait for them to cool off while he was rubbing them in Josuke and Okuyasu’s faces. Carefully using an oven mitt to move them onto a plate, Koichi took a whiff of the cookies and smiled. This was certainly better than raw cookie dough. Once they were all onto a plate Koichi excitedly walked back to Josuke’s room. The heat from the still warm cookies burned his palms a bit, but he didn’t mind all that much. After all, he’d been through a lot worse than a bit of a burn. “See guys! I told you that they’re better this w-” Koichi cut himself off as he noticed that Okuyasu and Josuke were laying on the floor, cuddled up next to each other and moaning. To Koichi’s immediate relief they were in fact not fucking each other, but they’d eaten so much cookie dough that it was too painful to move.

“Hhhhhhhgggg…. this was a bad idea…” Josuke whined, looking up at Koichi’s cookies with puppy dog eyes. “Can I have one? Please?” He said as Koichi looked away as quickly as possible. Josuke was hard to say no to normally, let alone with puppy dog eyes. He couldn’t help but look back after a few seconds, and by then he was making desperate grabby hands.

“Sure, just take one though. But if you would’ve listened to me from the start then we’d have a lot more cookies and you both wouldn’t be in so much pain right now.” Koichi smiled as he realized that he’d won their little feud. He sat down next to Josuke and set the plate down next to him, sighing quietly in relief at the fact that his hands weren’t burning anymore.

“Yeah whatever.. thanks though, these look delicious,” Josuke mumbled as both he and Okuyasu reached for a cookie. It was only then that Koichi remembered something he probably should have mentioned a while ago.

“WAIT DON’T TOUCH THEM YET THEY’RE STILL BUR-”

“OW KOICHI WHAT THE FUCK???”

“..ning”

Koichi is a good child. He never snuck out, never skipped school, never cheated on tests, and never even considered doing things that Josuke and Okuyasu did on a daily basis.

He’s also very compassionate and worries for other people more than himself a lot of the time.

Coupling these two things together, to say that Koichi was concerned that Josuke had been gone from school for the past week was a massive understatement. He kept saying that it was ‘just a cold’ and that he ‘felt mostly fine,’ but Koichi didn’t believe his words. He was incredibly worried about Josuke’s health, especially with all of the Stand users that were roaming around the town. The possibility that Josuke was attacked by a disease giving Stand was incredibly low, but it still worried Koichi a ton. Okuyasu didn’t seem to be anywhere near as worried, which confused him completely. He’d been gone for an entire school week, obviously something was wrong. He made sure to call Josuke every night and make sure he was okay, but those phone calls didn’t seem to alleviate his concerns in the slightest. He always seemed so sick and in pain during them that it made Koichi’s own throat start to hurt. So after the 5th day in a row of him being gone, Koichi made a decision. He decided that he would go to Kame Yu after school to buy a few things and then visit Josuke in hopes to make him feel a bit better.

The school day went by normally like usual except for the fact that Josuke was absent once again. Rumors were starting to spread like wildfire about his absence, something that made Koichi even more worried for his friend.

He went to Kame Yu immediately after school, texting his mom a short message explaining that he’d be gone for a little while. He didn’t have an exact list of things he wanted to buy, he only had a handful of general ideas in mind. He started by grabbing some donuts and a slice of cheesecake from the bakery section of the store, two things he’d recently learned were some of Josuke’s favorites. After that he looked for some medicine to at the very least help with his pain. Koichi didn’t know what type of illness Josuke had, so he picked out a few general cough medicines like Tylenol and DayQuil. Lastly he went over to the junk food area of the store and grabbed a few miscellaneous things like chips and chocolate bars. The total only came to about two thousand yen, which Koichi didn’t mind paying in the slightest. Besides, Josuke had given him a cut of his lottery winnings a week prior so this was a good way to repay him somewhat.

As he walked down the street to visit the ‘sick’ boy, Koichi contemplated calling Josuke to let him know about his arrival. He decided against it after a while though, remembering the few times he’d come over without a notice. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for a response. It took a lot longer than he expected, sparking worry in Koichi that he’d interrupted Tomoko while she was busy. He sighed in relief as someone opened the door, but looked up in a bit of confusion as Josuke opened the door instead. “Oh hi Koichi, what are you doing here? I’m glad you showed up though, I was getting pretty bored. Come on in, my room’s a bit messy though,” he chuckled as he motioned for Koichi to come inside. Koichi was thoroughly confused. He didn’t sound sick at all, and he didn’t even mention his illness. And why was he holding his Switch, he always said it was ‘the reason he was having homosexual thoughts’ for some reason? All of these concerns seemed to be answered immediately as Josuke started to speak once again. “Shit, you still think that I was sick right? Oops.” Josuke laughed nervously as he looked down.

“Wait you’re not? Then why have you been missing school for so long? Is everything okay?” He asked as he followed Josuke upstairs and to his room. He set the bags of medicine and junk food down next to his bed and gave Josuke another confused look.

“Okay Koichi you’re going to think that I’m insane and I don’t really blame you but I’ve started a business. And I faked an illness so that I can stay home for a couple days and keep on top of all of my customers and orders. Also what’s in the bags?” Not once did Josuke look up from his Switch during this interaction, as he was too busy trying to farm for popular villagers. “Okay so here’s the idea. I get Nook Miles tickets from playing the game. I use the tickets to farm for rare villagers. I search for Raymond specifically. I get Raymond. I sell Raymond on EBay for 6,000¥. I use a portion of that to buy more Nook Miles Tickets and then the cycle continues until I’m rich.”

Koichi burst out with laughter at both the ridiculous idea and the completely serious look on Josuke’s face while telling him about it. He couldn’t help himself. Buying Animal Crossing villagers? Who would do that? His ‘business’ venture didn’t change the fact that he skipped school to work on it though, and Koichi’s laughter quickly turned into disappointed silence as he remembered. “Yeah but you still skipped an entire week of school to do this though.. I was really worried about you.. That’s why I came over here, I brought you medicine and some food to help you feel better,” Koichi muttered, feeling a bit dumb for not even considering the possibility that he’d just been skipping school.

“Oh my god that’s why you came over? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worried! I’ll give you a cut of the Animal Crossing money for making you panic and for going out of your way to get all of this stuff for me. I really appreciate it,” Josuke said, still not looking up from his Switch. “I thought I was only going to be gone for a day so I just said I was sick and then my business exploded and I just had to keep going along with it an- GODDAMNIT LEOPOLD NOBODY LIKES YOU YOU DUMB SHIT!”

“Oh it’s fine, I’m just glad you’re okay. How’d you manage to convince your mom that you were sick for an entire week though? And thanks but it’s alright, you can keep the 2¥ you’re going to make from your ‘business.’ Koichi looked over at Josuke’s Switch to find what he was so angry about only to be greeted by an adorable looking lion with green hair and glasses. Why was he so angry?

“Oh you laugh Koichi but I’ve already made over 200,000¥. These people are so desperate for these fake animals it’s insane. Also my mom’s away on some sort of business trip thing. I’m definitely gonna get my ass beat when she gets home but-Oh thank god it’s someone I can actually sell for once.” Josuke smiled softly as Koichi looked over once again to see a cat that looked like an orange. Adorable! Though he didn’t know what made it different from the lion that made Josuke so angry. “Anyways, you can have some of the animal crossing money for all the trouble you went through. Is 10,000¥ fair? I really don’t know what to do with all of this money to be honest.”

That was the first time that Koichi realized that Josuke wasn’t joking or lying and that he’d actually made a huge profit by selling animal crossing villagers. And he’d be getting a cut from it too? Not just a few hundred yen either, 10,000.

“10,000¥? That’s a lot, are you sure? I mean it really wasn’t that much trouble and I..”

“Shut up and take the money Koichi. You can have it as long as I can still have the food you brought me.” Josuke finally looked up from his Switch to look into the bags of stuff Koichi had brought and happily gasped. “Woah is that cheesecake? You’re the best!”

Suddenly the week Koichi spent worrying about his friend didn’t seem to matter as much.

Nothing ever stays calm in Morioh.

That’s something that Koichi had learned over the summer.

So when he was having a relaxing and chill day, he really should have expected something to go wrong. That ‘something’ was a frantic call from Josuke some time in the evening. Of course that itself wouldn’t be an issue, but the subject matter certainly was. Excited to take a call from his best friend, Koichi set down the book he was reading and eagerly picked it up. “Hi Josuke, what’s u-”

“HE FORGOT THE BABY!” Josuke yelled into the microphone, causing Koichi to panic a bit.

“WHAT?” Koichi yelled back, holding the phone further away from his ear because of how loud Josuke was being.

“HE FORGOT THE BABY!!”

“Josuke you're going to need to explain,” Koichi said, hoping that it was a joke of some sort.

“Okay so you know how my dad left yesterday?”

“Ye-”

“WELL HE FORGOT THE BABY!!” Josuke yelled once again, the distress he was feeling very evident in his voice. Koichi knew this must’ve been somewhat legitimate considering Josuke was a terrible actor.

“Josuke I….. what baby? There’s a baby?” Koichi asked with just as much confusion in his voice as distress in Josuke’s.

“Oh my god I never told you about the baby!! So like two months ago when my old man first got here we found an invisible baby and we named her Shizuka and he was supposed to take her with him but he didn’t and now I have a baby to take care of and I don’t know what to do and I-” Josuke rambled frantically, holding Shizuka in one arm and his phone in the other.

“Okay calm down, I’m sure everything will be fine. Maybe just tell your mother that he left the baby and she can call him up? I’m sure he wouldn't mind buying another boat ticket.” Koichi replied calmly before realizing something. “Wait, she’s invisible? How did you find her then? Is she a Stand user?”

“I mean, probably? All I know is that there is a crying baby in my arms and if it keeps crying it’s going to turn my arms invisible and I kind of need to see those. And my mother definitely won’t believe that my dad left an invisible baby here. Besides I’m pretty sure she’ll start breaking down if I even mention him.” Josuke sighed, gently rocking Shizuka back and forth. Or at least what he thought was gently.

“Wait, she turns things around her invisible too? Oh god that can’t be good. Try and figure out why she’s crying and then take care of it. I can probably come over and help you if you want, I have a little bit of experience babysitting. But you should probably find a way to contact your dad so that we don’t have to deal with an invisible baby forever.” Koichi’s motherly instincts were becoming more and more apparent now that there was an actual baby involved, especially considering he didn’t trust Josuke to handle a baby all by himself.

“I think she’s tired but she won’t go to sleep. I have her some NyQuil but I think that just made it wor-”

“You gave the BABY NyQuil??? Okay I’m coming over to your house because I do NOT trust you with this baby.” Koichi was so incredibly worried for the well being of the poor baby at this point.

“I mean yeah.. now that I think about it that was probably a bad idea. And please do, it’s been crying for like 20 minutes,” Josuke pleaded, causing Koichi to hang up the call and get ready to leave the house as soon as possible. It also didn’t help his worries that Josuke referred to the baby as ‘it.’ After somehow convincing his mother that he was going over to Josuke’s house to study, he practically ran out the door to make sure Josuke hadn’t murdered the baby already. He knocked on the door frantically and was created by a confused yet excited Tomoko who had no idea about the situation unfolding upstairs. Tomoko started to have a conversation with Koichi, which although he appreciated it, was the opposite of what he wanted to do right now. He tried to rush it as much as possible without seeming rude, and practically ran upstairs once it was over with. He opened the door a bit too quickly, causing Shizuka to stir a bit and start crying louder. That wasn’t his biggest concern though; his biggest concern was the fact that Josuke had given the baby to Crazy Diamond and Crazy Diamond was rocking the baby with way more force than necessary. “Oh thank god you’re here, it’s crying and I don’t know what to do.”

“Just.. just give me the baby. Also you better be paying me for this,” Koichi mumbled as he took the baby out of Crazy Diamond’s arms. He tensed up for a second before remembering how he used to rock the babies he had to babysit. All of his attention was on carefully rocking Shizuka back and forth, and it seemed to calm her down a lot. Although the makeup on her face had heavily faded Koichi could still make out her expression, and she seemed to be a bit happy. She was still crying though, and Koichi could tell she needed something. “Have you fed her today? That might be why she’s crying,” Koichi asked, looking up at Josuke with a slight frown. This night was going to be fun.

“I fed her a little bit earlier but then she vomited all over me and started screaming again. But that’s a good idea, I’ll go get some food for her.” Koichi was very worried about whatever Josuke was about to bring as food for Shizuka, but he didn’t feel like asking. After all he couldn’t be that stupid, right? Well he did try to give her NyQuil so I guess he could be that stupid. He continued gently rocking Shizuka, making sure to maintain a gentle yet steady rhythm. The smile on her face led to a smile on Koichi’s face, which was only helped when she gently grabbed onto Koichi’s sweater. He had no idea why he was so good with kids considering he only babysat a handful of times, all he knew is that he was thankful for it. As he heard the door open Koichi prepared for disappointment but was pleasantly surprised when Josuke brought up actual baby food, a few napkins, and a bottle full of a red liquid of some sort. “We don’t have milk but I read somewhere that you can give babies fruit juice as long as they’re over a month old. Hopefully it’s fruit juice anyway, it didn’t have a label on it. Oh and I brought some napkins in case she throws up again,” Josuke said as he sat down on the bed next to Koichi.

Koichi was more than willing to take the small risk that he was feeding her blood to make sure that Shizuka had something to drink. Everything was going well… too well. But he tried not to think about that. “Oh wow, thank you so much! I was half expecting you to bring me like wine or something,” Koichi replied, wishing that he was joking. He took the bottle from Josuke’s hands and shifted the way he held Shizuka slightly so that he could feed her more easily. Koichi slowly handed her the bottle, which caused her eyes to light up and for her to immediately start drinking. Thinking he did something right, Koichi smiled and looked up at Josuke before hearing sounds of vomiting and seeing bits of red splattered all over his sweatshirt. Goddamnit. As he reached up to grab some of the napkins that Josuke had brought, Koichi realized that he was laughing way, way harder than he should’ve been. “Hey shut up, at least I’m actually taking care of your baby,” Koichi mumbled as he took the napkins and cleaned the spit up off of his hoodie. After that was taken care of he grabbed the container of baby food and opened it up, relieved to see that it had a small spoon on the side of it so he didn’t have to make Josuke run more errands for him. He opened up the container way more carefully then he needed to and grabbed a spoonful of the yellow mush. To Koichi’s relief Shizuka eagerly ate every spoonful she was given and didn’t throw it up this time. She got through the entire container of baby food relatively quickly and it made Koichi feel incredibly accomplished. She also wasn’t crying anymore and had a huge adorable smile stretched out across her face, so it was clear that her hunger was the reason she was upset. Shizuka once again clung to Koichi’s (now stained with red) sweatshirt and mumbled something incoherent. He figured this meant that she was tired so he glanced around Josuke’s room for a blanket, but what happened next was certainly not what he was expecting.

“Mama!!” She said between small fits of giggles, her grip on Koichi tightening slightly. He gasped with both excitement and confusion as Josuke started going hysterical. “Mmaama!” She cooed once again, making as close to eye contact as someone invisible could make with Koichi.

“W- I- has she ever spoken before this??” Koichi asked frantically as he realized that he was now the mother of an invisible baby that he met 15 minutes ago. Though thinking about it more he didn’t really mind it for the time being.

“No she hasn’t! She’s never even called me that and I’ve had that thing for way longer. Bitch.” Josuke clearly looked angry about this and it made Koichi laugh a bit.

“Well I didn’t give her NyQuil and actually fed her. Maybe if you take her for a bit she’ll warm up to you.” He attempted to pry Shizuka’s hands off of his sweatshirt which proved to be way more difficult than he thought. Once he did though, she seemed to go into Josuke’s arms with ease. Josuke’s eyes lit up as the baby was shifted into his hands, panicking a bit before remembering the rhythm that Koichi had kept while rocking her. He did that for quite some time until Shizuka seemed just as comfortable and happy as she was in her ‘mom’s’ arms. After a while, her eyes closed and she started to drift off to sleep. “M..ama..” she mumbled softly as she snuggled closer into Josuke’s arms. He tried his very best to hold back a laugh so he wouldn’t wake her up, but he couldn’t help it. Luckily Shizuka seemed to be a heavy sleeper and it didn’t bother her too much.

“Ha, we’re both her moms! That’s gay,” Josuke said with far too much laughter following it. Koichi sighed once again, something he’d been accustomed to during his friendship with Josuke.

“Yeah shut up, let’s find a place to keep while she sleeps.” Koichi’s eyes darted around Josuke’s room to find somewhere to keep her, eventually landing on a small basket in the corner. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, but they didn’t have many other options. He put one of Josuke’s pillows into the basket along with a towel for a blanket and motioned for him to put Shizuka in it. He did, (actually being gentle for once) and she subconsciously snuggled up against the pillow. As they shared a relieved and happy glance with each other, they started to think about what else they should do considering it was only about 6pm.

“Wanna play F-Mega? I just unlocked some secret tracks?”

“Sure!”

Being a lesbian mother to an invisible baby was certainly not the way Koichi expected the summer to end, but he should have known that nothing is expected in Morioh.

#part 4 josuke #koichi #okuyasu #duwang gang #fic #jjba #dumb shit #someone please read this #jjba part 4 #diu

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mithranqueersmusings · 3 years

Text

The Night Before XII

Chapter: 12/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following day was spent rather unproductively, Ringo hardly moved from his bed and refused to get dressed into anything decent. Paul and John had left early, they could easily tell when Ringo wanted to left alone, but they ensured that at least one of them would be available should Ringo need anything at all. Last night hardly felt tangible, but the grogginess of Ringo's mind and the overhanging sadness made it difficult to forget. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt so bummed out about: was it merely the pain he felt to see George with another man? Or was it the sheer humiliation Ringo had experienced, having to expose his feelings to George in such an unappealing way? Perhaps it was a mixture of both, but he was determined to only let it sully this single day for tomorrow held endless possibilities and he truly believed that the date with George would still go fairly well, even with all this tension now risen to the surface.

Sometimes it was nice to have days like this, comfortably lounging around in pyjamas with no real objectives in mind. Ringo channelled out any lasting aggression he was harbouring by blasting music on his speakers, just about loud enough to stop himself from thinking. He had more than several comfort films to watch, many of which starred his favourite actor Peter Sellers, to make the time fly by without much thought. Throughout the day he conversed sparsely with John and Paul, neither of them addressing the actual events of last night but their concerned tones were enough of an allusion.

He treated himself to some pizza for dinner, settling down in front of his television and letting the hours pass. These days of nothingness were necessary, especially with the amount of excitement he'd been unwillingly plagued with this past week. Part of him debated not even bothering to get into bed, just to gradually pass into unconsciousness on his sofa, but the mature section of his mind - one which was often ignored - convinced him to tuck himself into the covers and let sleep wash over him.

Ringo gladly slept well into the afternoon, the only thing getting him out of bed was his growling stomach. Reaching for his phone he swiped away a variety of meaningless notifications then paused when he noticed a text from George. His mixed feelings were considerably less tangled than they had been previously, but there was still a hint of dread in his stomach when he thought about him.

Look outside your door.

It was sent a couple of hours ago, Ringo worried he'd missed whatever surprise had been waiting for him. He didn't appreciate the cryptic tone, nonetheless he padded over to the front of his flat and cautiously opened the door. Sitting before him was a vase sporting a diverse bouquet of flowers, Ringo wasn't even sure he could name half of them. He looked at it for a while, registering how to fit this in with his torn attitude towards George, and noticed a small card perked upon one of the leaves; he picked it up and inspected it closely.

First of many treats I have planned for tonight. I hope your hangover isn't too bad and you aren't regretting giving me another chance.

Ringo found himself smiling, he must have looked rather odd standing in nothing but his boxers and socks clutching onto this card for longer than he needed to. The thought of one of his neighbours seeing him in this precarious situation spurred him to take the vase inside and shut the door behind him, he inhaled the fresh smell deeply as he brought them into the kitchen to find an adequate placement. He couldn't deny how beautiful they looked, as much as his pessimism wanted to convince him that this was merely a disingenuous ploy. It was difficult to hold onto the resentment, Ringo found himself leaning more towards the attitude that it was merely an extremely unfortunate situation and that George had never intended on hurting him. What use was there in holding onto the past?

Drinking his morning cup of tea, Ringo stared at the flowers before he realised he should probably respond to George's text.

sorry i only just woke up the flowers are gorgeous thank you so much

You're welcome It's the least I can do really There's plenty more where that came from

flowers or surprises??

Both Just you wait

havent got much a choice have i?

I can pick up you around 7 Does that work for you?

it sure does

Ringo debated whether to send another text, he really wanted to clear the air completely but wondered whether it would be better to do it in person. The last thing he wanted was for the whole night to feel like George was having to make it up to him, rather than it being an enjoyable night for the both of them. He understood George's guilt completely, but it would no doubt make him feel rather ridiculous with the forced nature of it all. If only things could just go back to normal, was that too much to ask? He let out a sigh, drafting out a message and staring at it for a while.

i dont want this to come across as harsh or ungrateful or anything but could we leave out any conversation about last night?? i just want to have a good time and not think about that stupid stuff

Impulsively, Ringo sent it without much further thought. He knew it wasn't the most coherent or effective way of getting across his jumbled thought process but the last thing he needed was even more stress seeping into today.

Last night? What happened last night? I was at home didn't step outside for a second

you're right how silly of me must have you confused for someone else

Ringo felt relief washing over him, a grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare at the message from George. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be as stressful as he'd originally anticipated, he'd almost forgotten how at ease George was able to make him feel.

Now arrived the age old dilemma: what on Earth was he meant to wear? He probably should've asked how upscale the place was that George had picked out for them, he didn't want to risk dressing up too much and looking like a fool. Not that Ringo had a great array of formal clothes to choose from, he wasn't one to frequent snobbish establishments if he could help it. He emptied out almost his entire wardrobe, tossing clothes behind him into barely distinguishable piles like he was starring in a teen movie. It took far longer than necessary to narrow down his choices, eventually settling on a navy jumper and some dark trousers. Looking at himself in the mirror he realised there was no way this outfit reflected the amount of time he'd spent choosing it, but the last thing Ringo was about to do was spend more time agonising over something that no doubt didn't matter much at all.

His stomach started rumbling while he waited for George to arrive, he only hoped the food would be appealing. Ringo had a reputation for being a picky eater, not that he could necessarily help it with his endless list of allergies. He found himself worrying that wherever they went Ringo wouldn't be able to eat anything and it would spiral the entire date into disaster. Exactly where this paranoia came from he didn't know, he only hoped it would disappear as soon as he laid eyes on George.

When the long-awaited text finally arrived, Ringo grabbed his jacket and hurried down the stairs. If he didn't eat soon he felt like he was going to pass out, he knew that wasn't truly the case but he couldn't deny that it felt that way. George beamed at him through the glass window, Ringo reciprocated the grin without it feeling even the slightest bit forced. Everything felt normal, thank goodness.

"Don't you look dashing?" George spoke first, a playful tone in his voice.

"Why thank you." Ringo stepped out of the building "I wasn't quite sure what to wear, if I'm being honest."

George was sporting a dark green turtleneck, on top of which he wore a black chequered blazer with trousers to match. It was the most dressed up Ringo had ever seen him, and it was a pleasant sight to say the least.

"Well you look great." George reassured him "Now, I'm absolutely starving so let's get a move on."

They slid into George's car, Ringo felt a little strange to not be the one doing the driving. As they began pulling out onto the main road, Ringo felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Trying to be polite, he decided to ignore it, it was likely only Paul or John wishing him good luck on his date. Neither of them spoke much as they drove, they'd have plenty of time to talk once they got to the restaurant. George hummed to himself rather quietly, Ringo wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing it. After several minutes, George's hand gradually moved away from the steering wheel and onto Ringo's thigh; he never turned to look at him, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. Experimentally he began rubbing his thumb on the fabric of Ringo's trousers, it was a sweet gesture that Ringo appreciated. Ringo gathered the courage to press it one step further, sliding his own hand underneath and interlocking their fingers together. Once again George didn't turn, but a small smile spread on his face. Ringo wasn't sure this was exactly the safest way to drive, but it helped relax his nerves a little.

Not too much time had passed before they'd arrived at their destination, a rather small building with a cosy looking interior. George turned the ignition off but neither of them made any further movements, sat firmly in their seats with their hands still clasped together. The muffled sound of the bustling city outside the car overpowered any potential awkward silence, Ringo was afraid to move lest he ruined the moment.

"You ready to go inside?" George asked, his voice far quieter than necessary, finally turning to face Ringo.

Ringo nodded, hopefully managing to hide his disappointment as George's hand slipped away. They both stepped outside of the car and made their way towards the restaurant, it was pretty packed but fortunately George had booked a table for the both of them. Anxiety began to creep into Ringo's mind as they were guided to their seats, he hadn't been on a proper date like this for so long, he felt like he'd forgotten how to make regular conversation. Yet sitting down across from George made all those worries disappear, all he needed was the smallest amount of eye contact and he felt safe once again.

"You like wine?" George asked, perusing the drinks menu.

"I can't lie, I'm not a fan." Ringo didn't want to risk sounding rude.

"How about a cocktail or something? Just don't look at the prices." George chuckled "Whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd love a Sex on the Beach, if you're offering." Ringo said rather sheepishly.

"Last time I checked Liverpool didn't have any beaches." George feigned a quizzical expression "I think I'll have one too."

The drinks didn't take too long to arrive, Ringo felt relieved to get some alcohol in his body to help him relax. Although he was determined to not get too drunk tonight, it was about time he experienced George's company sober. The atmosphere of the restaurant was nice, rather homely, far less intimidating than the grand vision Ringo had conjured during one of his bouts of paranoia.

Everything just felt right, there was nowhere else he'd rather be or anyone else he'd rather be with. The gleam in George's eyes and the faint smile always barely hidden on his lips let Ringo know that he was feeling the exact same way.

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #george harrisonxringo starr #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxreader #ringo starr/george harrison #starrison

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vixenfur · 5 years

Photo

93 Kink Prompts - check post to see if requests are open or closed!

Requested: GureShin + 50. Mile High Club

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHINYA!! uhhh this is my first GureShin ever wow!! It’s short but I promise to do more with them sometime!! and thank you for waiting so long anon!! ;u;

NSFW under the cut!

The door slammed behind him, and once the lock clicked in place, Shinya’s smirk widened. He looked Guren up and down, at least as much as he could in the extremely tight space of the airplane’s bathroom.

“I didn’t realize what using your thigh as a hand-rest would do to you,” Shinya mused, now blatantly gazing down at the erection straining in Guren’s slacks. He brought his deep, lust-ridden eyes up to Guren’s, admiring the angry flush across his cheeks and the way his brows tensed. His voice was low as he tilted his head to the side and whispered, “So, what are you gonna do to me in here, Guren?”

No words were needed. Guren simply clicked his tongue and grabbed Shinya by the collar of his shirt, crushing their lips together in a rough and sloppy kiss. Shinya groaned and took it all in, heat rushing through his body at the feeling of Guren’s tongue pushing past his teeth without much warning.

He was fine with it--they didn’t have time to waste, anyway. It wouldn’t be long before people began wondering where the two of them disappeared to.

The abrupt movement of Guren shoving his leg between Shinya’s thighs had the silver-haired man hissing with desire. The plug buried deep in his ass nudged his prostate and he shivered, the tingling sensation shooting hotly up his spine. The gasp he made was swallowed up hungrily by Guren’s mouth, but moments later he broke their kiss with a loud smack.

“Pants off,” Guren demanded, voice husky and sending another chill down Shinya’s spine. “Now.”

“Wow, you’re in a hurry~” Shinya teased, though his hands trembled as he undid his pants and dropped them quickly. He turned around without being asked, sticking out his bare ass to Guren with a sly smile over his shoulder. He was sure Guren could see the little gem that sparkled between his cheeks, marking the end of the plug.

Guren’s breath hitched. “Is this why they pat you down in security?”

“Perhaps,” Shinya responded playfully, eyes half-lidded seductively. “You better make it worth my while, Guren.”

It was enough--Shinya gasped, his knees shaking as Guren smacked his ass and then leaned in, sinking his teeth into the back of Shinya’s neck. He quivered, adoring the rough treatment as he bit into his bottom lip to try and stifle his moans. Guren’s fingers were prodding at the plug, grabbing it and rotating it around, just to further press against Shinya’s most sensitive spot.

“Ahhh... fuck,” Shinya sighed, his back arching so that he pushed himself up against Guren’s length. There was hardly any space for one person, let alone two--no matter how he moved, he was grinding against Guren one way or another. More reason for them to speed things up.

Guren seemed to get the message and quit teasing Shinya with the plug--his husband was already prepped and waiting. When he pulled it out, Shinya felt empty, and he couldn’t help but to look over his shoulder as Guren quickly unbuckled his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock.

“Already so close, aren’t you?” Shinya pointed out with a smirk, noting the shiny precum on Guren’s cock.

“Shut up,” Guren growled, his face flushing hotter. Clearly, Shinya had really worked him up when he groped his thigh in the seat for the entirety of takeoff. He might’ve fondled his cock through his clothes, just a little (that was a lie: he definitely did).

In one swift, deep thrust, Guren was fully inside his lover and Shinya gasped with delight. He felt every inch of Guren’s thick cock throbbing inside him, and it felt hundreds of times better than the plug he had inserted that morning. This was worth the wait, and Guren didn’t even bother to take things slow--in seconds, he was roughly snapping his hips back and forth, setting a punishing pace for Shinya.

“Nmmh, fuck, Guren, ahh--!” Shinya almost cried out louder, but Guren suddenly shoved his fingers into Shinya’s mouth, causing Shinya’s eyelashes to flutter with delight. He immediately began sucking, rolling his tongue around the digits as his body jerked with every brutal thrust.

The plane must have been experiencing some turbulence in that moment, for their surroundings shook and rumbled like they were experiencing an earthquake. There was a little drop that caused Shinya’s gut to tingle, somehow making his cock even harder, and he was unable to hold back from reaching down and touching himself now.

Shinya eagerly stroked his cock, shuddering and groaning around Guren’s fingers, feeling everything build up. That was when someone knocked on the door.

“Sir?” came the voice of the flight attendant, “We are experiencing turbulence right now, please return to your seat as soon as you are finished.”

“Gnh--alright!” Guren managed to respond, his voice raspy and all-too-telling of exactly what he was doing. Shinya held back a laugh, now grinning around Guren’s fingers, his eyes twinkling with mirth. But of course, that was when he suddenly hit the edge, right when pleasure overtook him and had him spilling deep inside Shinya with a low gasp.

“Sir?” the flight attendant spoke again. “Are you alright?”

Guren panted heavily, his head spinning. Distantly, Shinya heard the voice of their brat who was sitting in the row closest to the bathroom.

“Sorry ma’am,” Yuu spoke up snarkily, “my dad has awful diarrhea on planes. He might be in there for awhile longer.”

Shinya almost couldn’t cum after hearing that, tears of laughter now beading around his ears, but he was too close to stop himself. With a few more strokes, Shinya shivered and tipped over the edge, spilling into the palm of his hand. Bliss overwhelmed him for a moment, but he couldn’t ride it out for long, not with the hilarity of the situation.

When he turned around, grinning cheekily, he saw Guren looking furiously at the door. Shinya snorted.

“I’m gonna kill that stupid brat,” Guren seethed, and Shinya thought that this time, that might... actually happen.

#gureshin #owari no seraph #seraph of the end #my writing #my fic #93 kink prompts #shingure

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lightyagamiis · 5 years

Text

i hate that i want you

Pairing: reader x jungkook Genre: angst Warnings: none Word Count: 1.9k

i’m always tired but never of you...

~~~

losing him was probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to deal with.

it’s been months but the smell of his cologne still filled the air of the apartment you both once shared.

the shirt he left behind still barely smelled like his skin, you refusing to wash it being scared it’ll lose its scent.

you missed him. more than you wanted to admit or even speak out loud.

you hated the fact of you missing him. you hate that you find yourself not being able to sleep because you aren’t wrapped in his arms.

you hate that you still reach for his coffee cup every single damned morning ready to pure it full of his favorite but only to be disappointed of not feeling the glass with your fingertips in the cabinet.

you hate catching yourself staring off into space at the chair he once sat at while twirling your fork around on the plate of food not being able to eat.

you hate him. hate with a capital H A T E. but yet you still miss every part of him.

even the annoying parts, like how every morning he’d roll over and tickle you until you woke up, how he’d tease you over how much of a nerd you were for astronomy, how he’d leave his dirty dishes around the apartment in random places, how poorly he’d fold the towels fresh out of the dryer. the list goes on.

driving alone was one of the hardest parts to deal with. you missed him in your front seat always messing with the radio or using the aux to play his own music. missed how he’d rest his hand on your thigh and gently rub his thumb against your skin and sing along to every song that blasted through the speakers.

but now it’s you and an empty front seat.

you missed riding with him in his car, he’d always let you Bluetooth your phone to the radio(his car obviously being a better model than yours, because yuck using an aux s u c k s) and playing all your favorite songs. he’d laugh at you singing off key and still say you had a beautiful singing voice. you missed holding his hand while he drove and how every once in a while he’d lift your hands and connect his lips to the top of your hand, his eyes not leaving the road.

but now your spot in his front seat is empty, or so you hoped.

your best friend has tried to talk you into leaving the apartment and moving back home with your parents, but you always refused.

“come on y/n!” your best friend groaned slapping her hands to her thighs, “you can’t go on like this! i’m sure your parents would love to take you back in! you can even stay with me if it’s a must!”

you’d just continue to shake your head in refusal, “I can’t just leave…”

you’ve tried looking for other apartments, but the thought of you even leaving this one killed you. you wanted to leave, but knew you couldn’t.

sometimes you sit around and wonder if he ever misses you as much as you miss him.

if he misses waking up to you, misses coming home to you every night after long days of working. misses the endless nights of crying together over bad days. misses holding you tightly against him. miss the silly jokes and chasing you around the apartment. the nights of endless lust and your voice calling out his name while pressing him closer to your bare body. the warm morning showers and washing each others hair and purposely washing each other’s hair wrong to irritate the other. the nights of binge-watching all the harry potter movies and Marvel films.

god knows how much you hate yourself for missing all those moments and hoping that he missed them too.

it’s been so long since you’ve last heard his voice, but you can remember it as clear as day.

you remember the sadness in his voice, the tears that filled his eyes, the trembling of his hands as he held yours for the last time.

you remember hearing the last words he spoke to you and remember feeling your heart break into pieces.

“it just...won’t work y/n,” he released his hands from yours, breaking eye contact and staring off at the fully packed boxes filled with his things, “it hurts me, trust me..but this is for the best.”

you clenched your shirt remembering the painful memory. “I hate him I hate him I hate him.”

you used to take late night walks with him when you both couldn’t sleep, it’s how you two met actually.

the college dorms were too noisy one friday night, keeping you from sleep and sleep from you.

pissed and irritated you changed into your leggings and throwing your favorite hoodie on and stepping into your white converse then quickly bouncing out of your dorm room.

the hallway was filled with drunk kids who were barely legal adults to even be drinking.

you scoffed at their loudness, how could people be this loud?

you found yourself walking in the courtyard, seeing another figure in the distance walking in your direction.

his face was hidden with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head and him keeping his eyes locked with the ground.

you were hoping he’d just keep walking and not even notice you, but the moment you hoped for that, he glances up seeing you.

“can’t sleep either huh?” his tired voice spoke.

you noticed he stopped in front of you, forcing yourself to stop in your tracks.

you scanned him, scanned his dark chocolate eyes, dark fluffy hair. tight skinny jeans and black timberlands.

he gave you and soft smile, having you picture him as a soft bunny.

not letting your guard down, you just slowly nod at him, “yeah, the dorms are filled with drunken idiots who don’t know what peace and quiet is.”

he chuckled, nodding in response, “I feel that.”

you nodded again pressing your lips into a thin line, ready to walk around him and continue your middle of the night walk.

“you know it’s not safe to walk around by yourself this late at night.” he said, knowing as if you were about to ditch his ass in the middle of the courtyard.

you raised a brow, “you saying since i’m a female I can’t take care of myself?”

he quickly shook his head, “no no!” he raised his hands up in defense, “I didn’t mean it that way, you look as if you could totally kick my ass.”

“then what exactly do you mean?” you crossed your arms shifting your weight to your left side.

“I mean that walking around alone isn’t safe because if a group of people, or drunken idiots, decided to gang up on you, you couldn’t take them all on your own.”

“then why are you walking around alone then?” you snapped.

he smiled softly again glancing down at the ground, “I was hoping to find someone else. someone to take walks with, I guess.”

his words hit your heart, probably harder than they should have.

“well...maybe we can walk together then.” you said softly, playing with your fingers out of nervous habit.

“i’d actually really love that.” he said in response.

and since then he’d call you in the middle of the night asking for late night walks.

the two of you connected quicker than expected. you knew for a fact you were the one that got attached first.

you found yourself purposely acting cold to see if he’d wrap his arms around you or even offer you his hoodie.

you found yourself missing him before you even realized you were missing him.

but soon enough, you started to realize the attachment he had to you also.

you’d never forget the way he asked you to date him.

or the way his lips felt the first time he kissed you.

you’d never thought the day would come where you’d no longer have the feeling of him on your lips.

tonight was the first time taking a late night walk in months.

you always thought taking a walk without him was wrong, but tonight was the exception.

pulling your phone from your pocket, you dialed his number, your thumb hovering over the send call button.

you wanted to call him, to talk to him. have him come along on this walk and see how much he missed this.

but you quickly locked your phone and shoved it back in your pocket.

ten minutes have passed as you walked past the coffee shop the two of you used to go to when you both were too lazy to make coffee that morning. seeing the chair and table you two always sat at.

you instantly pulled your phone back out and redials his number, pressing call and holding the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

“sorry to miss your call! leave a message and i’ll ring ya back!”

you ended the call after hearing his voice mail. your heart broke at hearing his voice, but you always found yourself smiling knowing that his voicemail was still the same.

the two of you sat around for hours helping each other with voicemails.

you sighed, thinking he’s probably sound asleep.

or so you thought until you heard his laugh.

you froze in place, glancing across the street to see his well-known figure. his hood over his head, his typical timberlands, and skinny jeans with a white tee shirt.

his laugh was followed by the voice of his friends and then softly pushing on each other.

it broke your heart to see them all together. you missed his friends as well, they were at one point your best friends also.

you couldn’t move from your frozen place, eyes locked onto him, half wanting him to notice you and the other half not wanting him to see you at all.

he looks at the ground, then up and over in your direction, his smile slowly fading at seeing you.

his eyes that were just smiling were now filled with pain.

he stopped walking, turning and facing you.

he took deep breaths, seeing you after months was killing him. his heartaches and all he wanted to do was rush across the street and wrap you in his arms.

but he knew he couldn’t.

“why wouldn’t it work Jungkook?!” you softly spoke with a shaky voice, it was clear as day that your heart was broken just as much as his.

“because i’m holding you back from a future you need. I can’t give you the things you’d want. i’m just some music major and there’s no for sure when it comes to this. you’re going to be an amazing doctor someday and I can’t hold you back.” jungkook responded.

he believed leaving you was for the best of your future, but he didn’t realize how much he’d mess up your future.

he kept staring at you, and you finally decided to unfreeze yourself and rush to him, that was until his attention was taken back by his friends. he jogged to catch up to them, leaving you alone.

never would he ever leave you stranded alone this late at night.

but there was a first time for everything.

“I hate you, jungkook. I hate that I love you. I hate you I hate you I hate you,” you whispered watching him continue to walk down the street, “I hate that I want you still.”

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook angst #bts angst #jungkook x reader #reader x jungkook #angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #reader x bts #mywriting

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louthegreatfurrry · 5 years

Text

Hurt and Loving pt.2

final piece of art trade with @angerydj !! Hope you like it!! and fuck u for making me ship them u bastard

part one

And after that things somehow managed to return to normal. Otto got a hesitant message from Peter asking what he planned on doing now; Otto responded that he wasn’t quite certain.

Together they agreed to pretend nothing had ever happened. To return to life as they knew it; tinkering with mechanics and metal parts in a corner of Otto’s – their – lab. Peter came late at times, as he always did, and Otto shook his head in amused exasperation at his antics.

(whenever the news came on Otto did most certainly not huddle by the TV, sipping a cup of coffee to calm his nerves as he watched fights between Spiderman and his foes.)

And slowly, ever so slowly, the mechanical arms were tweaked and changed and fixed. Otto said nothing as Peter worked around all the minor faults that together made the mess that got them in the situation to begin with, but he’s not stupid. He knew Peter noticed the way he shook, the way he struggled to hold as much as a screwdriver.

(what he did not know, however, was the way it bothered Peter, the way Peter bent over books on the nervous system when he really should be sleeping, or how he worked until his hands were calloused and bleeding.)

And then one day, one final, fatal day, Peter gave a bright laugh. “They’re done!” he said, waving Otto over. “They’re done, I’m sure of it!”

Intense, boiling relief bubbled in Otto. Finally – the arms, without the illness, the help, without the disaster –

He grasped Peter’s arms, and the heat radiating from him was greater than ever. “Thank you, Peter,” he offered shakily.

Peter smiled, then nodded, gesturing for him to turn around so he could help him on with the harness.

He did so, and some moments later the familiar feeling of cool metal against his neck returned.

Slowly Otto turned around, moving and unfurling the arms with care.

The weight – the cold, the slight pain of the suddenness of it, the flashing brief and terrible memories of rain and thunder and fire and blood –

Otto stumbled.

Peter squeaked, rushing forward to steady him, a hand on his elbow and the other on his shoulder. “Doc! Otto, are you – ”

A moment, two, and Otto forcefully pushed aside the images of blood and Peter’s pale face in favor of gently patting Peter’s hand with his own. “I’m fine, kid,” he said, mustering a small smile. “Just a bit… surprised. Is all.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t seem to fool Peter completely, either.

When Otto came home that day he was still shaking, but it was no longer because of his failing body.

That very same night, when he went to bed, he was relieved to finally be able to rest. He’d been a wreck the whole day, body trembling from the weight of the memories of his own actions. Never had he been in any serious physical fights before the one with Peter – with Spiderman – and he thought back to the fight with equal parts disgust and fear for what he almost became.

It was no wonder, then, that the sweet embrace of the dark nothing that is sleep was so alluring.

Except for the fact that Otto, for the first time in many, many years, had a nightmare.

He woke up in a heap on the floor, bedsheets tangled in the mechanical arms – they’d been withdrawn when he went to sleep, why weren’t they anymore? – and sweat on his face, on his back, dripping into his eyes –

there were tears on his cheeks and his bedside lamp was broken, bruises already forming on his arms and chest.

Someone was banging on the door. “Mister Octavius! Mister? Are you okay?” That was the kind old lady next door – she must’ve heard him falling out of bed, or perhaps the lamp breaking.

Otto drew a shuddering breath and stumbled to his feet so quickly that he nearly fell back into a heap again. His glasses were on the floor beside his bed, and he hurried to put them on – noting with a grimace and wince that the right spectacle had cracked. “Ah – yes, I – I’m fine!” he called. “Just, uh… stumbled! Is all!” He held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t made so much noise that stumbling seemed far fetched.

A moment’s hesitation. “At three in the morning?”

Otto cursed, glancing over at the clock. It did, indeed, display a glaring 3.04AM. “Uh… yes! I was thirsty! No need to worry, go back to bed!”

Another brief moment. Otto stood still in the middle of his bedroom, fearing to breathe, fearing to move – “Well, okay, then.” The soft, distant padding of feet, then a muted click as someone locked their door.

Otto exhaled, then turned around to look at the rest of his bedroom. It was a mess; curtains torn down, half the mattress on the floor, a picture frame broken in two peeking out from beneath the bed.

A slight check-in with the mechanical arms painted them as the culprit. But that was impossible – they couldn’t move except if Otto told them to.

And then he remembered the nightmare.

(rain and thunder and flames; I loved you spoken in such harsh tones that it sounded far too raw, falling and falling and endless falling, trapped within a body no longer his own and he feared his own thoughts, blood on his hands and staining his clothes and he couldn’t breathe for the smoke in the air–)

Otto sat down on his comforter, mechanical arms moving to tug the loose blanket around his shoulders. He shuddered, closed his eyes, breathed –

yet, try as he might, he could not hinder a few lone tears from trickling down his cheeks.

He thought it was a one-time thing.

It wasn’t.

He went to work as usual, of course – he wouldn’t take a sick day purely because of some bad memories. And he might’ve been a bit quiet, and he might’ve been a bit still, and he might’ve winced a bit every time he moved the mechanical arms any further than over his head – but if Peter noticed, he was kind enough to not say a word about it.

The second night wasn’t as bad as the first. While Otto did wake up in a cold sweat sometime after midnight, nothing was broken, he had no new bruises, and he was still in bed. So he didn’t think too much of it; the terror was fading away, which was only logical, really.

But then the third night came, and Otto woke up to claw marks down the walls and his bedside table tipped over, curtains shredded and comforter torn.

He did not go back to sleep, instead going to sit in the dark kitchen with a cup of coffee. He shook and trembled so much that he dared not hold the coffee himself.

When dawn came, he was still staring at the cup.

He didn’t go to work that day.

A week passed with nothing big happening. The arms worked as they were supposed to – he even made Peter double-check a few times, just to make sure – and while he slept restlessly, he couldn’t remember his dreams when he woke, and nothing broke.

Then one day at the lab, Otto stumbled in a cable, causing him to fall into Peter. The mechanical arms acted like they should and anchored him to the floor, but Peter had nothing of the sorts and went crashing to the floor.

(thunder and rain and his own shadow looming over Peter and for a moment there was terror in his eyes and there was blood –)

Peter gave a startled laugh, shocking Otto out of his thoughts. “You alright there, doc?” Peter asked, even as Otto took a step back and withdrew the arms. His heart beat. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ah,” said Otto, brushing his hands down his chest. “Yes, I – I’m. Fine. Yes.” He offered a hand to help him up, and Peter took it without hesitation. Otto pulled him up, and then there was a moment’s pause –

Peter looked at him, their hands clasped between them.

(I loved you I loved you I loved you)

Otto couldn’t hear for the rush in his own ears, for the loud beat of his own heart, and Peter’s hand was warm in his and he couldn’t breathe -

Peter let go and stepped back. He smiled uncertainly, but said nothing, and went back to his work.

That night the nightmares returned in full, in such excruciating detail that it was almost real. The water on his skin, the crackling and creaking of buildings, the heat of blood against his hands, Peter’s harsh I loved you –

there were Peter’s screams and his screams and blood and fear and his own shadow and Peter beneath him, shivering and scared and angry –

(you knew, and of course he’d known, he wasn’t stupid, and he’d promised himself to take the secret to his grave, he’d never meant for it to end like that)

Otto woke with a shriek as he flailed out of bed. He lay at his floor and stared up at the roof, noting absently the marks on the ceiling.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but his shoulders hurt so when he drew breaths that he nearly gave up. Slowly he pushed himself to a sitting position, arms shaking so badly he barely managed only that.

There was something wet and thick on his chest.

It took a few moments to register that it was blood.

He hadn’t taken off the arms since he got them back – they’d been designed to handle water excellently, and this far he hadn’t really thought it necessary.

The very next night he shrugged of the harness before creeping into bed.

(helpless, he was helpless without them, old and worn and falling apart, worthless –)

His back was surprisingly light, but his heart heavier than ever.

He struggled to fall asleep, and when he did, he still had nightmares. They weren’t the same, but still similar – dreams where he fought Peter, but the arms stopped working and he was falling, falling, Peter staring after him in cold hatred – dreams where he could no longer move his wrists, elbows, shoulders – dreams where he couldn’t do anything as simple as picking up a mere pencil to write with.

Dreams that always included or ended with Peter giving him a disgusted look before turning his back.

Otto woke up in a different kind of cold-sweat, and while he was still in bed and everything was as it should be, he had never felt more terrified in his life.

It was barely 2 in the morning, but he couldn’t go back to sleep after that – neither with nor without the mechanical arms. He eyed his bed with disdain and went once more into the kitchen, looking for a clean cup.

The dreams would stop soon.

They had to.

They didn’t.

Otto never was the kind of man to deny his own needs. He’d always prioritized his bodily needs (except for when he was in the middle of a project and time bled away, of course) – if he wasn’t in shape, neither would his creations be.

He neglected all that now. A sickening feeling wormed around in his stomach whenever he looked at his bed – and it coiled and pressed and threatened to make him vomit whenever the thought of sleep grazed his mind. He caught glimpses of rest here and there – once in the shower, a few times while typing on his laptop, another while he was cleaning the living room. Never for long – only an hour or two at a time, at most. Nightmares or nausea woke him before that.

How he even managed to survive more than a few days was a mystery, to be quite honest.

Every day the bruises around his eyes got more prominent, darkened in color, his skin more drawn, hair more tousled and dry. He focused less and less on his hobbies, did only the most necessary, couldn’t quite listen when people talked to him.

Then he almost poked his eye out on a screwdriver while working in the labs, waking with a start, and Peter slammed the cables he’d been holding onto the table. “Doctor Otto Octavius,” he said, and if Otto hadn’t been as sleep deprived as he was, he might have felt a bit intimidated at the underlying anger. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Otto said, forcing his voice to stay light even as he reached for something to do with his hands. He ended up fingering with a stray piece of metal. “Nothing at all, Parker. I’m completely fine.”

Something told him Peter wasn’t quite believing him – and that he was currently standing with his hands on his hips. “You are not.” He moved closer, and though his voice was stern, the hand that pushed on Otto’s shoulder was not. He tried to avoid Peter’s accusing expression, but when he looked away Peter only grabbed his chin and turned him back. “You look like shit, Doc!”

Despite being in quite the uncomfortable situation, pinned in place by Peter’s worried eyes, Otto managed a dry, “Why thank you, Peter. I spent a long time on it.”

The hand still on Otto’s shoulder tightened its hold. “Otto,” Peter said, and his voice had gone dangerously quiet. “You are not okay. I’ve never seen you like this before. What is it?”

(his voice had taken on a desperate tone, such worry and pleading and his eyes shone with guilt and concern and Otto hadn’t noticed before now, but Peter’s hands were shaking –)

(he couldn’t say no to those eyes.)

“Just,” said Otto, trying to look the other way again before Peter stopped him. “Just – problems sleeping. Is all.”

Peter shifted; Otto shifted with him, unconsciously causing the mechanical arms to twitch and shift as well.

(heavy, screaming and screeching and fire –)

Otto closed his eyes. Breathed. Breathed. Breathed.

The hand on Otto’s shoulder went lax. “Oh,” said Peter, and it was so quiet and raw and hurt that Otto hardly believed he’d heard right. “Oh, no – Otto – ” He took a step closer, and Otto winced, ready to be hit or accused or slapped or yelled at –

Peter slid his arms around his torso and stood very, very still.

Oh.

(when was the last time he’d been hugged when was the last time he’d been touched, and oh God he couldn’t even remember – )

Trembling, trembling and broken and hurt Otto gingerly returned the hug, wary of holding too tightly and afraid of not holding tight enough –

“Nightmares, huh?” Peter asked, the words muffled by Otto’s shirt.

Surprisingly enough, not seeing his face made this conversation much easier.

Otto stared at nothing for a few brief moments – long enough that even he himself wondered if he was going to answer –

then he clenched his teeth and nodded. “The – the arms,” he whispered. “They…”

A noise of understanding came from the back of Peter’s throat. He nodded gently. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I still wake up on the ceiling.”

The imagery startled a watery chuckle out of him. “Really?”

“Heh. Yeah.” Peter shifted. Otto readied for him to pull away, but he didn’t do that either, only moved his hands on his back, clutching a handful of lab coat. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

Otto swallowed. “I… not – particularly. No.”

Another brief moment in silence, and then Peter pulled back. “Okay,” he said, taking a step back with a single nod. “Come on, then.” And with that he began walking towards the door.

“Wh – where are you going?”

“To your apartment,” Peter replied. “You need sleep.”

Otto froze. He knew from experience that short naps here and there would prevent the nightmares from becoming full-grown demons, rather keeping them like nagging feelings at the back of his head, a sense of unease when he woke up –

but that wasn’t the kind of sleep Peter was suggesting now. “But – ”

Peter turned to face him once more, raising his eyebrows expectantly. But he must have seen something on Otto’s face, for the somewhat-judging look soon melted into something soft and gentle. “Look,” he said, and his voice had gone soft as well. “It’s going to be fine. You can’t continue like this – and I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? If something happens, I’ll be there.” He held out his hand in an obvious invitation.

That was – sort of the problem, really – he didn’t want to accidentally hurt Peter in the throes of fighting his own nightmares, but –

(flashes of Spiderman fighting foes far greater than Otto, jumping and ducking and somehow always bouncing back no matter how bruised or bloodied he became)

well, he was strong enough to watch over himself.

Otto stepped forward. Two steps. Three. A half.

And he took the offered hand, grateful at the small smile Peter flashed him before turning away and walking out the door.

(warm warm warm his hand was warm – )

Peter all but pushed Otto through his own apartment door. Then, when he shut said door, he turned to Otto with a familiar stern expression. “Now go to bed!”

“But my cloth – ”

“Get undressed then go to bed!”

“Brush my – ”

“Brush your teeth, get undressed, then go to bed!”

Couldn’t argue with that.

Otto grumbled under his breath, but went off to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. Despite the fact that it was barely past three in the afternoon. God, what had his life come to…

He was just about done brushing his teeth when Peter’s voice came, meek and quiet, “Otto?”

Otto finished up quickly, then went for his bedroom.

Peter was standing back to him, head tilted back and eyes glued to the ceiling.

Otto closed his eyes. The arms on his back whirred and clinked when he withdrew them into the harness once more.

He’d forgotten the claw marks.

“Are those…” Peter said, trailing off at the end as his voice broke.

Otto hesitated. “I – the arms. Yes.”

Peter glanced around the room. Otto followed his gaze as best he could, taking in the damage he himself had caused. He still hadn’t gotten around to fixing the curtains, and the bedside table had a crack down the side after a particularly bad night. The picture frame that had broken still hung on the wall, but it was poorly taped together, and the lamp beside it was shattered.

Not to mention the numerous scratches and scrapes down the headboard and walls, of course.

Embarrassed by his own lack of control, Otto swallowed nervously, arms still whirring and twitching around his shoulders. He was fully preparing to apologize for – something, anything, everything –

but Peter turned to face him and there was fierce determination in the lines etched across his face. “I’m staying here tonight,” he said, and it was so little like a question and so much like a statement that had Otto not been too shocked to move he would’ve found himself nodding. As it happened, he was too shocked to move, and Peter must have taken his shock to be horror, for he quickly shrunk into himself. He looked away, rubbing his neck, the determination fading. “If… if you want me to. That is.”

“I,” said Otto, who still couldn’t quite believe his ears. “If you – want to. Yes.”

Peter huffed. “Otto, I’m not staying unless you want me to. Yes or no?”

Otto opened his mouth.

“Nothing more than yes or no! I forbid you to say anything else!”

Otto closed his mouth. Looked away; couldn’t quite make himself face Peter like this. “…yes,” he admitted. He did want Peter there, after all – not much he could do about that wish.

Peter nodded. “Then I stay. Your bed’s large enough for two.”

Again Otto found himself too shocked to move, but he wiped the feeling away from himself and decided against complaining.

It wasn’t exactly… what he’d envisioned. But mere minutes later, when he climbed into bed and wrapped the covers around him – and Peter, without a word, curled up against him and fit so snugly against his chest, warm and soft and a heart beating against Otto’s own –

well, it wasn’t hard falling asleep after that.

(and Otto dreamt, but he did not dream of storms or thunder or fire or blood.)

(perhaps he did dream of Peter, but it was not obvious – only in that familiar warmth that surrounded him, only in that gentle smell that hung in the air, only in the distant echo of a laugh.)

(and Otto dreamt.)

He’s woken the next morning by birds chirping.

They’ve moved in their sleep – Peter is tucked into his elbow, curled up against his side, arm slung across his chest. The mechanical arms have surfaced during the night once again, but this time they’ve done no harm – lazily encircling the two of them, one draped across their thighs.

The metal is warm.

Otto isn’t fully awake just yet – for the first time in weeks his breathing comes easily, his heart beats with no problems – carelessness swells around him like sun-warmed honey.

And as he lies there, dozing and slipping in and out of consciousness, he turns his head to look down at Peter.

Some sunbeams have wormed their way in through the shredded curtains – one of them falls across Peter’s face, the other across his hair, caressing his skin and setting it ablaze.

(it is, quite frankly, the most beautiful sight Otto has ever seen.)

There’s a shudder, a twitch, something pulls on something deep inside of him –

and Otto is jostled awake at the realization that he’s in love.

To be so intelligent, he sure is oblivious.

“Peter,” he whispers – some part of him wants answers, but there’s also a part that doesn’t want to disturb his sleep – he looks so peaceful and calm, nothing like the way his expressions twist whenever he’s focused or angry or in pain. “Peter, wake up.”

Either he’s a very light sleeper or he was only dozing from before, for Peter opens one eye and glances up at him, shifting slightly with an incoherent mutter. “Whisit?”

Otto swallows, and he’s not wearing his glasses so he can’t see exactly what’s going on – “You said,” he tries, and then he has to swallow again and start anew. “You said you – loved me. When we – when I was – ”

“Mmh,” Peter says, resting his cheek rather than his chin against Otto’s chest. “I did.”

Otto licks his lips. “...past… tense?”

Peter makes a motion that’s most likely a headshake. “Present,” he says, and although it’s muffled and distorted by his cheek being pressed flush against Otto’s skin, it’s clear as day. “Still do.”

Otto closes his eyes, takes a deep breath –

(his heart sings his soul soars and he hasn’t ruined everything –)

– and tightens his hold on Peter. He pulls him closer, curls up around him, shifts enough to press a kiss to the top of his head, and says nothing.

Peter laughs, freeing one arm to sneak it around Otto’s back. “S’fine,” he says. “You don’t need to say anything. I know.”

And still Otto says nothing, but his heart beats and it beats calmly.

#spiderman #meg og mitt #my writing #art trade #hurt and loving

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livingisachore · 6 years

Text

Dinner~ FwB part. 2 {G.D}

THIS IS PART TWO TO MUKBANG

I’m sorry this took a long time I have been really busy and it only seems to be able to write really late at night...

Summary: After avoiding the twins well mostly Grayson you go over to hang out and thing aspire...

Warnings: SMUT ( really really really bad smut this is the first smut i have written and its makes me cringe soooo bad dont judge please)

that being said its UNEDITED cause i don’t think i could read through it without dying.

Waking up was unpleasant, your head resting on something hard definitely not a pillow. You open your eyes seeing tan skin, of someones chest?

Grayson.

You planned on leaving or at least going to the guest room. You must have fallen asleep.

“Dang it” you went to get up but Gray’s arms were around your waist. You moved them carefully to get up and hope it doesn’t wake up and he doesn’t, thank the lord. You gather you stuff quickly and hop in your jeep and leave to your apartment.

You avoided the twins, well mostly Grayson in hopes to clear your mind of these thoughts about Grayson. He didn’t want a relationship but he kissed you and then cuddled all night with you. That’s what people in relationships do, right? You don’t know, maybe you just over thinking things, like normal. But what does this man want?

You decided after a couple of days you had to see the twins especially after Ethan and Grayson texting you like crazy.

hey

Whats up

Y/N

U ok?

Hey Y/N

hello Y/N Y/L/N

how are you?

Hey Y/N wanna come over, me and gray have been worried about you

Hey sorry bout that have been busy with stuff and i’d love to come over, what time? You reluctantly text back.

sounds good see you than

~Grayson’s POV~

“Yo E” I shouted walking down the hall into the living room. Ethan was laying on the couch on his phone.

“Has Y/N responded to your texts? cause she hasn’t responded to any of mine. Is it me or is she acting weird” I ask.

“She is acting weird but she has answered me saying she was coming over to hang later” he says.

“That’s weird I texted her the same thing and she didn’t respond to me” I wondered.

“Maybe she figured I’d tell you and she didn’t want to text the same thing twice” Ethan tried to reason.

“Ya ya probably you’re right” I say agreeing but mostly trying to convince myself.

It was around 4 and that’s when Ethan said Y/N was going to come over and she was right on time, walking straight in without knocking.

“Hey guys” she plops down on the couch, sighing.

“Hey” me and Ethan responded at the same time. There were no words said, we were all just on your phones.

Y/N seemed off, I couldn’t tell what was wrong but something wasn’t right. She seemed, dazed a little like she was thinking about something non-stop.

“You guys hungry?” Y/N asked out of the blue.

“Really Y/N is that even a question” Ethan says and I agree.

“Why you wanna get some food” I ask.

"Actually I feel like cooking so how about I cook, make a nice homemade meal, if that’s okay” she suggest.

“I would never turn down a home cooked meal from Y/N” Ethan jumps on the idea seeing the fact that he doesn’t even know how to make himself anything to eat.

“Only if I can help” I say, she looks hesitant for a second but reluctantly responds.

“Sure you can be my sous chef” she smiles ruffling my hair.

Me and Y/N are currently at the store without Ethan because he can’t do anything. Y/N is looking around the store going in circles trying to decide what she wants to make.

“You as executive chef today I think you should have know exactly what you want to make” I joke with her trying to lighten the mood.

“Hmm I just don’t know what I want to sometimes” she sighs.

“There are so many options pasta, chicken, spaghetti, steak, soup. Help” she turns toward me, looking at me.

“Okay how about chicken and pasta” I suggest.

“Thank you Gray, sound perfect” she gives a small smile and than heads off to get the now known dinner ingredients.

~Y/N’s POV~

The whole Grayson thing was really messing with your mind. You don’t know why but it-it’s AHH its bothering you so much.

“Y/N Y/N” you hear shouting and footsteps.

“Huh” you question turning towards the shouting and footsteps.

“The waters boiling over” Grayson says taking the lid of the pot.

“S

Oh sorry” you say.

"You okay? You’ve seem off today” he asks.

Other than the fact that I’m so confused about you

“Ya no I’m fine just a lot on my mind ya know” you say trying to convince him, he just nods.

“Hey Gray, go get Ethan the foods almost done” you tell him, finishing up.

“Ooh smells good Y/N, what did you prepare tonight for us Chef Y/N” Ethan asks as you set a plate in front of him and Grayson.

“Well Judge Ethan and Grayson, I have prepared garlic roasted chicken with creamy tomato and spinach pasta” you explain like they do on the cooking shows, laughing a little. You stand across the counter waiting for them to take a bite.

“Its amazing you win” Ethan says with his mouth half full and Grayson nods in agreement.

“Thanks” you laugh as food falls out of Ethan mouth. You grab a plate, get some food for yourself and sit down at the table

Ethan left immediately after done eating leaving his dishes in the sink going back to his room. You collect dirty dishes and start to do them.

“Hey I got the dishes” Grayson say from behind you, going to take the dishes out of your hands.

“No its fine I made them” you argue holding on to them.

“Well they’re my dishes” he retorts taking them out of your hands.

“Ok fine” you give up, sitting down on the counter.

“I hate doing dishes anyway” you give a cheeky smile and Gray rolls his eyes playfully.

You were in Ethan’s room watching him play Fortnite. After playing a few games you got too frustrated and gave up opting to just watch him. You eventually got bored of watching and decided to see what Grayson was doing.

“Hey E as exhilarating as watching you play Fortnite is, I’m bored, I’m going to go see what Gray’s doing” you say standing up.

“Ok sorry to bore you” he says focusing on the game.

“It’s fine, goodnight don’t stay up to late” you say giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Goodnight Y/N” Ethan replies eyes still glued to the screen and you walk out closing the door behind you.

You wonder down the hall until you are in front of Grayson’s door, knocking before slowly opening the door.

“Hey” you says, he was laying down on his bed.

“Hey Y/N, Fortnite get boring” he ask. You nod plopping down next to him.

“What ya watching” you say scoot over next to him looking at his phone.

“Just YouTube” he holds the phone so you could watch to.

You started to space out, getting lost in your own thoughts. Your thoughts were mostly consumed by the person laying next to your. Grayson. He made you want to do questionable things to him. After the conversation you had about friends with benefits with him in the pool a couple of days ago, it got you thinking.

Why not be friends with benefits with Grayson? You wanted to have one, he did too, why not right? Ya it sounds crazy you know. You would usually never think about doing anything like that, ever. You didn’t want to have the chance ruin the friendship but would it? You will never know until you try.

“I’m going to the bathroom” you say getting up form the bed, going to the bathroom.

You was standing front of the mirror, looking at your self in your blush colored undergarments.

To say you were nervous would be a total understatement. Were you really about to do this? What if he rejects you? What if you read this whole situation wrong?

It’s now or never Y/N, now or never.

Taking one last deep breath, you take slow steps towards the bathroom door preparing yourself. You open the door to see Grayson sitting up against the headboard on his phone. He doesn’t notice you for a couple of seconds before looking up for a quick second than taking a double take taking a longer look. Confusion than embarrassment shown in the blush creeping onto his face. You slowly start waling over to him, his eyes not leaving your basically naked figure walking towards you.

“So” you say once you reach the bed, crawling over to Grayson.

“I’ve been thinking” straddling his lap. It took a second for him to react, placing his hands on your lower back looking up to meet your eyes, a smirk on his face.

“Oh yea, about what” he ask looking down at your body.

“I think you could guess” your hands trail up his arms, a smirk appearing on your face by the way he was checking you out.

“I-I don’t think I do” he says smirking, hands moving smoothly up and down your back. He wants to play that game, lets play. You lean towards his mouth, as if going to kiss him but you move to the side leaning to his ear.

“Why don’t I show you instead” you purred, nipping at his ear lobe causing him to left out a heavy breath. You go down his neck leaving open mouth kisses before going up to meet his lips in a hot, desperate kiss. There was no time wasted for your tongues to meet, fighting for dominance.

Pulling away you gasp for air from the hot makeup session while Grayson moves down to neck, kissing and leaving gentle bite marks. He finds your sweet spot causing you to arch you back, pressing your lace covered breast to his chest, a moan leaving your lips.

As he reaches your shoulders his hands trail up your arms to slip the straps of your bralette off and unclips it, letting the little lace that was covering your breast to fall exposing your breasts completely.

His eyes focused on your breasts as his hands come up your sides, under your breast cupping them then palming them in his large hands. His hands were the perfect size to hold one breast in his hand.

The pleasure causing you to move your hips against his making him groan which was really hot for you to hear. You could feel him growing under you as you continue to grind, he was big and you could tell he wasn’t fully hard yet.

You bring your hands up to the side of his face bringing your lips to his just barely brushing them, grinding harder causing Grayson to move his hands to your hips to slow your movements.

“If you keep doing that you are going to make me cum in my pants” he breaths out, his lips curling in a slight smirk, stopping your movements.

“Really” you giggle trying going to move your hips again but Grayson wasn’t having any of it.

“Oh your going to get it” he says wrapping one arm around your back flipping you both over so you were on your back and Grayson on top which causes you to let out a squeal.

Quickly getting to work, he plants his lips on yours giving you a rough, hard kiss going down your jaw, down your neck, meeting your collarbone when he gets you the valley of your breast.

He wraps his lips around one your of you nipples while he palms the other with his large hand, than switches giving them the same attention.

“Mhmm Gray” you moan out your back arching, pressing more of your breast into his face while you hands runs through his hair.

He switches back but this time he gently bit down around your nipple dragging his teeth which surprised you causing you to gasp but than moan. It wasn’t hard enough to cause pain but pleasure from the new sensation.

He continues his way down to the top of your panties, kissing along the waistband but leaves them on and settles himself in between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders. He starts at your knees going down, leaving kisses and hickeys on your inside of your thighs.

He reached your core leaving open mouth kisses over your clothed core causing your hands to go his hair to hold him still and writhe around. Despite the grip on his hair he pulls away causing you to whine.

“What” he says tapping your core with his fingers.

"What do you want” he taps again.

“You Gray, you” you squirm.

“Gonna have to be specific” he commands.

“Ugh" you groan getting frustrated.

"Everything, you, your mouth, your tongue, your fingers, your cock. Please Grayson” you give in and beg. Your words must have done something to him because he tore off your underwear.

He takes on finger and drags it up and down feeling and spreading your wetness before diving right in. His mouth going around your now throbbing clit, slowly inserting one finger, pumping than adding another finger.

“Huh Gray” you breathe out as he curls his fingers hitting just the right spot with his lips wrapped around your clit. Your hands go to his hair slightly tugging at his roots causing him to groan making vibrations drawing you closer tot he edge. You started to become more vocal your moans getting louder.

“Mhhmm fuck I’m gonna-” you moan but he pulls away completely making you groan in displeasure.

“Why’d you stop-” you get cut off by him smashing his lips to yours, you could taste yourself on his lips.

You moan against his lips as your hands trail down his chest to the waistband of his shorts, your fingertips teasing his v-line, before reaching in and stroking his cock. He freezes, his eyes screwed shut, mouth open panting. He was hard and big, really big.

He groans grabbing your wrist, stopping your movement.

“I’m not gonna last” he breathes out.

“Than you should take theses off” you tug at his shorts and boxers with a smirk, he gets up and pulls off his shorts along with his boxers and places himself back in between you legs.

He rubs his tip against your folds, spreading your wetness and tapping your clit. He does that for a while, you get tired of his teasing so you flip you both over.

“You tease to much” you place yourself on top of him grinding, spreading your wetness on his shaft before reaching back and lining him up, slowly sinking down. You mouth open when you bottom out, feeling your ass touch his thighs.

“Fuck” your breath hitches in your throat as you start to grind adjusting to his size, slowly starting to move up and down.

“Fuck your tight Y/N” Grayson say grabbing your ass helping you move.

“Shit your so big” you grind for couple seconds before bouncing harder and faster. The slapping sound your ass hitting Grayson’s thighs and your guys moans was the only thing that could be heard.

“You feel so good wrapped around me babygirl” he starts to thrust up meeting you halfway his hands going to your breast squeezing them as you continue to ride him.

“Shit Gray” you moan as he grabs your thighs holding you still thrusting up hard and fast. You lean forward you hands landing on Gray’s chest your nails digging into his skin leaving little crescent moons.

Grayson suddenly flips you over and waste no time continuing his fast deep thrust. He lowers himself onto his forearms, his face inches away from yours, you reach up grabbing the sides of his face smashing his lips to yours. The kiss was rough, teeth clashing, lip biting.

Grayson moved one arm around your leg placing it over his shoulder bending back over to be face to face with you. With your leg over his shoulder created a new angle, hitting certain spot that makes your toes curl and your mouth hang open.

“Is that the spot babygirl” he grunts bringing his face to your neck dragging his nose to the side of your face continuing his animalistic thrust. You could feel a knot forming in the pit of our stomach, your orgasm approaching.

“Fuck I’m close Gray” you clench around him and he grunts as his thrust seems to get faster and deeper.

“Fuck” a high pitched whine leaves your mouth as your orgasm ripples through your body.

“Oo shit” Gray grunts placing his hands on your lower stomach holding you still, his thrust getting sloppy and short as you clench around him milking him of all he has.

He pulls out after awhile and heads over to the closet and comes out in a pair of boxers and a shirt in his hands.

“Here” he hands you the shirts.

"Thank you” you out it on, standing up with a slight wobble in your legs.

“You good?” Grayson chuckles.

"Hey don’t laugh its not my fault” you whine playfully undertone.

“I’m sorry but is kinda is you started it” he says.

"Oh shut it Dolan" you say, Grayson now in front of you, hands on your hips as he lowers his head to meet your lips. Before the kiss could get to heated you gently push him away, and head to three bathroom.

You are cuddling with Gray when you notice the faint marks on his chest, running your fingers over them.

“Sorry” you lightly drag your fingers over the marks placing a soft kiss on them.

“It’s fine, kinda liked it” he winked.

“Kinky” you wink back through the blush on your face causing him to blush also. You lay your head on his chest with a laugh.

After awhile you thought it was best to move to the guest room, Grayson was sleeping so you move his arm slowly trying not to wake him up. You successfully do so and you go around the room and collect your clothes for the room and the bathroom. You walk out of the bathroom with your clothes in your hand.

“Hey where are you going?” you jump, the rough voice scared you.

“Oh my god you gave me a hard attack” you say placing your hand on your chest taking a deep breath.

“Sorry” he says stretching out and sits up a little.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Guest room” you reply taking a couple steps toward him on the bed.

“Why? You should stay” he reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the edge of bed.

“Don’t want Ethan walking in and seeing. Even though him waking up before both of us is very unlikely but still” you shrug.

“That is almost impossible” he chuckles.

“Come on” he whines slightly tugging at your hand.

“Almost” you point out.

“And there always a wild card with Ethan” you make an excuse.

“Ya ok fine” he groans and you turn to walk away but he doesn’t let go so you turn back to him.

“What I don’t get a good night kiss?” he asks causing you to roll your eyes.

“You're so cliche” but you lean down to give him one on the cheek.

Before he could testify you escape from his grasp and walk to the door open it standing half in the doorway, looking back at Grayson who was already looking at you.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams don’t let the bed bugs bite” you say slowly disappearing out of his view.

“Goodnight Y/N” he says and you close the door and head down the hall to the guest room.

You crawl in the bed and just stare at the ceiling. Your thoughts run wild, thinking about what just happened and whats going to happened because of it.

#grayson dolan #grayson #dolan #grayson dolan imagines #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan au #dolan imagines #dolan imagine #the dolan twins #dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #the dolan twins imagine #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #grayson and ethan #ethan and grayson #grayson dolan smut #grayson smut #dolan smut

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javis-beretta · 6 years

Text

Sigh Not So

this was not requested, but i missed my boy race, so here’s a (long) fic based on my favourite scene from much ado about nothing, which is my favourite shakespeare play. it’s also heavily inspired by a modern re-imagining of the play, which i am in love with, called nothing much to do. 10/10 would recommend watching, even if you’re not an english lit nerd like me. enjoy! <3 (PS if u can spot the quote from the original that i squeezed in near the end, then you’re legally required to marry me, sorry i don’t make the rules) (also the title is a ref to a quote from the play, i’m a nerd sorry)

It felt a bit melodramatic to call Race Higgins your enemy, but it was near enough to the truth. The truth was that you had liked him, once, maybe even more-than-liked him, but, as you grew older, the qualities you had once liked in him became obnoxious. It used to loosen you up when he made stupid jokes about whatever was happening, but now he was little more than a class clown who couldn’t take anything seriously. As you grew up, friendly roasts began to sound a little more serious, and, by the end of high school, he was the nearest thing you had to a sworn enemy.

You managed to fight with him about anything, from the correct translation of your Latin homework to the DC and Marvel cinematic universes. It was fun, sometimes, but mostly just exhausting. Sometimes, you wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier to get along, for your friends’ sake, if not for your own, but then he would make some ridiculous comment about how Parks and Rec was better than The Office and you would remember that he was the worst.

He was annoying at track practices, when his hair was impossibly curly, and his eyes glittered with happiness, and he insisted that his team needed half of your soccer pitch to practice for field events. He was annoying in class, when he argued with the teacher about the underlying racism in Anthony and Cleopatra and, sure, he may have been right, but who cared about correctness when you went about an argument in the completely wrong way.

(“You,” Katherine would say every time that you brought this up. “You care about correctness, especially when it’s opposing Shakespeare.”

You ignored her. What mattered was that it was Race arguing with the teacher, and he was always wrong, even when he was right.)

He was especially annoying at parties, when he’d flirt with anyone who breathed – except you, of course. The way he nonchalantly joked with everyone else, and pretty much ignored your existence, except to tease you about your hair or something you had said, made your blood positively boil.

(And, Davey was wrong: you weren’t jealous of anyone, not even a little bit.)

He annoyed you at parties, but his absence from Jack Kelly’s annual Halloween party left a gaping hole. You were dressed as Jim Kirk, from Star Trek, and you had expected him to tease you as soon as you got to the party, insist that you had yourself pegged wrong and that you were definitely more of an expendable red shirt, than a royal yellow. You would respond in kind, with a snarky comment about how he had less personality than a Vulcan commander and all would be right in the world.

But, he didn’t show. Or, if he did, he managed to keep quiet the entire night which, considering who you were dealing with, just made the former more likely. Towards the end of the night, you found yourself leaning against a wall in the living room, talking to a girl that you kind of knew, dressed as Wednesday Addams, and a boy that you didn’t recognise, in a full Batman costume, face-covering cowl, and everything. Maybe, you had had a little too much of the definitely not kid-friendly punch that Romeo had whipped up, or maybe you were just tired, but, when the conversation lulled, Race popped into your mind.

“Hey, you haven’t seen Higgins around tonight, have you?”

“No,” the boy answered, clearing his throat. “I mean, no, I haven’t. Why?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were almost certain that his voice was pitched a little lower than it had been earlier in the conversation. You frowned, it was probably the alcohol.

“No reason, I just feel like everyone’s here and he’s, like, not. It’s weird. And, it’s so uncharacteristic of him to let a night go by where he’s not the centre of attention.”

You winced a little at the harshness in your tone, and the boy must have picked up on it, too.

“You’re being kind of hard on him, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, I’m giving him the same treatment he gives me, all the time. And, besides, it’s not like I haven’t tried to get to know him – it’s not my fault he’s the biggest douche canoe this side of Canada.”

You couldn’t see the boy’s face in his costume, but you thought that he might have been frowning.

“What do you mean ‘tried to get to know him’? From what I’ve heard he’s a pretty dope guy.”

You scoffed. Did people still say dope?

“Dude, I think I would know. We used to be really good friends, like, maybe even best friends when we were in middle school, and then I guess he just lost interest, like he always does. He’s got the attention span of a studious gold fish, I swear.”

“Well, did you ever talk to him about it? Maybe, it was just a miscommunication kind of thing.”

“Ugh, as if. If he stopped talking to me, it isn’t my job to figure out what his issue is. I just,” you huffed in frustration. “We’re all here, having a good time and making fools of ourselves and he’s just missing in action. Although, I bet if he did come to this party, he’d be dressed as Peter Pan, the boy who never fucking grows up.”

The boy flinched, and you wondered for a second if you had gone too far.

“That’s harsh. You should try to give him a chance, maybe he actually wants to try to get to know you, again,” he said, before drifting off like some mysterious faerie. You weren’t sure when during the conversation the girl had left, but, soon, you were standing alone. You stood there for a moment longer, wondering idly about who that guy thought he was, anyway. You finished the drink in your cup and sauntered off to find some more of that magic punch, not giving the boy in the Batman costume a second thought.

The conversation only drifted through your mind again the next morning, when you woke up, groggy and confused, on Jack’s couch. Maybe you were a little harsh, but you had given Race the benefit of the doubt, once upon a time. He had been one of your closest friends, once upon a time.

You still remembered the last proper conversation that you had had with him. You were twelve, sitting in your bedroom and playing video games, when he paused the screen and turned to you with an oddly determined look on his face. He asked if you had heard the rumour that someone was spreading around school, that you and he were dating. You said you had, still a little confused, and he gave you this intense, unforgettable look, before asking what you thought of it all. You laughed at the idea, telling him, perhaps a little dishonestly, that it was super gross. He was like your brother, you said. You didn’t think much of it, at all. Why would he care, anyway? He had that pretty girl, Zoey. Finch had said that he had seen them holding hands at Sarah J’s party, so you didn’t want to ruin anything for him by admitting that you sometimes wished that the rumours were true. You pressed play and kicked his ass in Tekken.

The next Monday, at school, he acted like nothing was wrong, but, after that, the pair of you started to drift apart. You stopped playing video games together, playful barbs became antagonism and, by the time you reached high school, you had nothing left of the friendship that you had once shared. It was sad, sure, but you weren’t a chaser. If Race didn’t want to be your friend, then so be it.

You didn’t think again about the conversation with Batman boy, or what you might have done wrong to get Race to hate you, until a few nights later, when you were sitting at home alone. You were trying to convince yourself to get up and get something done, maybe cook dinner or do your homework, for once, but, instead you were scrolling through your unexciting Instagram feed. You idly double tapped on a few photos, exhaled out of your nose in lieu of laughter at some stupid memes, and then you reached a picture that Albert had posted, from the weekend’s party. It was him and a couple of other boys grinning at the camera and you were about to scroll past, when you saw a familiar costume. It was yellow and black, with the tell-tale Batman logo on the front, but, this time, the wearer had the hood off. Shit. Shitshitshit. There, in the Batman costume was Anthony Higgins. You had accidentally complained about him to him. Sure, you and Race weren’t the best of friends, but you didn’t want him to think you were an asshole.

You fumbled to your contacts app and called Katherine. She’d know what to do, you were sure of it. After she had got done laughing at you, she offered you a solution: Talk to Race and apologise for what you had said. You knew, logically, that that was your only option, but you really wished that the world would end before you had to apologise to Race Higgins. You couldn’t stomach texting him and figured that you could just grab him after school the next day.

The day went by a little too fast, and, before you knew it, the bell had rung to signal the end of your last lesson. You resigned yourself to your fate and made you way to Race’s locker, which was just a few doors down from yours. He was alone, thankfully, and looked more than a little surprised to see you heading his way.

“Hey,” you tried to smile when you reached him, but you were sure it came across as more of a grimace.

“Hi,” he answered, barely looking at you as he moved books from his locker to his bag.

“Race,” you tried again, putting a hand on his forearm to stop his fairly violent rifling. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced down at where your hand touched his arm and sighed, turning to you, looking a little deflated.

“Fine. What’s up?”

You took a deep breath.

“Look, I didn’t know it was you that I was saying that shit to at Jack’s. And, I know it was shitty of me to be saying that to anyone, but I didn’t mean most of it. You’re on my nerves half the time, and making fun of me the other half, but that was mean. I’m sorry.”

He looked shocked, and a little pensive.

“It’s, um. It’s okay, Y/N. It just made me kind of sad that we aren’t friends anymore. I mean, we were good together.”

He met your eyes, and you were struck by how much you had missed the way they shined when he was being sincere.

“Yeah, uh, me too. We made a good team. I miss that.”

He looked like he was going to say something else, when Albert came up behind him and put two hands on his shoulders.

“Race and Y/N? Having a civil conversation? I’m entering the lottery on the way home, because today is a day for miracles.”

Race rolled his eyes at you and you laughed.

“Fuck off, DaSilva, you’re not even old enough to get a ticket,” he said jerking the boy’s hands off his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “And you waste enough money buying coffee to flirt with Elmer at Jacobi’s.”

“Nice,” Race laughed high-fiving you, and Albert stuck his tongue out at you, before stalking off because he didn’t have a good comeback to dispute the truth.

There was a beat of silence, and before it started to get awkward, Race spoke again.

“Uh, if you’re serious about being friends again, we should hang out some time, maybe go to the arcade?”

You smiled at him, brightly.

“You sure that’s a good idea, Higgins? I’ll smoke you in ice hockey, like I always used to.”

“Uh, you wish. I’m the ice hockey king, baby.”

You punched him in the shoulder and made plans for that weekend. That had gone better than you had expected.

It wouldn’t have been true to say that you had changed your mind about Race right away. You had fun with him, from that first day at the arcade, onwards. It was still a little awkward and there was always a little tension in the room, but you worked through it. You were seniors, you could be mature, if you tried.

(Although maturity certainly seemed to be in short supply when you and Race giggled, together, at the matching sixty-nines that you got on your history pop quizzes, or when he whispered “that’s what she said” in your ear at almost every sentence that came out of Mr Bunsen’s mouth in bio.)

You didn’t hate him, not that you ever really had. You hated that, now, his stupid jokes made you laugh, because you were included in them. You hated the warmth you felt in your chest when you said something that made him laugh, and you especially hated that crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiled at you, sincere and earnest.

You, realised, gradually, that you and Race had never been enemies – you just responded to what you thought was his hate in kind. It was easier to keep roasting one another, when neither one of you broke the cycle. That conversation at the party had been a turning point, for both of you.

Although, you still seemed unable to talk about the elephant in the room. You and Race never discussed how the animosity had begun between the two of you. Bringing it up would force you both to admit how stupid you had been, and neither of you were very skilled at admitting fault. It was easier to ignore it, to dance around it, than it was to deal with it. It was on your mind more often, now.

You wondered what had really happened, because something had to have happened, right? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. People don’t just stop being friends and turn to enemies, like flicking a switch, especially not two fiercely loyal people, like you and Race. You didn’t mention it, though, for fear that you would slip back into old habits.

You liked Race, you realised, even if the two of you were incapable of having a conversation about emotions. You grinned at one another in private moments of understanding, warm with that feeling you get when you spend time with someone who has the exact same sense of humour as you. It was really good to be his friend again, until it wasn’t.

The argument had started by accident. Race was coming over on a Thursday, after school to work on a project for history. You were determined to get better than a sixty-nine for this one, even if that was the golden number. When Race had rung the doorbell, your mum had welcomed him in, pleasantly surprised to see him. You always had a feeling that she was sadder about your losing Race than you were. She was convinced that the two of you were soulmates, even when you were kids in the playground. She called it a mum’s intuition. You called it heteronormativity, but, anyway.

She chatted his ear off as she waited for you to come downstairs, talking about how much she had missed having a boy around, and how glad she was that the two of you had patched everything up. You caught the tail end of the conversation as you made your way down the stairs.

“What ever happened between you two, anyway?” your mum had asked, innocently enough.

Race laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, I guess she just got too busy for me. I’m glad we’re friends again, now, though.”

Your mum agreed, and you fumed. Almost as soon as you had pulled your bedroom shut behind you, you gave him A Look. He was alarmed.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Do you seriously think it’s my fault that we stopped being friends?”

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Oh, about what I said to your mom? I mean, yeah, it kind of was. You stopped inviting me over or replying to my texts, so I just figured you were busy,” he sounded unsure of himself.

“You stopped talking to me, Race. Was I supposed to be super nice to you when you always acted like you’d rather be anywhere else when I was in the same room as you?”

He scoffed.

“Are you being for real? We were fine, we were doing great, and then you started hanging out with Katherine or Davey instead of me, which is fine, but it was so not my fault.”

“You pretty much begged for space that day when you asked me about the stupid rumours about us dating, or whatever!”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I cannot believe we’re talking about this. We were twelve, we were stupid!”

“And, now, you’re deflecting,” you replied. “We were best friends, Race. I just wanna know what happened between us.”

He sighed and flopped on your bed like a petulant child. His blue eyes were stormy, and they looked familiarly intense.

“Fine, it was kind of my fault, I guess.”

You kept yourself from fist pumping.

“It’s just, I felt so stupid!” he continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked, gently, this time, sitting at his feet on the bed.

“So, that day? When I asked you about the stupid middle school rumours?”

You nodded, motioning for him to go on.

“I had the biggest crush on you, and I figured that that was your way of letting me down easy. I was like your brother, right? It sucked. And, whenever we hung out, after that, I just felt so frustrated. I was mad at me, for being stupid and catching feelings and making everything weird between us, but I guess it was easier to just lash out at you. It was dumb, but I don’t think I like anything in the world as much as I like you, you were the first person that I ever felt any anything for. It sucked.”

He scrunched his eyes shut and looked ready to disappear.

“Wait,” you said, still processing his words. “’Like’, as in, present tense?”

He sat up straight.

“I – what?”

“You said like, like present tense like, like currently like.”

He cleared his throat and his eyes scanned the room, as he searched the walls for something.

“Uh, slip of the tongue, whatever. You said like way too many times just then.”

You waved your hand. Semantics.

“Do you, um, like me, as in like-like me, present tense like me, Race?”

He sputtered for a moment, and then swallowed drily.

“I guess, it’s stupid. It kind of never went away, if you can believe it.”

You could believe it. It wasn’t hard to believe, since you could relate. He was waiting, nervously, for you to say something, but your words didn’t seem to be working. Instead of speaking, you moved across the bed, so that you were sitting next to him, both of your heads leaning against the wall.

“I, um,” you took a deep breath. “Uh, same.”

His head snapped to yours and he searched your eyes for humour. He sighed, shakily, and then let out a soft laugh.

“’Same?’ I practically confess my love to you and all you’ve got is ‘same’?”

His eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Well, what else do you want me to say?” you protested. “That I don’t hate you? That I never wanted to hate you? I just figured that you didn’t want to be my friend, anymore.”

“God. We are idiots.”

“Yep,” you agreed.

You sat in silence for a moment, letting the realisation of what you had just admitted wash over you. Race suddenly turned to you.

“So, what happens now?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. You weren’t sure what you were nervous about now, but the tumble of feelings in your stomach insisted that looking at Race’s eyes would ruin you, so you stared at the white wall in front you.

“Because,” he said, putting a hand on your knee like he was bracing himself. “I kinda wanna make out with you, like, romantically?”

A laugh bubbled out of you and you turned to him, finally. You had been wrong, before, about the consequences of meeting his eyes. They weren’t storm-blue anymore. They were blue like the sky on a sunny a day. They were blue like the ocean, when you’ve spent months away from the sea. They were a sight to behold.

You turned your whole body to face him and gently slipped a hand to the back of his neck, playing with the blonde curls there. You leaned into him, and just before your lips met his, you muttered a word, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Same.”

You leaned in and kissed him, with years’ worth of hidden feelings, and he smiled against your lips. You pulled away after a bit and looked at his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, but they were as blue as ever. You wondered how you had ever pretended to dislike eyes as beautiful as his.

TAGLIST: @bencookisagod @broadwayandbookblog @theygivesyawhateveryouwant @crazymecjc

#race higgins x reader #newsies: the musical #newsies x reader #newsies fanfiction #newsies broadway

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{January Collection} #25 (Part One)

Vacancy Sign

Theme: Familiar Friday

If I can’t have you, neither can he. Or...can we?

January in Texas means very little; you might get a reprieve from the scream of summer bugs and the humidity but the sun still shines and if you ain’t careful you’ll start sweating through your jacket.

Monica bumped the taxi door closed with her hip, squinting behind her sunglasses as the driver shuffled around to the trunk to collect her suitcase. Research for writing can lead an author to exotic locations...but that wasn’t exactly how Monica would describe this dying Texas town. That being said, it was the perfect location to gather research for her latest YA novel; a nearly vacant town with a populace in the two dozens just whispered of mystery and she could feel the inspiration tingling the tips of her fingers. Monica may be pushing her dresser in front of her motel door to sleep tonight but it was a small price to pay for adding another best-seller to her anthology.

“Now,” the portly driver spoke up as he set Monica’s suitcase by her boots. “Are ya real sure this is where yer wantin’ to stay?”

Monica glanced up at him and noted the concern on his weathered face, but she wasn’t put off by it. She wasn’t a little girl and she wasn’t white. She knew this place was questionable, but an artist sometimes has to suffer for their art. She nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m sure!”

The driver, Ted, still seemed unconvinced, scratching beneath his cap. “...There’s a nicer city about 50 miles up the road, miss. I’ll take ya there, no charge.”

Now that sent alarm bells ringing in Monica’s head and her brows tucked in at the center, folding her arms. “Is it not safe here, or something?”

“I just been hearin’ some rumors--”

“Well now, Ted, i ain’t hearin’ you scarin’ tourists away from our purdy li’l town, am I?”

Monica and Ted both turned, and Ted swore beneath his breath immediately at the sight of the Sheriff’s car. The alarm bells in Monica’s head didn’t quiet even at the arrival of law enforcement--if anything, they were louder than ever. Sheriff Hoyt was clear to read on his nameplate and his hat threw his weathered face in harsh relief as boots crunched over gravel, closing the distance between them in a few lazy strides. Monica swallowed thickly even as Ted backed up toward his taxi.

“An’ speakin’ of purdy, ain’t you a li’l georgia peach.” Sheriff Hoyt rolled the toothpick between his teeth as he drank Monica in, head to toe, like a man allowed a drink after a hard day’s work under the Texan sun.

Monica fought off a grimace, honestly beginning to consider Ted’s offer for a free ride to the next town--but she turned at the sound of him slamming his trunk closed. “...Ted?”

“I’m real sorry, miss, I just, I got another fare. I gotta git,” Ted didn’t look up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed for his driver’s door.

“Aw, you leavin’ already, Ted?” There was no denying Sheriff Hoyt didn’t sound the least bit disappointed by this turn of events. One might think he turned up just to scare Ted away.

“I haven’t even paid you--”

“You keep it! Buy yerself somethin’ nice if ya--when ya get outta here.” Ted slammed his door closed and locked it in the same motion. “Y’all take care, now!”

“Bye Ted,” Hoyt lifted his hand to wave as Ted backed out, nearly slamming into his police cruiser before peeling out, leaving Monica staring in disbelief at the retreating car. She felt a little like being left in the woods surrounded by wolves, especially as Hoyt’s arm came down, sweeping around the small of her back and gripping her hip. “Now, don’t mind him, girlie. Ted’s a nervous fella--ya’d think he’d be a better people person, drivin’ one of them cabs, but I guess ya can’t learn stupid.”

Monica didn’t know whether or not she was supposed to laugh at that, but when she gave him a smile he grinned back. He didn’t seem to notice how forced it was.

“Hoyt?”

“Luda Mae! Look what just blew inta town,” Hoyt swept Monica away from the road and up toward the general store that also doubled as a motel in this blip of a town. On the porch was an elderly woman who looked tough as nails, but as soon as she laid eyes on Monica her entire expression softened and she took on a more motherly appearance.

“Well now, ain’t she just a peach blossom,” Luda Mae reached out with one hand for Monica.

“That’s what I said, Mama, that’s just what I said!”

Monica had heard plenty about small towns and she’d seen enough horror movies to know what to expect from small southern towns, and it didn’t surprise her in the slightest the town sheriff was the son of the shopkeeper of the only store in town. She couldn’t help but put her hand in Luda Mae’s, though; the old woman quieted the warning bells in her head and though her hands were a little calloused they were soft, doughy, as she was a larger woman who likely gave damn good hugs.

“What brings ya to our neck of the woods, child?” Luda Mae asked, but then immediately shouted to Hoyt, her voice taking on a whip-like quality. “Hoyt, make yourself useful and get her bags off the street. Can’t ya see she’s a fancy city girl? Can’t have her clothes collectin’ dust.”

“I’m goin’ Mama, I’m goin’.”

What might have been an insult coming from someone else didn’t sound it when Luda Mae said it; she seemed to genuinely be complimenting Monica and she followed that up with a gentle pat to Monica’s arm that was threaded through hers.

“I’m sorry honey, you was sayin’?”

“U-Um, I’m just in town doing some research.”

Luda Mae squinted behind her thin-framed glasses. “Research? You some sort of scientist?”

Say what you will about uneducated country folk, but coming from Luda Mae it was almost adorable. Monica shook her head quickly, unable to help smiling up at the matronly woman. “N-No, I’m an author, actually! I’m writing my next novel about a small town, and...this seemed as good a place as any.”

“Oh, it’s a great place! I’ve raised my whole family here!” Luda Mae led Monica around the wraparound porch as she talked, and Monica noticed the motel was connected to the store via the porch’s walkway. Behind them, Hoyt was thudding along on confident boots, hauling Monica’s suitcase as he listened to his Mama talk. “We Sawyer’s have lived in this town our whole lives. They say it’s dyin’ around us but we’ll keep it goin’.” Luda Mae gave Monica’s arm a pat.

“Yeah, folks like you droppin’ by sure keeps the blood flowin’ like wine ‘round these parts,” Hoyt quipped but it earned him an immediate glare from Luda Mae.

“No, Hoyt, I think this beautiful city girl is exactly the type to change all that. An’ I’m sure you’ll find the boys’ll agree with me.”

Hoyt grumbled under his breath at the immediate rebuttal but he didn’t say anything else, and Monica felt she’d missed an important exchange, because Hoyt was no longer eye-fucking her. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her at all--

But that didn’t mean others weren’t.

Jedidiah “Bubba” Sawyer crowded around the broken slat at the back of the general store’s storage room; he squinted behind the mask covering his face, almost ripping it off in agitation because he couldn’t see her like this. Sweat dripped from his brow beneath the mask but he ignored it, and he ignored his younger brother’s curious grunt from behind him. If he blinked, if he looked away for even a second, she might walk out of sight and he couldn’t bear the idea of losing sight of her that quickly. After all, she was the most beautiful girl Bubba had ever seen. Bubba’s breath quickened until he was nearly panting; he didn’t understand what was happening but his chest was burning, his heart feeling like it was on fire the longer he stared at her. The way she moved, the way she smiled up at Mama, the sound of her voice--she was perfect! Like those pretty princesses Mama sometimes read to him about from the picture books. She’d always told him if he was a good boy he’d get a princess, too! Chop Top always laughed at him about it, told him that monsters don’t get the girl, princes like him do, but Mama can’t be wrong--and she wasn’t! The princess was here! She was here!

Thomas “Tommy” Hewitt grunted again but was again ignored, and he narrowed his gaze at his older brother. He slammed his cleaver down on the cutting board, his grunt turning into a half-growl and Bubba responded by waving a meaty hand as if to shut him up. Thomas’s lip curled beneath his half-mask, wondering if Bubba was staring at a dog again. The big lug was easily distracted by animals--or anything, really, and Thomas understood why he was often confused with being the older brother. But no, Bubba was oldest, and he was actually a Sawyer. Thomas was adopted, had been since birth, but he didn’t feel any less of a Sawyer even with the last name difference. Luda Mae, Mama, had told him she’d let him keep his last name to honor his birth mother, who’d died to bring him into the world. Thomas had never known her, or any other Hewitt; all he knew were the Sawyers and though Bubba was only a couple years older he was still the older brother. They’d been raised side by side, both suffering from the same degenerative disease that some doctors thought was a result of impure drinking water, while others, outsiders, might claim incest resulted in their malformed faces. Thomas didn’t know and he didn’t give a shit, to put it frankly. He just knew his face was ugly and he wore a mask to cover up the ugly. It was the same reason Bubba wore his, though Thomas didn’t know why Bubba made his face worse by cutting into it sometimes. He also understood Bubba felt worse about his face because he actually wore other people’s faces as his own. Thomas only did that when they had company over.

The boys couldn’t speak, a result of their disease, but they’d been raised together and non-verbal cues were as good as words between them at this point. Thomas grunted, again, and when Bubba didn’t acknowledge him the younger Sawyer butcher picked up a ham hock from the bloody table and flung it at his older brother, now absolutely fed up with being ignored.

Bubba flinched when the bone connected with his broad shoulder, curls bouncing as he whirled to babble angrily at Thomas for interrupting him. Thomas gestured with both arms out as if to say, ‘What the high holy hell are you lookin’ at?!’

Bubba waved Thomas over with one excited hand, and Thomas lumbered around the table, heaving a sigh through his mask. His eyes were full of boredom.

‘If you’re showin’ me another dog, Bubba, I’m gonna thump ya.’

Bubba flattened his hand on Thomas’s broad back, placating. ‘It ain’t a dog. Look.’

Thomas pressed his face against the slat, fully expecting to see a goddamn dog, but what he saw instead about knocked him on his ass. Who was that? Their dying town had seen it’s fair share of visitors, and they all ended up the same way--on the Sawyer table--but none of them had ever looked like her. Thomas was frozen in place, Bubba’s hand on his back, patting at him excitedly as he babbled away but Tommy wasn’t hearing a word of it. The pretty young thing on Mama’s arm was walking past the slat and Thomas drew in a deep breath and his eyes near rolled back in his head as her perfume kissed his nose. She smelled like what he figured heaven smelled like. A man like Thomas was surrounded by blood and grit, dirt and gristle, and he wasn’t used to pretty and he wasn’t used to good smells either--but this girl was everything he wasn’t and goddamnit did he want her with every bone in that hulking body. He was immediately, painfully hard and he couldn’t help ripping his gaze from her just to look down, a little confused by the reaction he had to her.

Bubba’s babbling increased in volume, as if to say, ‘Me too, me too!’

Thomas looked up, leaning a little to the right as Mama, the pretty girl, and Hoyt moved past the broken slat and he growled a little as he began to lose sight of them. Bubba, confused by the growl, tried to shove Thomas out of the way, who shoved back immediately. The brothers straightened up, shoulders square as they communicated through growls, angry babbling, and stiff spines.

‘I saw the princess first!’

Thomas’s lip curled. ‘So?’

‘So you don’t get her! I do!’

‘You won’t even really look at her! You’ll get shy.’

Bubba’s broad shoulders sagged a little. ‘...It ain’t my fault she’s so pretty.’

Thomas’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. No matter the two’s disagreements, Thomas couldn’t be mean to Bubba, and it was true he saw the princess first. So, what’s a little brother to do?

‘We’ll share her.’

Bubba’s head cocked to the side. ‘Like when there’s only one piece of pie left an’ Mama makes us split it?’

‘Exactly like that.’

Monica heaved her suitcase onto the queen sized bed, pleasantly surprised when no dust kicked up from the weight. The room was nicer than she’d first imagined it to be, given the state of disrepair a lot of the town seemed to be in. Luda Mae had been insistent she take the nicest room at the motel anyway (even if that did seem a bit like an oxymoron), and for some strange reason Monica hadn’t had to check in or even pay. When she’d asked about it, Luda Mae had just waved a hand and said something about southern hospitality. Monica didn’t know much about that sort of thing but it seemed like a strange business practice...but who was she to complain? Hoyt had become much less creepy after that weird exchange on the walk to the motel and when he’d told her to give a holler if anyone bothered her, she actually felt he meant it.

Despite the room being cleaner than she’d expected it was still decorated like 1975 and Monica didn’t bother hiding her grimace at the paisley wallpaper and the lace curtains that would do absolutely nothing when the sun rose in the morning. She also couldn’t help but notice the lace curtains were not exactly...the right choice for a motel that was on the ground floor. The only comfort she had, and it was mild at best, was that she had the room on the corner so one of her windows faced the outer Texas plains and not the main city road. Monica placed her hand on her hip, figuring she’d just change in the bathroom rather than her room. Problem solved, right?

For the most part, she’d reason with herself, fishing her cell phone out of her purse. After tapping out a quick text to her best friend, Monica pulled up her agent’s number from her contacts and launched the call. It was just easier; he’d be asking a million questions and she’d rather not wear out her fingers before she got out her laptop and began writing.

“Keil? Yeah, I made it--what the hell do you mean, have I started writing?! I just fucking got here!”

A few feet away in the General Store, the sign at the door was flipped to Closed so a Sawyer family meeting could take place. Hoyt moved away from the door, leaving the sign still swinging slightly as he slipped his hat off, scratching his hairline. Around the general store’s cafe tables the Sawyer clan was settling in; from the Butcher boys, Thomas and Bubba, to Chop Top and Nubbins, who worked as the family’s scrappers and trappers. Uncle Monty was wheeled up to a table near the front by Luda Mae, and even Grammy Verna was present, sitting by her daughter, who was standing at the front of the tables. Other assorted cousins and siblings filtered in front the back door, and one might be right to assume half the town’s population was in the room.

“All right, all right, settle down now,” Luda Mae, the matriarch of the Sawyer’s now that her Mama Verna had moved away the next town over, rapped her knuckles sharply on the table top to quiet the clan. “We got business to talk.”

“What’s this Uncle Hoyt’s been sayin’, about some new meat?” Chop Top Sawyer propped dirty boots up on the table, only for Hoyt to smack his nephew’s feet right back off the table.

“Boy you better straighten up when Ma’s talkin’ or I’ll knock yer damn teeth in.”

“Aight aight! Shit,” Chop Top swore, slowly pushing himself back upright in his seat--trying to ignore Nubbins giggling at him like a little boy. “So who is this, Ma? She gonna be Sunday dinner?”

Immediately, both Thomas and Bubba reacted, with Thomas slamming his fist on the table in protest and promise of violence if anyone so much as even tried it and Bubba blubbering angrily, standing up to the entire family just for their pretty, pretty princess! The entire clan reacted, because as much as the two were known for obeying the family, you didn’t push the Butchers.

Luda Mae smiled proudly at the boys’ reaction; it was exactly as she figured, and you know what they say. Mama always knows best.

“Figure you got your answer there, Chop Top,” Luda Mae placed her hands on her wide hips. “The li’l peach ain’t gonna be Sunday dinner, but she is comin’ over for Sunday dinner.”

Murmurs of curiosity and disbelief ran through the clan, with cousins and uncles exchanging looks and raised eyebrows. The cannibalistic family usually only had company over for one reason, but they were gathering this was a special occasion--they just didn’t know why.

“I been promisin’ the boys a princess since they was spittin’ age,” Luda Mae continued, silencing the clan again. “And I know damn well some of y’all thought it was a joke.”

At this, Chop Top coughed and Nubbins looked around, but it was no surprise those two had been tormenting Bubba and Tommy for years. Hoyt smacked them both across the back of their heads with one fell swoop.

“Well, it ain’t a joke. Like the river run through the dry of Egypt, she’s finally here.” Luda Mae rubbed her hands together with a proud smile. “She’s as sweet as she is pretty, and she’s gonna clean up the Sawyer line real nice like. She’s book smart, boys, so she’ll be good for you, good for you an’ the future Sawyers she’s gonna give us.”

Thomas and Bubba exchanged glances, with Bubba’s smile so wide beneath his mask it actually hurt but he didn’t stop, didn’t shy away from the pain. Mama was saying exactly what they wanted to hear! The pretty princess was going to stay, she was going to be theirs! Bubba slung his arm around Tommy’s shoulders, giving his younger brother an excited shake and even Tommy couldn’t remain stone-faced at the announcement. He was smiling, genuinely, leaning into Bubba’s excited one-armed hug.

“So wait, Mama, what the hell?” Chop Top spun in his seat, looking from Tommy and Bubba back up to Luda Mae. “Why do the two retards get ‘er? She’s so damn pretty, Nubbins and I should--”

“Chop Top I will not have you callin’ the boys that word.” Luda Mae’s tone cracked like a whip and the entire room fell silent. Her eyebrows were near her hairline, one finger pointed at him in warning. “They do plenty for this family and it’s high time they get somethin’ for it. If you want a girl so damn bad, you pick out one of the pigs.”

Nubbins began giggling again, ducking Chop Top swinging at him.

“Now that goes for all of ya.” Luda Mae pointed at each and every one of the Sawyers. “Yer gonna clean up good when you come for dinner tonight, and yer gonna be on your best damn behavior. I picked this girl out for my boys and if you run her off, I’ll let them do what they do best to ya.”

That threat, that promise, hung in the air like a body from a noose. It was no secret Bubba and Thomas made excellent use of their chainsaws and some gazes drifted to Monty’s stumps of legs. They’d use it on Family if they needed to and it was apparent by their visceral reactions anytime this new girl was brought up they wouldn’t hesitate when it came to her.

“Does this peach have a name, Luda Mae?” Verna glanced up at her daughter. “I wanna get started on an embroidery for her, hang it from the family fireplace with the rest of ‘em.”

“Her name’s Monica,” Luda Mae’s smile was nothing short of motherly. “Our li’l miracle baby.”

Stay tuned for Part Two tomorrow--Prompt #26: Monster/Mirror!

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : january 2019 #{character} : bubba sawyer #{character} : thomas hewitt #{ this got WAY out of hand }#{ but i was just SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT AMG }

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maximilliandelirium · 6 years

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somebody out there hates you

a/n: hhhh i wrote this in a pre-nanowrimo mania. wanted to post to ao3 but it’s acting weird so i thought i’d throw it up on the blog for now. notice me senpai fills me with joy, so i was inspired to make *~art~* the setting is anime japan so nothing is accurate and the points don’t matter (pssst! support me on ko-fi!)

Summary: Suzuki joins an anti-cafe out of curiosity and begins to re-evaluate his relationship with Yamato. Suzuki/Yamato (Idol Senpai/Rocker Senpai)

Suzuki didn’t go online that evening intending to join an anti-Suzuki fan café. He usually didn’t dwell on his haters at all. But tonight, curiosity got the better of him. He’d been trawling the net after a long practice when he stumbled across a link to the anti-site. (Suzuki liked to Google himself; so what?) When he followed it, he realized he couldn’t read any of the message boards without an account.

That’s a good thing, I guess, he thought. He didn’t really want to see what people were saying about him. He decided to forget about it and do his homework instead.

At least, that was what he tried to do. He kept thinking about it as he struggled over his assigned reading. What did they talk about? Did they make fun of his hair? His personality? Maybe they picked apart his lyrics. The longer he thought about it, the more he wanted to know.

Suzuki tossed his book aside and re-opened his laptop. He hadn’t closed the browser window. The link was still there. Yamato was always telling him to consider his weaknesses so he could improve. This could be beneficial. If Suzuki tried understanding where these people were coming from, he might be able to win them over, or at least get better at what he did.

It didn’t take much to make an account. He had to create a new email—he didn’t want his regular one linked to the site. After that, he spent half an hour trying to come up with a screen name. It was imperative that no one know who he really was. His usual handle—“SuzuStar”—would give him away like a shot. Suzuki was also disappointed to discover that “YamatoFan#1” was taken. Eventually, he settled on “notafan1234.”

Never having been on an anti-site before, Suzuki wasn’t sure what to expect. He was surprised by how plain it was. The header image was just the name of the page in bright red letters, along with a picture of his face with a “no” sign superimposed on it. He scrolled through the list of threads.

Break Suzuki’s new MV!

New Anti-Suzuki Memes

Worst Lyrics Poll (CLOSED)

Suzuki kept scrolling, horrified and fascinated. He found a thread titled “Important question for Yamato fans—should he be friends w/ Suzuki?” He clicked on it. He jumped when he saw the selfie he and Yamato had taken at the school festival. The original poster had written a caption beneath it.

Ugh. I don’t get why Yamato wastes his time with this guy. They don’t have anything in common.

A user named MerryPip added, Lol same. Yamato actually has talent.

Suzuki frowned.

They probably just hang out because they go to the same school, someone else said. Yamato doesn’t want to be mean.

Tbh, SuzuYama shippers make me sick.

Yamato shouldn’t keep feeding them by hanging out with him.

They only do it for fanservice. I bet it’s in their contracts.

Suzuki hadn’t been planning on responding to anyone, but the last comment had sent him over the edge. They had no right to question his friendship with Yamato. They didn’t know anything about him. He typed, Maybe Yamato and Suzuki are friends because they get along and like to hang out.

A response appeared in no time. As if, Lonelygrrl said. Suzuki is too much of a ditz to get along with Yamato. He totally cramps his style. Yamato is just humoring him because the fans like it.

Blood rushed to Yamato’s face. His fingers flew to the keys. That’s not true! How do you know Yamato is just pretending? You don’t have any proof. You’re just making stuff up!

The backlash was swift and immediate. A gallery of photos flooded the thread with red outlines drawn around Yamato’s eyes and mouth, along with whole paragraphs explaining why his smile was faked, or how he couldn’t stand to actually touch Suzuki.

His hand is just hovering here, Lonelygrrl wrote. All their selfies are faked. Their managers get together and tell them where to go. Like playdates.

Suzuki slammed the laptop closed. He sat back, fuming. When his head cooled, Suzuki reached for his phone. He wanted to ask Yamato about this. (Yamato was saved in his contacts as “Yama heart eyes emoji, guitar emoji.”)

Did u know there’s a whole website that hates me? Suzuki texted.

Yamato answered quickly: No, but I’m not surprised. There’s always haters. You find one?

Yeah. I made an account.

WTF why?

I wanted to see what they were saying.

Delete it. That’s a waste of time.

A waste of time. That’s what the anti-fans had said Yamato was doing by being Suzuki’s friend. He wanted to tell Yamato about it. But it had made him nervous. What if they were right? What if Yamato was only pretending to be friends with him? They’d become closer through school performances. Was that the only reason Yamato continued to hang out with him?

Suzuki texted back: Ur right. They’re just mean.

Don’t let it get to you. Some people have to be negative for no reason.

Suzuki put the phone aside. He wouldn’t go back on the site. He’d just forget about it. Yamato was his friend and that was that. It wouldn’t do him any good to second guess it. Suzuki opened the laptop one last time to close the browser. There were a few more replies.

Jesus, when will trolls learn not to come in here? MerryPip complained. Do. Not. Feed. The. Trolls.

I’m not a troll, Suzuki thought, closing the window. He would delete the account tomorrow. Right now, he needed to get back to work.

The next morning was rough. Suzuki hadn’t realized how much time had passed last night while he’d been reading the message boards, and by the time he completed his homework, it was 2AM. He shuffled into class, yawning.

“Late night?” Reiji asked as Suzuki walked past.

“It took me two hours to finish the reading.”

“Me, too!” Takeru said. “And when I finished, it felt like I didn’t understand it at all.” He looked over at Ren. “What did you think?”

Ren lifted his head slightly. “Huh? I didn’t finish. I fell asleep halfway through.”

“You’re kidding. We have a quiz on it today.”

“I can probably get a good enough grade with what I know.”

Suzuki spotted Yamato sitting on the windowsill. He had his guitar balanced in his lap and he was strumming it idly. The things Suzuki had read last night started to seep into his mind. He pushed them away. I’m not going to think about it.

“Yama-kun!” Suzuki called.

Yamato glanced up and smiled. It looked real. Relief washed over Suzuki as he walked over. Yamato continued plucking on the strings.

“Hey,” he said. “You look beat. What’s up?”

“I got distracted by the internet last night and did all my homework late.” Suzuki blushed. Yamato liked to tease him for being irresponsible sometimes. “But I did get it done!”

“Oh yeah. That site you texted me about. I hope you didn’t talk to anyone.”

Suzuki laughed nervously. “No. Why would I?”

“They’re trying to get a rise out of people. Starting an argument is just what they want.”

He laughed again, this time more forced.

Yamato tilted his head to the side. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s all good.” Suzuki waved a hand. “Let’s stop talking about it. Do you still want to go shopping today after class?”

“Sure. Just remember to change before we go out. I don’t want to get chased by your crazy fans again.”

“I wouldn’t forget,” Suzuki said. He winked and stuck his tongue out. “Are you sure you don’t like the exercise?”

“I’m sure.”

Yamato met him in front of the school after classes let out. No matter how many times they went out in public together, Yamato never stopped staring at Suzuki’s outfit. Suzuki didn’t understand why he rolled his eyes every time he saw it.

“What’s the matter? This is what I always wear,” he said.

“I know. That’s the problem. We’re getting you some new civilian clothes today.” Yamato grabbed the hem of Suzuki’s t-shirt and gave it a tug. “How many of these do you own?”

“A few.”

“You’re supposed to be in disguise. Why would you wear a shirt with your own face on it?”

“Because,” Suzuki said, lifting his index finger, “no one would ever suspect I’d wear my own merchandise. This face distracts them from looking at mine.”

“If you say so.” Yamato let go.

They walked into town, then took the train to the best shopping district. Though Yamato and Suzuki bought their clothes at different stores, they agreed that this part of the city had the best shops. The only problem was that it was crowded. Just getting off the train was a nightmare. Suzuki almost lost his hat.

“Is it just me or are there more people here today than usual?” he asked, squashing it back on his head.

“I think you’re right. There must be a promotion going on.” Yamato stretched to see over the crowd. “That one you like isn’t as busy. Let’s go to that one first.”

They pressed through the crowd. Suzuki bumped into a woman carrying a dozen bags and made her drop all of them. He spent a few minutes helping her pick them up while bowing and apologizing. She gave him a dirty look. He wondered if she would’ve been as mad if she knew who he was.

Or could she be one of the anti-fans?

Suzuki hadn’t thought about it before, but those names online had real people behind them. They could’ve been from his own school. It was scary to think about. There might be some in this crowd. Suzuki readjusted his mask and sunglasses, making sure his face was completely hidden.

“Suzu—!” Yamato cut himself off as he came jogging over. They’d gotten separated. “I turned around and you weren’t behind me.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to stick together in all this.”

Yamato sighed and looked around. Then he grabbed Suzuki’s hand. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you a new shirt.”

The changing room was cold. Suzuki quickly pulled on one of the shirts he’d brought in. It was a purple galaxy print. There were three mirrors placed in the corner of the stall, giving him a rounded view. He was pretty satisfied with his appearance. Suzuki had often been told he had a good face. And his rigorous dance practices kept him in good shape. Yet…

Earlier, while Yamato was going through leather jackets, Suzuki had pulled up the anti-café on his phone. He needed to know if they knew where he was. His fans tended to track his movements. His haters might do the same thing.

Though there wasn’t anything about where he physically was, but there was a new thread: “Is Suzuki actually handsome? Yes/No?” He knew he shouldn’t read it. It didn’t matter what a handful of bitter people on the internet thought. But the urge was too strong.

It’s supposed to be his major selling point, but I’m a girl and I think he’s kind of lame.

His hair color looks so fake and not in a good way.

Didn’t he gain weight recently? No one’s gonna stick around if he keeps putting on the pounds XD

Imo he’s kind of short.

I’m 178 centimeters! That’s above average! Suzuki was shorter than Yamato, but that didn’t mean he was tiny. He remembered what Yamato had said about not engaging them. He wanted to set them straight.

The school festival selfie had reappeared. Suzuki had been proud of it at the time. His and Yamato’s costumes were perfectly coordinated, they’d posed in front of the best decorations in the classroom, and they’d gotten a perfect angle. This site didn’t seem to agree.

Look at this lame-ass Star Sailor costume.

I stg Suzuki drags Yamato into his weird interests all the time.

is it supposed to be funny? Who are they trying to appeal to?

It had taken every ounce of Suzuki’s self-control not to go off on them. Star Sailor was one of his great loves. It was one of Yamato’s as well. That was the whole reason they had coordinated their cosplays.

Unable to stomach any more, he had turned off the screen, gathered a few shirts and gone into the dressing room. He examined himself in the mirror. He still looked fine. Suzuki plucked a strand of hair. Was it too yellow?

He took off the galaxy shirt and pinched his stomach. Suzuki wasn’t as muscular as boys like Makoto or Katsuo, but he had a lithe figure. Nothing seemed to have changed. Sometimes Suzuki’s manager warned him not to indulge his sweet tooth too much. Maybe he should start taking that message more to heart. He felt a pang of loss just considering skipping the cakes at the school’s café.

Suzuki shook his head. He was letting the anti-site get to him.

When he emerged from the dressing room, he spotted Yamato coming over, his arms weighed down with jackets and black jeans. He eyed Suzuki’s pile.

“Did you find anything good?” he asked.

“I like this one.” Suzuki pointed at the galaxy shirt. “What do you think?”

Yamato shrugged. “You look good in everything.”

“Aw, Yama-kun, you’re so sweet!” Suzuki said in an over-the-top cutesy voice. He shimmied his shoulders for extra effect.

Yamato rolled his eyes and gave Suzuki a light smack on the arm. He disappeared behind the curtain. Suzuki put away the clothes he didn’t want while he waited. He wondered if Yamato had hate sites, too. It didn’t seem possible. Yamato was so handsome and talented; it was hard to imagine a bunch of people getting together just to make fun of him.

Suzuki pulled out his phone again. He went through his pictures until he found another selfie he’d taken with Yamato. It was from the last time Yamato had hung out at his house. Suzuki hadn’t made it public. He didn’t know why. It was a good picture. There wasn’t anything scandalous or illegal in it.

He supposed he hadn’t wanted to share it because it felt more personal than the others. They were both in sweatshirts and pajama pants, their faces lit up by the blue light from Suzuki’s TV. Suzuki was leaning heavily on Yamato, who was grinning at the camera. Suzuki was smiling fondly up at Yamato.

If those jerks online could see this picture, they’d realize Yamato wasn’t faking his feelings of friendship. Suzuki couldn’t post it, though. This picture was just for him and Yamato, no one else. He sighed and closed the photo gallery.

Yamato came out of the dressing room. “I’m ready if you are,” he said.

“Are you buying anything?” Suzuki asked as he headed for the counter.

Yamato shook his head. “I’m going to shop around a bit more. Do you want to get some bubble tea after the next stop?”

“Only if we go to that one place next to the arcade.”

“Okay, but you’re not dragging me into another DDR competition.”

Suzuki put his arm around Yamato’s shoulders. “Come on, you’re not that bad. You almost beat me last time.”

Yamato shook his head. He copied Suzuki’s gesture, linking them closer together. He gave Suzuki’s back a pat. “I’ll leave the dancing to the trained idol. Some other time. Now go, it’s your turn.” He nudged Suzuki forward.

Suzuki reluctantly let go of Yamato. He brought his shirts to the girl working the cash register. She smiled at him.

“You and your friend are cute,” she said as she rung him up.

“Thanks! I try.”

She giggled. “Have a nice day.”

“Did you flirt your way to a discount?” Yamato asked.

Suzuki’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses. “You can do that?”

“No, idiot.” Yamato took Suzuki’s hand again. “Maybe you could, but I wouldn’t. I hope she didn’t recognize you.”

“She didn’t. If she had, she would’ve asked for an autograph.”

They could never get a seat by the windows, otherwise their combined fans would fill the restaurant. Suzuki was half thankful for the privacy it afforded them, but they had to sit in a dim corner where there wasn’t much space. One of Yamato’s legs rested against one of his own.

“What kind did you get?” Suzuki asked.

Yamato glanced up from his phone. “Honeydew. You wanna try it?”

“Sure.” Suzuki took a sip from Yamato’s bubble tea. They had never worried about germs. The tea was perfectly sweet and mellow. He passed it back, a smile on his lips.

“You know, that’s the first time you smiled this afternoon,” Yamato said. “It feels like you’ve been gloomy ever since we left school.”

“Really?” He hadn’t noticed. “I guess I’m just tired. We’re already talking about the next comeback.”

“They should let you have a break. I’ve been talking to my agency about a vacation.” Yamato lowered his phone and met Suzuki’s eyes. “We could go somewhere. Hawai’i maybe. I’ve always wanted to do a shark tour.”

Suzuki shuddered. “That’s scary!”

“They put you in a cage. It’s not dangerous.”

“You can do that. I want to get a tan.”

Yamato knocked his leg against Suzuki’s. “But you’d want to go? With me?”

“Of course.”

Yamato’s eyes lit up. He smiled. “Awesome. We can get it cleared with your manager. There’s a little while before our next break. We could go then if your team says it’s okay.”

Hawai’I with Yamato. Suzuki imagined what it might be like. Sun, sand, and the ocean. Swimsuits. Sleeping in. Hawai’ian food. He sighed wistfully. Ever since he had first seen travel programs for it on TV, he’d always wanted to go. The best part might be going with Yamato. They could run around together as much as they wanted. They’d have their own hotel room.

“Will you ask your manager about it?” Yamato said, pressing Suzuki’s leg again. He was chewing on the corner of his lip.

“I will. I’ll text her now.” Suzuki fished his phone from his jacket pocket. He braced his leg against Yamato’s. He took comfort in the pressure. Yamato was strong. It felt good to lean on him.

Some of the other guys invited them to karaoke after school that weekend. It was Hajime’s idea apparently, which meant he’d roped in Soujiro, who was bringing the twins, and so on and so on. Things usually turned out this way. If someone mentioned a party, everyone ended up unofficially invited. Ikemen wasn’t a small school, but word spread quickly, and the upperclassmen were all connected by a web of association.

Suzuki didn’t remember who specifically asked him and Yamato if they wanted to tag along. It might’ve been Ai. Anyway, they showed up at the karaoke place after everyone else had already arrived thanks to an unexpected fangirl sighting.

“You guys are late,” Tokiya said.

“We just got chased halfway across the city,” Yamato said, tossing his jacket onto one of the couches. “Give us a break.”

Suzuki removed his mask, sunglasses, and hat. He took stock of the group. Ai had brought Tokiya and Ryuu, but Kurou was nowhere to be seen, meaning there’d be a fight later. (Ryuu and Tokiya always fought.) Soujiro and the twins were there, wearing casual clothes for once. Yuu and Baa had shown up as well. Suzuki would never get over the goat head. Takeru was there, probably having heard about the outing through word of mouth.

“Sorry, we ordered food without you,” he said.

“It’s fine. We can get something later.”

Suzuki settled in beside Yamato. He had asked his manager about the vacation. She hadn’t gotten back to him yet. He was starting to get nervous. Running from their fans earlier had only made Suzuki want it more. After this comeback. If the single does well, then I earned it. She can’t say no.

The other third-years had already lined up a decent list of songs. They must have been feeling nostalgic, since most of the music was from the 80s and 90s. Takeru, being Takeru, shared some of his food with Yamato and Suzuki while Hajime launched into a heart-felt ballad at the top of his lungs.

It was times like these that made Suzuki wish he wasn’t an idol. Being a senior in high school wasn’t easy, but there was so much more freedom. You definitely didn’t get hate comments. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. You didn’t get chased when you went outside. He could never just quit though. He loved music. He loved performing. But it was nice to just be with friends and not on a stage.

Yamato nudged him with his elbow. “Are you going to sing?”

“Obviously!” Suzuki hopped up. “I wonder if they have one of your songs on the machine.”

“Ooh, do it!” Ai said.

Yamato looked embarrassed. “Come on…”

“What?” Suzuki scrolled through the song list. “Are you scared I’m gonna ruin it? I’ll let you cover one of mine?”

“You should do a duet,” Hajime said. “Give us the collab everyone’s been waiting for!”

Takeru nodded in agreement and Ai applauded. “Yeah!” he said. “Do that!”

Yamato got up and walked over to the screen, picking up a microphone for himself. “Pick something we both know. One that’s in my range.”

Suzuki kept scrolling. They had a couple of his songs, as well as a few of Yama’s, but none of them were duets. Then he spotted something. He let out a cry of excitement.

“Yama! The Star Sailor duet! From the musical.” He grabbed Yamato’s upper arm and squeezed it insistently. “Remember? The part where Selena hears Damian join her from offstage, and then he comes down from the ceiling?” He shook Yamato’s arm for emphasis. “Let’s do this one. Please?”

“Wait, you’ve seen the Star Sailor musical?” Ryuu asked with a smirk.

Yamato blushed. “It’s good,” he muttered. To Suzuki, he said, “You really want to do this one? It’s kind of…”

“I know all the words,” Suzuki said proudly. “I could sing it without looking at the screen.”

Yamato still looked hesitant. An upsetting thought reared its ugly head. Suzuki remembered the discussion in the anti-café, about their Star Sailor cosplay. I stg Suzuki drags Yamato into his weird interests all the time. Suzuki’s heart sank. What if Yama really was only going along with it to humor him? Liking a sparkly and romantic mahou shojo wasn’t Yamato’s style. And he probably hadn’t wanted to broadcast any interest in it.

“Um, we don’t have to,” Suzuki said. He reached out to scroll down the list again. “There’s probably another song we can both sing in here.”

“No,” Yamato blurted, color still high in his cheeks. “I want to do this one.”

“Are you sure?”

Yamato nodded. “You can have Selena’s part. The notes are too high for me.”

Relief washed over Suzuki. He might be humoring you again, a mean voice whispered in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it. As long as he got to sing with Yamato, he didn’t really care. He pressed play.

They might have been in a random karaoke room, surrounded by classmates, but Suzuki poured his heart into the performance. He loved the Star Sailor musical. He thought it was hopelessly romantic. Especially the part where Damian appeared. Suzuki started the duet and Yamato jumped in after a few bars. His voice was perfect for the song. It was like he really was Damian.

If Yamato had seemed uncomfortable before, he had shaken it off. He sang with confidence, turning to face Suzuki and holding out his hand. A thrill went through Suzuki as he took it. Yamato even twirled him under his arm. They could have been onstage. Suzuki had no trouble imagining Yamato in the top hat and mask (seeing as he’d worn the costume before). He also had no trouble seeing why Yamato’s fans left strings of hearts in the comments on his selfie posts.

Suzuki was starting to feel lightheaded. It might’ve been because the room was hot, or all his breath was going into the duet, but at the same time, he knew that wasn’t the real reason. Yamato drew him in a step closer. They were reaching the end of the song.

In the musical, Selena and Damian ended their duet by putting their foreheads together, eyes closed. Then, just before the stage lights dimmed, they would kiss. It was cheated, covered by strategic hand placement, but Suzuki squealed every time. Now, as his head came to rest against Yamato’s, he had a crazy idea.

What if Yamato kissed him?

Suzuki’s heart started to pound. Yamato’s face was so close to his. It would take just a tiny movement for their lips to touch. Even though the actors usually closed their eyes, Yamato was looking straight at him, and Suzuki couldn’t tear his gaze away. He’d forgotten everyone in the room. They might as well have been alone.

Then, the last note of the song faded. Yamato stepped back. Suzuki released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Yamato’s hand was still in his. Suzuki was shaking. All around them, the other third-years applauded. Someone whistled.

Suzuki came back to himself just in time. He raised his and Yama’s hands between them and swept into a low bow. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “We’ll be here all week.”

“You guys were great!” Tokiya said. “It was just like seeing the actual musical. Right, Ryuu?”

Ryuu shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’ve never watched Star Sailor live.”

“Oh really? Then what was that about telling Kurou how much you liked the actress that played Queen Pyrite?”

Ryuu’s mouth opened and shut indignantly. He turned away to hide the blush that had spread across his face. “Shut up, Tokiya.”

Yamato insisted on walking Suzuki home. None of their fans appeared, so it was an uneventful journey, but Suzuki’s heart hadn’t stopped racing. Yamato was at his side, keeping pace and chatting about his plans for a new song. Suzuki only half-registered the words he was saying. The rest of his mind was occupied with the ups and downs of his voice, his smile, the way the streetlights made his hair glow.

Suzuki remembered how Yamato had held his hand earlier and while they were shopping and wished Yamato would do it again. It had felt nice. He was tempted to bridge the distance between them, to reach out and mesh their fingers. Suzuki put his hands in his pockets instead.

Could friends hold hands whenever? He didn’t think there was anything weird about it, but most of the people he saw holding hands were couples. He could ask Yamato, but that seemed awkward. Why was he even getting the urge to hold hands in the first place?

“Suzuki?” Yamato had somehow ended up behind him. His brow was furrowed in concern. “Isn’t this your place?”

Suzuki looked back. He’d kept walking past his house. “Oh,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I was distracted. Thinking about stuff.” He jogged back.

“You’re such an airhead,” Yamato said warmly. He ground his knuckles against the sides of Suzuki’s head, not hard enough to hurt. “What would you do without me?”

Suzuki laughed, swatting Yamato’s hands away. “Mean! That’s it, we’re rivals now.”

Yamato smirked. “I couldn’t be your rival. I’d crush you, and I don’t have the heart to do that. It’d be like kicking a puppy.”

“Woof!” Suzuki’s chest grew arm as Yamato burst into a fit of giggles.

Yamato took off his cap and mussed his hair. “Go on, your mom’s probably worried you got kidnapped by a crazy fan.”

“Text me when you get home,” Suzuki said.

“Will do. See you at school.”

Suzuki watched Yamato go until he vanished around a street corner.

Yamato texted him about twenty minutes later to let him know he’d arrived home safely. Suzuki tried to do his homework, but his thoughts were a jumble. He couldn’t concentrate. After an hour of struggling, he took a bath and changed for bed. If he couldn’t do his homework, he’d go to sleep now and wake up early to finish. And yet…

Suzuki lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. What had happened tonight was different from how things usually went between him and Yamato. He remembered the light, fluttery feeling in his chest when Yamato had held his hand, and how it had doubled when their foreheads were together. He remembered looking into Yamato’s eyes as they’d sung the Star Sailor duet at the karaoke place.

Friends didn’t react that way. Suzuki knew that. A friend didn’t set your heart racing just by touching you. They didn’t spawn butterflies in your stomach. Suzuki was starting to tremble just thinking about it. Heat burned up his neck to his ears.

If he was being honest with himself, he had imagined kissing Yamato before. It was impossible not to. There was a whole legion of fans who thought they should be a couple. Suzuki had never missed an opportunity to please them. He thought it was actually rather sweet. Yamato had laughed at first, but in general had approached the whole thing with good humor. With that sort of thing going on, it was hard not to imagine what it might be like if they actually were together.

Yamato seemed like he’d be a good kisser. He’d probably kissed lots of girls. Had he ever kissed another boy before? Probably not. Suzuki touched his lips. He had faked kisses with girls for MVs, but had never done it seriously. Yamato might laugh at his inexperience.

But he might also smile as he kissed him. He might hold Suzuki to him in a firm embrace, stroking his hair. He might also push Suzuki against a wall and kiss him fiercely, channeling the energy of his music into Suzuki until they were both breathless.

Suzuki opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. His imagination usually didn’t go that far. Suzuki felt a little uncomfortable. It was probably wrong for him to think of Yamato like that, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

He pictured being able to hold hands with Yamato all the time, not just in a crowd, kisses before class, cuddling with each other while they watched movies… His heart surged. The thought of being with Yamato as more than a friend had made him so happy he couldn’t want anything else.

Suzuki wasn’t stupid. Maybe somewhat naive at times, but not stupid. He knew what he was experiencing. He loved Yamato. He had been loving Yamato for a long time now. Why shouldn’t he? Yamato was so artistic and brilliant and kind. It was just now occurring to him that his feelings ran over the edges of platonic affection into something else.

At the same time, Suzuki knew he couldn’t tell him. Yamato couldn’t possibly return his feelings. Even if he did, they couldn’t date without it being plastered over every magazine cover and celebrity news website. He thought of the message boards on the anti-Suzuki site. Those people would riot if Suzuki even hinted at the idea of loving Yamato. They might even go so far as to threaten him. And, worst of all, what if they were right? What if Yamato was only his friend because he had to be?

Suzuki didn’t want to believe it. He refused to. But the seeds of doubt had been sown. If he confessed to Yamato, and what those people online said was true, then he’d just humiliate himself. They’d never be able to hang out again. Suzuki feared that the most. He’d rather hold these feelings inside rather than run the risk of losing Yamato’s friendship.

He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. If he stayed like this long enough, maybe he would smother himself and never have to think of it again. He lifted his head eventually. It got too uncomfortable.

“I’ll just keep going like everything’s the same,” Suzuki said out loud. “He’ll never find out and we’ll keep being friends. I won’t have to give him up.”

Still, the resolution filled him with pain. He would never have that relationship with Yamato. It wasn’t going to be easy. Yamato would only have to touch him to send ripples of longing through Suzuki. He would have to train himself not to react, not to reciprocate where it wasn’t wanted.

He got up and found his MP3 player in his backpack. He put his earbuds in. Suzuki had every single album Yamato had released. He started with the first one, for nostalgia’s sake. As he listened, he imagined Yamato was singing just for him.

Pretending everything was normal was a lot harder than Suzuki realized. Yamato was everywhere. They were in class together all day, ate together during lunch, and even hung out after school. Suzuki didn’t want to stop hanging out with him; that would just make Yamato suspicious. But it was getting more and more difficult to focus on history and science when they studied together.

They were at Yamato’s apartment that afternoon. Yamato lived alone, which Suzuki used to think was a good thing, since there was no one to bother them if they decided to stay up all night watching anime. Now, he desperately wished there was someone to ward away his thoughts of kissing Yamato.

Yamato ran his fingers through his hair. He looked frustrated. “I’m not getting it,” he said. “What about you?”

Suzuki shook his head. He hadn’t even been trying. The whole study session was turning out to be counterproductive. How do people with crushes survive?

“Do you want to take a break and play Mario Kart?”

Suzuki shoved his notebook aside. “Absolutely.”

Hopefully, a game would keep his mind off of contemplating the feel of Yamato’s lips against his. He settled into Yamato’s couch, controller in hand. They weren’t competitive with each other in any area except Mario Kart. Soon, he’d want to strangle Yamato instead of make-out with him.

The plan worked, for a little while. Suzuki got swept up in the races, he and Yamato resorting to cheating by bumping into each other in real life and trying to wrestle the controllers out of each other’s hands. It was just like how things had been before. Suzuki relaxed.

However, things took a turn when Yamato hit him with a shell, right before Suzuki was about to win Rainbow Road. Bowser dashed across the finish line while Princess Peach was still spinning out. Suzuki threw down his controller and started pummeling Yamato lightly with his fists.

“I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

“I’m just playing the game,” Yamato laughed.

“That was my win, you cheater!”

“Shells are a part of the game. You hit me with a blue shell a couple tracks ago. How is this any different?” Yamato grabbed Suzuki’s wrists. “You still got second place.”

“I should’ve been first,” Suzuki said. “I did the shortcut and everything.” He struggled against Yamato’s hold. “Let me go. I’m not done beating you up.”

Yamato pushed him backwards, pinning him to the couch. He hovered over Suzuki. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try. When you were hitting me, it felt like being stung by a mosquito.”

Suzuki went red. He tried to break free, but Yamato was strong. He went redder as he became more aware of their position. What was this, a scene out of a shojo manga?

“Okay, okay,” he said hastily. “You win. Fair and square. Can you get off me?”

Yamato let go. He leaned back. Suzuki lay there for a second longer, trying to catch his breath. Had he actually been wanting Yamato to kiss him like that? To just lean down and…

Suzuki shook his head. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. He sat up. “Um, I should probably head home. I promised Mom I’d eat dinner with her tonight. She says she barely gets to see me.”

“Oh.” Yamato sounded disappointed. “It’s still early.”

Suzuki coughed. “Yeah. I said I’d help her cook, too.”

“Alright. I’ll walk you.” Yamato started to get up.

“Ah, no thanks!” Suzuki squeaked. He winced at the sound of his own voice. What was wrong with him? “I can make it on my own. I have my disguise and everything.”

“Are you sure?”

Suzuki nodded. He gathered his notebook and school things as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow! Good luck on the physics homework.”

Yamato followed him to the door. “Text me when you get home?”

“Sure!” Suzuki chirped (too brightly, he realized). Then, before he could embarrass himself any further, he rushed out the door.

Suzuki made good on his word to help his mother make dinner. She’d been surprised to see him home so early, but glad to spend time with him as well. Suzuki’s schedule was so hectic that they rarely ate dinner together, let alone cooked together. He wasn’t as good as Souma in the kitchen, but he managed.

A part of him wanted to tell her about Yamato. He had a good opportunity to when she asked how he was doing. In the end, he said Yamato was doing fine and left it at that. He didn’t want to bother his mom with that kind of thing. (Truth be told, he was embarrassed to mention having a crush in the first place.)

After dinner, he holed himself up in his room. Suzuki knew it was the last thing he needed right now, but he logged back onto the anti-café. No one had banned him yet. Suzuki hadn’t commented since that first time, so they’d probably forgotten he was there.

It was full of the usual hatred and vitriol. Suzuki picked a thread railing against his and Yamato’s relationship. He scrolled through it for a while, his heart sinking lower and lower until it reached the Earth’s core. They despised the idea of him and Yamato together, whether they were friends or dating.

It can never happen, Suzuki thought. His fans might turn on him.

Suzuki finally closed the thread. Then, because he had no one else to turn to, he texted Jae. Jae was currently in South Korea, visiting family and the other members of his group. Suzuki hoped he wasn’t too busy.

Hey sunbae, Suzuki wrote, do you ever get hate comments?

It didn’t take long for Jae to text back. oh totally. happens all the time.

How do you deal with them?

i try to ignore it. block out the haters

It was good advice. A no-brainer, honestly, if only Suzuki could follow it. have you ever found a whole site that hates you? an anti café?

man don’t tell me you have one of those. you’re a ray of sunshine! how could anyone make a whole anti-café devoted to you?

Idk either. It’s really been getting me down. What should I do?

Jae spent a long time typing. Suzuki watched the little ellipses dance while he waited. Eventually, Jae wrote back, you can always block the site or their comments. it’s nothing to be ashamed of. you don’t owe them anything tbh. if they’re not actually sending you constructive criticism, if all they’re doing is trying to tear you down, then kick ‘em to the curb ㅋㅋㅋ seriously tho, don’t read that stuff. it breaks my heart that anyone could be so mean to my hoobae

T^T you’re the best jae-sunbae, Suzuki replied.

i try 😉 is there anything else i can help with?

Suzuki hesitated. He could trust Jae with anything. But could he trust him with this? Maybe if he was vague, Jae wouldn’t realize who Suzuki was talking about. He took a deep breath and wrote, yeah. Have you ever had a crush on someone who’s like, your friend?

are we talking about yama?

Suzuki nearly dropped his phone. He typed a response with trembling fingers. Haha nooooooo where did you get that idea? I’m talking hypothetically.

sure, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Jae replied. so in this hypothetical situation, is the crusher a j-idol and the crushee a rockstar?

(^◇^；) no…

suzuki literally everyone on the planet thinks you guys are dating. even my mom thinks so.

Suzuki huffed. That doesn’t make it true! he typed. Answer my question: did you ever have a crush on a friend, yes/no?

Again, it took a while for Jae to reply. yep! didn’t work out but hey! it was someone else in the music scene. you know how it is. not that you should get discouraged! you and yamato would be super cute together.

Suzuki blushed. He thought for a while about what he should say. He typed out, do you really think so? what if a lot of people got mad?

you shouldn’t care about what other people think. it’s your personal life.

What if, hypothetically, it’s just one-sided and I ruin our whole friendship?

i doubt it would ruin your friendship, Jae wrote. i’m 99.9% sure yama likes you. have you seen how he looks in your selfies? heart eyes <3

Suzuki’s blush deepened. No way. Jae was just trying to make him feel better. Then again, the duet in the karaoke room gave him a sliver of hope. But that was a performance. They were acting like Damian and Selena.

What about the other 1%? Suzuki wrote.

you doubt my judgment?? look, even if he doesn’t feel that way about you, your friendship won’t tank just because of a little crush. not if it’s real and i think it is.

Okay. Thanks again, sunbae <3 I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.

anytime! it’s good to be home, but i miss everyone over there TT take care of yourself!

Suzuki locked his phone screen and lay down. Talking to Jae had helped, but he still couldn’t bring himself to confess to Yamato. He didn’t understand how Jae could be so confident when his own crush hadn’t worked out. He knew just as well as Suzuki how hard it was for idols to date normally.

Even if Yamato liked me back, I’d get flayed alive. Probably by my manager, too. His manager still hadn’t given him the green light on the vacation. Suzuki was starting to think that was her way of saying no. It might be better if he didn’t go. Hawai’i was a romantic place, right? What if Suzuki got carried away and blurted his feelings? It would defeat the purpose of a relaxing getaway.

I should tell Yamato I can’t come with. Suzuki would do it tomorrow, at school. He’d rip the band-aid off, so to speak, and get it over with. Hopefully Yamato wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Suzuki didn’t get a chance to tell Yamato the next day, because Yamato was suddenly super busy. He was on the phone with someone before class started, and he spent every break scribbling in his notebook. He disappeared during lunch before Suzuki could even ask if they were going to eat together. It wasn’t that strange, really. 3-A was full of students with irregular schedules. For example, Takahiro had taken off for some part-time job earlier.

However, Yamato wasn’t there the next day either, so Suzuki couldn’t tell him then, either. And then Suzuki had to skip a day to spend it in a recording studio. He considered texting Yamato about it, but he would rather tell him in person. It seemed a bit too important not to discuss face-to-face.

Suzuki finally got a chance when he and Yamato both arrived late in the school day. He guessed Yamato must have been recording something as well. He was dressed down from his usual leather jacket and had left out a few piercings. He only did that when he had an early morning session.

“Are you free to walk home today, Yama?” Suzuki asked as they jogged up the stairs to 3-A. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Today’s no good.”

“What about tomorrow morning?”

Yamato shook his head. “Busy. Sorry.”

Suzuki paused. “What’s going on? Are you prepping a new release?”

Yamato didn’t answer. He just kept going. Suzuki stared at his retreating back. What was the big secret? Yamato usually shared any and all details about his projects. He’d been talking about a new song after karaoke. Were the two related, or was this another thing altogether?

What if I made him uncomfortable? Suzuki thought, gripped by terror. Or what if Jae was trying to be helpful and told him I have a crush on him? He knew he was jumping to conclusions. Yamato was busy; that was all. Even so, he felt nervous. Why hadn’t Yamato answered him?

Suzuki investigated Yamato’s fansites. He wasn’t making special appearances anywhere. There were no concert announcements. Not even a rumor of an album release. So what was he doing? He hadn’t walked home with Suzuki or asked him over for a while. They didn’t even have lunch together anymore.

A sick, heavy dread settled in Suzuki’s stomach as he logged onto the anti-café. It got worse. The café was overjoyed.

No suzuyama sightings lately! He finally dropped him!

Heard rumors from school that they’re split up.

Maybe S*zuki will take a hint and stop clinging to Yamato like a puppy

It’d be like kicking a puppy. Suzuki’s mouth went dry. He tossed his phone into his backpack. Did Yamato really see him as a dog, stupidly following him everywhere? He’d played along with the joke that time, but now it stung.

“Romantic troubles?”

Suzuki jumped a foot. Ai was standing right behind him, his quiver slung across his back. He didn’t wait for an invitation to take the empty seat next to Suzuki. Suzuki had thought he’d been alone in this courtyard, but Ai must have had a tracking device implanted in every boy in school.

“I’m not having romantic troubles,” Suzuki lied.

Ai smiled skeptically. “It’s about Yamato, isn’t it?”

Am I really that obvious? Suzuki’s shoulders sagged. “Not you, too.”

“What, is it a secret? Even that nice girl at the café knows.”

Suzuki put his face in his hands. If everyone knew then how could Yamato not? He’s avoiding me, since he realized I’m bad for his image.

Ai patted his knee. “Cheer up! You could do a lot worse than Yamato.”

“Not if he hates me!”

“Why do you think he hates you?”

“He’s been avoiding me,” Suzuki said. “At first, I thought he was working on something, but he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. And don’t say he’s throwing me a surprise party. My birthday isn’t coming up.”

“Hmm, that’s tricky.” Ai rubbed his chin. “He usually shares all his projects with you, right? Maybe he’s seeing someone else?”

Suzuki went cold. He hadn’t considered that possibility. Had Yamato started dating and not told him? No, that couldn’t be. Someone would’ve snapped a picture or started a rumor by now, and the fansites were quiet.

“No.” He shook his head. “He would’ve told me for sure.”

Ai shrugged. “Then he’s probably busy. You shouldn’t get too worked up, Suzuki. Guys like him sometimes have trouble communicating their feelings. He might be focusing so hard that he hasn’t had time to tell you about it. Kurou does the same thing. He gets tunnel-vision when he’s working on a play.”

It made Suzuki feel a little better, but it didn’t inspire confidence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Yamato was purposefully ducking him.

“Anyway, I’m meeting Sousuke for an archery showdown,” Ai said, standing up. “He’s going to regret challenging me. Are you going to be okay?”

Suzuki nodded. “Thanks for the advice, Ai. Good luck.”

Ai shot him a thumbs-up before he left. Suzuki remained where he was. He didn’t know how long he sat in the courtyard, staring at the flowerbeds. His phone buzzed, snapping him out of it.

It was Yamato. Suzuki had been expecting his manager. His heart thumped rapidly. He opened the message. Hey Suzuki, can you come to the music room?

He was torn. Should he go? Yamato had asked him, but what if it was just to say that they shouldn’t hang out anymore. Or worse, that he didn’t return Suzuki’s feelings, which were apparently so obvious that they could be seen from space? Eventually, Suzuki gathered his courage and went to the music room.

School had finished for the day, so the music room was deserted, except for Yamato and Suzuki. It was quiet. All the clubs were meeting on the other side of Ikemen. Yamato was leaning against the piano, fiddling something. When Suzuki got closer, he realized it was his MP3 player.

“Hey,” Yamato said. He sounded nervous. “Sorry for ghosting you. I was working on an important project.”

A bit of relief crept into Suzuki’s veins. “Really? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Yamato blushed. “Well, uh, it was kind of a surprise. I didn’t know whether it would work out. I, um… here.” He held out the MP3 player. “Listen.”

Suzuki took it. He put an earbud in. There was only one track on the device, untitled. He hit play. A second later, the sound of Yamato’s voice filled his ears. Yamato’s singing voice was wonderful and familiar, but the backing track didn’t sound like his style at all. It sounded more like Suzuki’s music than his, though there was a hint of Yamato there, too. The more Suzuki listened, the more it grew on him. The lyrics were about stars burning bright for centuries, their light stretching across galaxies long after their death, and gazing at the same sky as someone you loved. A lump formed in his throat.

“What do you think?” Yamato asked when Suzuki finished.

“Amazing, like always,” Suzuki said. “Is this going to be on your next album?”

“Actually…” Yamato scuffed the floor. “I was thinking it could be on yours. I wrote it for you to sing, if you want it. I figured it was the least I could do, after you made me that mixtape for my birthday.”

Suzuki couldn’t believe it. Yamato had written him a song. Not just one to listen to, but one to sing. The lump in his throat got bigger. “W-what’s the occasion?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“No reason. I just wanted to do something special, I guess. Do you like it?”

Suzuki nodded vigorously. He couldn’t speak. Before he could stop himself, tears began to flow down his cheeks. I’m so dumb. I thought he was ditching me this whole time, and he was working on a song. For me. He covered his face, but it didn’t stop the noise from escaping. It was like a dam had burst; all of Suzuki’s feelings rushed out in one go.

“What are you crying for?” Yamato asked, gently removing Suzuki’s hands from his face.

Suzuki hiccupped. He was so embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to cry. “I…” he tried to say. “I was afraid you were tired of me.”

Yamato sighed. “I’m not tired of you, Suzu. Have you been paying attention to what those losers online are saying? I told you they’re full of it. Come here.”

He folded Suzuki into his arms. Suzuki let out another involuntary sob. He buried his face in Yamato’s shoulder. It was sturdy and strong. His t-shirt was soft. Yamato alternated between patting his back and rubbing circles.

Eventually, Suzuki cried himself out. He stepped back. Yamato let him go, but he kept his hands on Suzuki’s arms. He was looking at him with concern.

“Are you okay?”

Suzuki nodded and sniffed. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t want it to get to me, but I guess…”

“They’re just bitter and pathetic people who have nothing better to do with their time.” Yamato gathered Suzuki’s hands and held them against his chest. “They’re not real. This is. And any fan of mine who talks that way about you isn’t a real fan. If they can’t love you as much as I do, then that’s their problem.”

Suzuki blinked. He wanted to wipe away a few stray tears, but he didn’t want Yamato to let go of him. “You love me?” he asked, half-stunned.

The realization seemed to come over Yamato at the exact same moment. A blush covered his cheeks. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Well… I mean, of course I do. You’re my best friend.” To Suzuki’s dismay, Yamato dropped his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair, disturbing the spikes. “I thought you already knew that.”

“I do now.” Suzuki smiled, trying to mask his disappointment. I shouldn’t be disappointed at all. Yamato’s friendship is super important to me, too. “I love you, too.”

Yamato blushed deeper. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get carried away.”

Suzuki laughed. This was good. He knew now that Yamato wasn’t going to abandon him. They were still friends. They could continue performing together at school. It would be fun. At least I had a chance to say it to him out loud, even if he doesn’t know how much I really mean it.

Suzuki blocked the anti-café. He had to stop using it to punish himself. Besides, he couldn’t forgive them for leading him to believe Yamato didn’t care about him. He made sure to delete his account too, just in case the urge overpowered him, and he lifted the block.

It’s been fun, he thought. He instantly felt better. Things returned to normal. Suzuki approached his manager with Yamato’s song. He leaned heavily on the idea of marketing it as a collaboration and watched as the yen signs appeared in her eyes. After that, she shocked him by giving him permission to go to Hawai’i.

“If the song does well, we’ll find time for a vacation,” she promised. “I couldn’t answer you before, since there was a lot up in the air, but you deserve some time off.”

“And I can go with Yamato?”

“If your schedules line up, I don’t see why not.”

The next morning, he told Yamato by throwing himself into his arms and shouting, “We’re going to Hawai’i!”

“Your manager said yes?” Yamato said, brightening.

Suzuki nodded. “She said that if the collab works out, then I can go with you. As long as we’re free at the same time. Hawai’i, Yama! Hawai’i!”

Yamato actually swung him around the classroom but stopped short when their homeroom teacher gave them a death-glare. Suzuki let go and jumped back.

“Oops. Sorry, sensei.”

“You’d better concentrate on passing your exams before talking about Hawai’i,” the teacher warned. “And don’t do that again. You could’ve knocked over the desks.”

It didn’t bring Suzuki’s mood down at all. He was walking on air. Later, when his and Yama’s managers called about some kind of music industry party, he agreed to go without hesitation. Yamato was a little more reluctant, but he caved when Suzuki said they could go together.

All in all, life was good. Suzuki still wanted to kiss Yamato. He still wanted to hug him as tightly as possible and tell him how he felt, but he couldn’t bear to mess everything up. Why sabotage a good thing? Yamato clearly only thought of him as a friend.

And that was fine. Everything was fine.

Suzuki enjoyed getting dressed up for public appearances. Yamato didn’t. He always looked uncomfortable in suits. Uncomfortable, yet handsome. Suzuki’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.

“I hate ties,” Yamato muttered, playing with the end of his.

“Then don’t wear one,” Suzuki said. He stepped forward and undid the knot. “It’s a formal party, but no one will care. See, I think you look just fine without it. Undo a couple buttons, and voila! Rock superstar Yamato is red carpet ready!”

Suzuki might have been mistaken, but Yamato appeared flustered. He turned towards the limousine their managers had arranged to drive them to the event and held open the door for Suzuki.

“After you,” he said.

It was after sunset and traffic was bad. Suzuki checked the time. Unless they learned how to teleport, they were going to be late. Oh well, in that case they’d make an even more striking entrance. Suzuki stretched out, putting his feet up on the seat. They were barely moving.

Yamato, meanwhile, was reading something on his phone. Suzuki didn’t know what it was, but it appeared to be irritating him. He kept frowning. Finally, Yamato tossed the phone into the corner and folded his arms. He huffed, a deep furrow forming between his eyebrows. Suzuki was torn between laughing at his grumpiness and wanting to comfort him.

“What’s up, Yama-kun?” Suzuki asked.

“Oh, it’s…” He stopped, turning pink. “It’s stupid.”

“You did something stupid?” Suzuki knew he sounded a bit too eager, but he couldn’t help it. He was dying to know.

Yamato rolled his eyes. “Yes, actually.”

“Are you going to tell me about it or am I going to have to tickle you for information?” Suzuki wiggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Don’t!” Yamato pulled his legs up onto the seat, as if to shield himself from Suzuki’s attack. “Jesus, Suzuki we’re in public.”

“No, we’re not. The windows are tinted and the partition’s up. Now tell me what made you so mad.”

Yamato relaxed. He retrieved his phone—which was undamaged—and passed it to Suzuki. Suzuki’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: an anti-Yamato fansite. For a few seconds, he just stared at it. Then he began to actually process the words he was looking at.

Yamato’s style totally clashes with Suzuki’s. Don’t know why they’re friends.

Do u remember when he was talking about how “””fake””” Zuzu is? He said in a press conference that ur not a real artist if u don’t write and produce ur own songs. What a snob. Did he ever apologize for that?

Suzuki laughed out loud. He glanced at Yamato. “They have a point. Did you ever apologize to me?”

“It’s not funny.”

“It is!” Suzuki kept scrolling. “This whole time you were telling me not to pay attention to the haters and you didn’t even follow your own advice. Aww, Yama, don’t feel bad. Wait a minute.”

There was a new reply to one of the comments by a user named, “st4rpower826.”

Do you guys ever get tired of talking trash behind the safety of your computer screens? Why don’t you say this stuff to Suzuki’s face and see how he takes it. Last I heard, he and Yamato were still really close. He doesn’t get mad until you insult his friends. If you actually cared about him, you wouldn’t do this.

It had a bunch of negative replies. Suzuki looked at Yamato again. Yamato was chewing on his lip.

“Is this you?” Suzuki asked, pointing at the screen.

“That could be anyone.”

“It’s you! You made an account!” Suzuki grabbed Yamato’s shoulder and shook it. He was laughing uncontrollably now. “You made an account so you could fight with them! Oh my God. That’s my birthday in your username!”

Yamato’s ears were growing steadily redder. “You have to make an account to read the message boards,” he muttered. “You know that. Someone was going to come along and tell them off eventually. Might as well be me.”

“How did you get that username? That’s, like, a prime fandom username. When I went on the anti-Suzuki boards, YamaFan#1 was taken.”

“No one else spelled with a four for the A.”

Suzuki was still giggling. He continued scrolling. “How long did you have this?”

“I went searching for one about me the same night you went on yours. I was curious.” Yamato smiled sheepishly. “I could take all the garbage they spewed about me but when they started throwing you into the mix, I got really upset. So I fought back. Didn’t do much good though.”

“These people say we’re so different, but we actually have lots in common, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh, here’s a familiar one: ‘Suzuki is friends with Yamato for fanservice. Yamato wouldn’t be as popular if people didn’t think he was gay for Suzuki.’ People were saying the same stuff on my anti-site.”

Yamato’s blush had spread down his neck. “They’re crazy.”

“I know.” Suzuki turned the screen off. “You shouldn’t get into fights with people online, even if they are being jerks. We know the truth.”

Yamato nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, it was really stupid, but I started to get scared that they might be right. Just for a second. Seeing all that old stuff I said made me wonder if you were still angry with me, and you were pretending not to hate me for the sake of getting along.”

“I don’t hate you, Yama.” Suzuki kneaded Yamato’s shoulder. “I’ve always thought you were cool, even when you were criticizing me. I could never hate you. Do you wanna know why?”

“Sure,” Yamato said, his lips quirking into a smile.

Suzuki kissed him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, but he had never felt more sure of anything in his life before. The hand on Yamato’s shoulder was steady. When he pulled away, Yamato was staring at him, his eyes huge.

“It’s because I love you,” Suzuki said. And because he couldn’t help it, he winked.

The words were barely out of his mouth before Yamato returned the kiss. It took Suzuki by surprise, almost knocking him backward. He managed to hold himself up by catching hold of Yamato’s other shoulder. The realization that Yamato was kissing him sank in about two seconds later. Suzuki’s imagination had been lacking. Actually kissing Yamato was better than anything he could’ve dreamed up.

Yamato was holding him, one hand braced against the small of Suzuki’s back, the other cupping his chin. His mouth was soft and smooth and warm. Suzuki tasted a hint of lip balm. He leaned into the kiss, following Yamato’s movements. Then, Yamato pulled Suzuki onto his lap. Both hands slid to Suzuki’s hips.

“Suzuki,” Yamato breathed.

“What?”

“I don’t want to go to this party. Do you?”

Suzuki didn’t have to think about it. “No.”

He gave Yamato another lingering kiss as he got off his lap, then went to knock on the partition. It rolled down about halfway. Suzuki held up a hand in apology.

“Sorry,” he said, “but could you take us back to Yamato’s place?”

The next morning was strange. After they’d been dropped off at Yamato’s house, he and Suzuki had spent the rest of the night watching movies and making out. When they were too tired to keep their eyes open a second longer, Yamato let Suzuki borrow a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants, and they had fallen asleep in his room.

Suzuki woke up thinking last night had been a dream. He wasn’t surprised by coming to in Yamato’s room. (They had sleepovers all the time.) What reminded him that it was real was feeling the weight of Yamato’s arm around him. Suzuki bit back a fresh fit of giggles. He couldn’t believe it. He had kissed Yamato last night. Yamato had kissed him back.

Yamato stirred and lifted his head. It seemed to take him a minute as well. Then he smiled. He kissed Suzuki’s cheek. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Good morning,” Suzuki repeated. He wondered if they could get away with staying in bed all day. Their phones had been blowing up all night, to the point where they’d set them to silent and left them in the living room.

Yamato groped for his alarm clock. “It’s almost noon.”

“My manager is probably going crazy right now because I didn’t show up.” He laughed at that. She was going to kill him later, but there were other things on his mind right now. “Is there anything important going on today?”

“No. There’s just you.” Yamato nestled himself against Suzuki again.

“We can stay in today,” Suzuki suggested. “We’ll play video games and make pancakes.”

“And make out,” Yamato added. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it around.

Suzuki slapped his hand over Yamato’s mouth, laughing helplessly. “Gross! Don’t do that. You’re not a member of KISS.”

Yamato laughed as well. He let go of Suzuki and rolled out of bed. “Come on. I’ll make you pancakes. I bought blueberries.”

The apartment complex was quiet. Everyone was either sleeping in or out. Suzuki helped Yamato get out the mixing bowl and the skillet. There were, in fact, blueberries in the fridge. (Suzuki may have helped himself to a few before putting some in the batter.) Yamato started a pot of coffee, promising Suzuki that he still had the French vanilla creamer he liked.

While they were waiting to flip the first pancake, Suzuki decided to bring up the question that had been on his mind since he’d gotten out of bed. “So… are we boyfriends now?”

To his credit, Yamato wasn’t caught off-guard, though he did hesitate. “I don’t know. I want to be,” he said. “Things are different for us.”

“I’d be fine dating you in secret. Plenty of celebrities do it.”

“Me too, but I don’t know how long we could keep it up. There’s a lot of stress involved.” Yamato did the flip. It was clean. He passed the spatula to Suzuki. “It would definitely make some of our fans happy.”

Suzuki grinned. “Maybe that’s how we should justify it to our managers.”

“Yikes,” Yamato said. “Honestly, I don’t want to think about it right now. I just want to eat and destroy you at Mario Kart again. We can talk about the serious stuff later.”

“Can’t you go easy on me?” Suzuki whined. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“What makes you think I’d go easy on you just because we’re dating now? I never let you win when we were friends and that’s not going to change now.”

“You’re so mean.” Suzuki pulled his eyelid and stuck out his tongue. “Yama-kun’s a bad boyfriend. I’m gonna tell the whole world, so no one will steal you from me.”

Yamato laughed. He put an arm around Suzuki’s waist and brought him in for a kiss. “No one could steal me from you,” he said when they separated. “I love you.”

Suzuki put his head on Yamato’s shoulder. Life was good. The world might as well be limited to this small kitchen. To him and Yamato, and no one else. “Love you, too.”

#notice me senpai #skillshot labs #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #light angst

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