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kjmsupremacist · 2 years

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double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

During promotions for his first Japanese mini album, k-idol Taeyong meets one of his favorite artists, j-rock star Yuta. Though it starts casual, Taeyong begins to realize he may be in over his head, and struggles to reconcile his affection for Yuta with all the things that keep them apart.

Chapter 9 | prev mlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

Warnings: smut but it’s pretty vanilla, d/s undertones

Rating: explicit

Length: 5.8k

The crowd at the airport is much larger than Taeyong was expecting. He had wondered if the team of managers and security guards wasn’t a bit of an overkill, but seeing the throng of people now, he’s glad for his staff’s foresight. He’s squeezed through check in and security and then ushered to the private lounge where he can finally get a bit of peace.

Waiting to board, he sends to Yuta. I dunno how long it’s going to take me to fight my way through all the fans when I land, things were crazy here.

Just keep me updated! Yuta replies. Our dinner reservation isn’t until 8 so you should have lots of time.

They decided it would be best to make a public appearance first, so it wouldn’t look like they were hiding the fact that they were seeing each other. They were friends, after all, and it had been a couple of months since they had seen each other. Dinner was completely reasonable. No one needed to know that the car that went back to Taeyong’s hotel wouldn’t have Taeyong in it.

The thing is, ever since Yuta told him that he cared, ever since Yuta took away those pretenses, Taeyong’s worry has all but disappeared. It’s still there, of course; things would completely blow up if the public found out. But now he knows he and Yuta would weather that together, and that alone makes it worth it to him. Of course, he’ll have to see if Yuta falls back into old habits, but he doesn’t think he will. They both know that this is too important to throw away. Closeness like this, vulnerability—it’s hard to find in their industry, especially between two people who are so different in so many ways. That he’s found it is enough for Taeyong.

The flight itself is easy enough. Taeyong listens to music and plays video games, and before he knows it, they’re touching down in Osaka, where Yuta has a secondary residence.

As expected, there’s plenty of fans waiting there, too. Taeyong only waves, hiding the anxious and disgruntled press of his lips behind a mask, and then he’s escorted into a car, where he finally gets a little peace and quiet.

Yuta was right, though; it’s hardly six by the time he gets to his hotel, so he has time to wash up and change before braving the outside world again to meet Yuta at a sushi restaurant.

It’s a high-end establishment, and seemingly rather private, much like the bar Yuta took him to the first time. There’s something almost nostalgic about it as Taeyong is checked in, as he’s led up to the dining rooms, as he looks across the room and sees Yuta sitting at a secluded booth, nearly hidden in the corner. He has his hands folded atop a closed menu, chin raised, waiting for Taeyong. When their eyes meet, he smiles.

Taeyong sits down across from him and they stare at each other for a second. Yuta is just as strikingly beautiful as he’s always been, but Taeyong notices he’s a little dressed down. His jewelry is simple, his attire clean, his makeup light. Unlike their first meeting in that bar, he isn’t trying to turn Taeyong on. His charm is muted today; he’s in his natural state, instead of trying to exude an air of tongue-in-cheek sexiness like he seems to do almost every other day. He’s not Nakamoto Yuta, wildly popular j-rock star. He’s just Yuta.

“Hi,” Taeyong says softly, and Yuta smiles even bigger. It’s not that sharp, sly smile that sends goosebumps scattering across Taeyong’s skin. It’s sweet and gentle and floods his eyes with warmth.

“Hi,” Yuta replies. “It’s good to see you.” A slight pause, then, “It’s really good to see you.”

“You, too,” Taeyong says.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Yuta says. “I still don’t really know what I’m doing, but—I don’t know. I’m not as scared anymore.”

Taeyong smiles. “Thank you for being brave enough to say something first,” he says. “We can talk about it later, when we’re alone, okay? Right now, I want to enjoy a meal with you.”

“I think we can make that happen,” Yuta agrees, a hint of his usual self coming through. “Do you want to look over the menu and pick a few things out, or do you want me to order?”

“You know better, you should order,” Taeyong says. “I think it would just stress me out, trying to choose.”

Yuta laughs. “Okay. Anything you know you like? Or know you hate?”

“Yellowtail is always good,” Taeyong says. “And eel.”

Yuta nods, opening his menu. Taeyong browses the drink selection while Yuta makes his decisions, sneaking looks at him every few seconds.

Yuta notices. “What?” he asks quietly.

Taeyong tips his head to this side. “I like you this way, too,” he says. “You look soft.”

The look Yuta gives him is sheepish. “It’s for you only,” he says, “so don’t go telling people. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

Taeyong giggles. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises.

A waiter comes to take their order, returning shortly with their drinks. They chat—about Taeyong’s flight, their last projects, their friends. Taeyong delicately avoids how murderous Doyoung still was when he left; he hopes pictures of Yuta spoiling him will be enough to soothe his outrage.

“You should meet my friends,” Yuta suggests. “It’s only fair, since I met yours. Plus, one of them in particular is dying to meet you. Actually, he’s a lot of the reason I reached out in the first place.” He laughs softly. “His name’s Shotaro. Unlike me, he’s got his head screwed on right, so, you know.”

Taeyong giggles. “I’d love to meet him,” he says earnestly.

Their food comes out, and Taeyong spends the next twenty or thirty minutes completely lost for words, lost in how good the sushi is. Yuta watches him fondly, insisting he take the last piece of everything, placing them on Taeyong’s plate before Taeyong can finish chewing and argue. Taeyong feels warmth rise to his chest, his cheeks. It’s not from the drinks. It’s this—them, together, in a way they haven’t been before. It’s new, and Taeyong thinks he likes it.

Yuta’s manager retrieves them once they’re done. “It’s good to see you again, Taeyong,” she says, and Taeyong has to wonder just how much of this she knows. Regardless, her welcome seems genuine, and Taeyong dips his head in thanks.

Though the ride to Yuta’s is pretty high-spirited, the energy leaves them as they get into the elevator. Yuta quiets, watching Taeyong. Taeyong watches him back. It’s not a bad change; Taeyong knows they both knew they would have to talk everything though once they got back to Yuta’s place.

Yuta’s place in Osaka is much more understated than his apartment in Tokyo. Here, it’s a simple one-bedroom overlooking the river on one side and the street on the other. The design is much more traditional, with light wood finishes and muted decor. Taeyong finds he likes it; it’s comforting where Yuta’s Tokyo residence is sexy.

Yuta locks up behind them, helps Taeyong with his things, files their shoes away. He pads over to his living room, gesturing for Taeyong to follow, dropping down into one of his couches and patting the cushion beside him. Taeyong sits.

“I want to explain myself a little,” Yuta says after a moment. “Not because I want you to think better of me, but because I need you to understand that the way I went about all of this had nothing to do with you.” Taeyong nods, waiting. “I’m usually someone who… sleeps around, I guess. I’ve basically had a consistent string of hookups ever since the start of my career. I’m known for being a bit of a playboy—and my fans like that about me. They think it’s fun, sexy. They hope the next NDA I sign will have their name on it, because it might.” Yuta runs his hand through his hair. “You’re not the first person I’ve arranged a meet-cute with. You know what I said—I know what I want, and I know how to get it. I wanted you, and I made that happen. But…” He trails off, and Taeyong realizes he’s nervous.

He takes one of Yuta’s hands, squeezing it gently. “What?” he prompts softly.

“Usually, you know, we’ll sleep together, and I might travel to see them again like I did with you, but it doesn’t last for longer than a few months, and it’s never meant to be more than that—just sex, and company. And…” Yuta shrugs. “I was fine with that. I knew I was years away from even being able to think about settling down, if I am ever able to settle down in the traditional sense at all. It was fun, and it kept me entertained.

“But then, I came to visit you. What happened between us last time you were here, I could write that off as infatuation. You are exceptionally handsome, Taeyong, you’re pretty and you’re a very good fuck, and you’re sweet and funny and kind,” Yuta says. “So if I was getting a little giddy about you, that was fine, it was natural. But then I saw you again, and I stepped into your life, your world. I met your friends. I worked with you. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t infatuation anymore. It was something else. And that was weird for me.” Yuta’s biting a nail, looking at Taeyong through his bangs. “I even considered asking my manager to fabricate an emergency and bring me home early, except I didn’t want to abandon our collab. And I didn’t want to abandon you.

“I thought, okay, I can stick it out to the end of this vacation, and then we’ll have some time apart when we’re both busy, and I’ll be able to cool down,” he continues. “But I didn’t. I thought about you all the time, I mean—I still do. I found myself wishing I had a different life. I wished we’d never met, I was kicking myself for setting up that stupid meeting, because then none of this would have happened, and I wouldn’t have been in such turmoil.” He squeezes Taeyong’s hand back, taking a deep breath. “And then we had that call, and it just—I couldn’t tell you any of it, how could I? I never thought I would be this kind of person, the kind that—lets emotion get in the way. And I think I was angry at myself and displaced that on you, blamed you for it when really, it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just what happens when—” Another breath “—when you find someone who you really care about, who makes you happy, who makes you better.” He huffs out laughter. “It’s a silly way to treat someone so precious, right? But I didn’t know what to do. So I said things—some true, some not—and hoped they would make you angry enough that you would never want to speak to me again, and I could wallow in peace.”

“Well, you very nearly succeeded,” Taeyong says drily, and Yuta exhales a weak laugh.

“I know,” he says. “But somehow, something I didn’t count on was that you might be feeling the same kinds of things. And that ate at me over the next couple of weeks. It was fine if I was left to suffer alone, and pay for my stupidity, but—it felt cruel and stupid if you were suffering, too. Eventually, I spilled all of this to Shotaro, who let me talk until I was tired. And you know what he said?”

Taeyong blinks. “What?”

“‘I’ve always admired you for being independent, and not letting other peoples’ expectations rule your decisions,’” Yuta quotes, “‘but now you’re losing yourself to an image you built when you were young, and have spent your entire career striving to live up to.’ Literally, that. Seared into my memory, because it was absolutely wild to hear from him. He’s usually all simple sentences and giggles, you know?” Yuta shakes his head. “There’s something humbling about being put in your place by someone you consider a mentee.” He looks at Taeyong. “And he was right. I’ve… gotten lost in my own shadow, I think. And it took nearly ruining things with you to bring me back to reality. So,” he says, taking Taeyong's other hand as well, “I’d like to apologize again, of course. I’m sorry for this giant mess. I know you won’t let me accept full responsibility for it, but I’m still very sorry. But just as much as I’m sorry, I’m also grateful for you, too. I don’t know if you’ll ever know how much.”

Taeyong shakes his head, some swell of emotion filling his chest. “You’ve taught me just as much about myself,” he says. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. I wanted—I wanted to thank you, really. I’ve spent the last few years empty and hopeless. I was happy with my success, but I kind of thought… that would be it. Like, my life now is all I would ever have. And then I met you, and everything changed. And I think I was almost hoping you could save me, even though that’s not something anybody could do. And I got angry when I found out you couldn’t. So I’m sorry, too.”

“Still, it’s…” Yuta’s expression twists. “I was cruel. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that.”

“I can,” Taeyong says simply. Yuta’s brows crumple further. “I can,” he repeats, hoping Yuta will be able to internalize it. “You didn’t mean it, and everything you’ve done since then has proven it.” He lifts a shoulder. “I like to think that our first response to something is more representative of how the world has taught us to be, and then how we manage that first response is who we really are.” He leans in. “I’ve seen who you really are now, Yuta. And I like you a lot.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yuta asks.

“Very,” Taeyong says. “You’re kind, and you’re a very hard worker, and you have an innate sense of justice that, even when you lose your balance because life’s gotten hard, brings you back to your center very quickly, and compels you to right any wrongs. You’re a very bright person, and you want compassion and gentleness so much, even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if it also scares you. But, uh, that’s basically like everyone else I’ve ever met. Myself included.”

“Thank you,” Yuta says quietly, leaning forward, too. Their foreheads brush.

“Mm,” Taeyong hums, an acceptance of his gratitude. “And… I don’t know how this is supposed to work in the long term. Maybe one day, things will be better, and we can reveal this to the public. But honestly…” He pauses, thinking about his fans, thinking about everything he shares with them, thinking about all that they know. “I don’t mind so much that we can’t, really. I mean, of course I’m scared of the consequences, but it’s okay with me, to just keep it to ourselves.”

Yuta kisses him, soft and sweet. Taeyong gives a little giggle of surprise, muffled against Yuta’s lips. “I’m okay with that, too,” Yuta says when they break apart. “Just because it’s different doesn’t mean what we have isn’t worth as much.”

Taeyong nods his agreement. “I don’t need other people to know about it in order for it to feel real,” he says. He searches Yuta’s eyes and sees nothing but hope and joy there, warm and pure. “I know it’s real to you, and I know it’s real to me, and that’s all that matters. Is that okay for now?”

Yuta nods. “I think we can make that work,” he says, a flicker of his usual smile on his face.

“Great.” Taeyong kisses him again, just a swift peck, before standing. “Show me around your place,” he says. ��We can talk about it more tomorrow if we want, but I think all we can really do is just hope for the best and see how it pans out now.”

“Yeah,” Yuta agrees, standing too and giving himself a little shake. “Okay, c’mon.”

He points out a couple of things, showing Taeyong how to operate the shades and how to move the sliding doors installed in each room before leading him down to his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, it’s simple and clean. His bed is resting just above the floor on wood slats with a short bamboo bedside table next to it. Taeyong realizes now how tired he is from traveling, the coziness of the room enveloping him in a sort of sleepy calm.

Yuta can tell. “Let’s get you a change of clothes. Do you want to rinse off before we go to bed?”

Taeyong nods; though he showered after his flight, he knows he’ll sleep better if he’s freshly clean. Yuta grabs sleep stuff for the both of them, and then brings Taeyong to the bathroom where they shower quickly before drying off and tugging on big shirts. Yuta gets Taeyong settled in bed and then clicks off the light, shuffling his way back to the bed in the dark.

“Tomorrow,” Yuta murmurs once he has Taeyong curled up next to him the way he wants, “I think we’ll just spend the day, you and me. There’s a park nearby I think you’ll like. There’s koi ponds and things.”

“It sounds nice,” Taeyong agrees. He takes one of Yuta’s hands and brings it to his lips. “I think I’ll like it, too.”

Yuta kisses his hair. “And then maybe later this week you can meet Shotaro.” He shrugs; Taeyong can feel the movement behind him. “We can do whatever. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Taeyong giggles sleepily. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Taeyong wakes to the sound of birds. He realizes with a start that it’s been a while since he’s heard birdcall—he lives in a city, and is always traveling to other cities, and the bustle of a downtown always drowns out everything else. But Yuta’s place is a little removed from the noise of a city, and Taeyong can hear the birds singing.

Yuta is still asleep; Taeyong wants to turn and look at him, but their bodies are far too entangled for him to do so without the risk of waking him up. So Taeyong contents himself with finding one of Yuta’s hands and running his thumb over it, soft and slow.

He wishes he could go back to just a few weeks ago, when everything felt hopeless, when he was sure he would never be happy, when he thought he could never have anything like this, and tell himself everything was going to be alright. It wasn’t easy getting here, certainly, but it was worth it. Still, it would be nice to be able to spare himself a little heartache.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, listening to the outside world wake, listening to the gentle sound of Yuta’s breath. Maybe an hour passes, and then Yuta stirs behind him with a sudden deep inhale. He feels him kiss the top of his head.

“G’morning,” Taeyong whispers, finally able to wriggle around and face him.

“Morning,” Yuta murmurs back, lifting his arm so Taeyong has room to turn, and leaning in and giving him a kiss once he’s settled again. “Sleep okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong hums, nodding. He smiles. “You?”

Yuta nods, kissing him again. “How hungry are you?” he asks.

“Only kinda,” Taeyong replies.

“Good,” Yuta says, and pushes himself up, pulling his arm free from underneath Taeyong’s neck. Another kiss. “Can I fuck you, honey?”

Heat rises to Taeyong’s skin instantly. “Oh,” he murmurs, smiling bigger. “Yes. Please.”

Yuta is on all fours now; he bends to kiss down the column of Taeyong’s throat. His movements are lazy, but Taeyong can feel the intent behind them. His eyes are almost reverent when he raises his head, though it’s guarded, like he’s not sure if he wants Taeyong to see it yet. That’s okay, Taeyong decides. It’ll be an adjustment for him, an adjustment for the both of them. Taeyong is patient; he can wait.

Yuta stretches out to find the lube. Taeyong watches him quietly, sinking further into the comfort of Yuta’s bed. He realizes he’s never felt this calm with Yuta before—they’re usually rushing for some reason, either reeling with the eagerness of seeing each other again after missing each other, or else frantic with the knowledge that it could very well be one of the last times they ever see each other.

But neither of those things are here today. It’s gentler—there’s no need to hurry. Neither of them have schedules today, and they know now that this—whatever it is they have, however nebulous—isn’t going away anytime soon. Yuta sits back, holding the lube, and Taeyong spreads his legs, letting his head loll to the side.

Yuta rucks his shirt up, placing a few kisses down his stomach before focusing his attention a little lower. Taeyong draws in an unsteady breath, raising a hand to Yuta’s hair as Yuta kisses the head of his cock and then presses his tongue to it, licking up the underside before taking him in his mouth fully and sinking back down on it, cheeks hollowing. Taeyong sighs, letting the pleasure come, soft and quiet, dripping through his body, slow but sure until it’s all he can feel.

Yuta keeps his mouth on him, uncapping the lube and slicking up a finger without looking, finding Taeyong’s entrance easily and sinking a finger in. Taeyong hardly notices the discomfort of the intrusion, too focused on Yuta’s tongue. What he does register a few minutes later is how good it feels when Yuta brushes past his prostate, and he moans without meaning to, fighting to stop his hand in Yuta’s hair from tightening into a fist.

Yuta pulls off his cock when he adds a second finger, more interested in opening him up than getting him off. Taeyong doesn’t mind; he’s not sure he could manage more than one orgasm right now unless he was given four hours to nap after, so he hums, letting his hand drop to the mattress as Yuta sits up.

“Opening right up for me,” Yuta murmurs when he adds a third finger. “So good, like always.” He kisses the point of Taeyong’s knee.

“Missed you,” Taeyong replies simply, and Yuta nods his understanding.

“I’m all yours now,” he says. “I’ll fuck you whenever you want.”

Taeyong decides not to point out it’s less of a matter of when he wants, and more about whether or not his body can take it. If it was the former, Taeyong’s not sure he would be doing much else for his entire trip. He hums affirmatively instead, trying to hide his smile.

Yuta works his fingers in and out, faster and faster until Taeyong’s taken fistfuls of the sheets, until the glide is smooth and wet and easy. He pulls his fingers out, smiling at Taeyong’s soft protests at the loss, drizzling a little bit of lube into his palm and spreading it over his cock.

“Ready?” he teases.

“I’m gonna kick you if you don’t put it in,” Taeyong replies, no heat behind the threat.

Yuta laughs, lining himself up, head of his cock bumping against Taeyong’s hole. “No need to get feisty,” he says. “I’ll always give you what you want.”

He prepped Taeyong well; it’s easy for him to push into the wet heat of Taeyong’s body. Taeyong whines happily as Yuta bottoms out. He feels so nice and full; Yuta’s just right, the weight of his cock heavy but not painful. Yuta leans in and kisses Taeyong’s jaw, circling his hips a little.

“Oh, god, Yuta,” Taeyong whispers.

Yuta hums into his skin, clearly amused. “Kinda wanna be mean,” he murmurs. “Be rough with you, make you cry.” Taeyong whimpers; he kind of wants it too. “But we have a whole day, so I think that can wait till tonight. How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees.

“Right now I’m just gonna make you feel good,” Yuta promises, then draws his hips back, slow, before pushing back in. The drag of it is delicious; it sings across Taeyong’s skin, raising goosebumps even though he’s still half-under the duvet. Yuta goes a little faster, but not much, instead making sure each thrust is deep and hard and hits Taeyong’s prostate every time.

Taeyong’s head is swirling. He clenches around Yuta, hands finding Yuta’s arms and clinging while Yuta rocks his hips, lips and tongue and teeth on Taeyong’s clavicle. And that’s fine, too—no reason for anyone to see those marks, not if Taeyong just finds a shirt with a high enough neckline. A strange emotion has worked its way into the mix, and it takes Taeyong a few moments to realize it’s happiness, pure and simple. His next moan comes out different around the shape of his smile.

“Yuta,” he breathes. “Kiss me.”

Yuta doesn’t hesitate, raising his head and pressing his lips to Taeyong’s, teeth scraping, not hard enough to really hurt. One of Yuta’s hands comes up to cradle Taeyong’s head, and Taeyong leans into it. He wants as many points of contact as possible. Really, he thinks he’d be happiest if they were touching everywhere, but this is good enough.

Whatever angle Yuta’s found is Taeyong’s new favorite, he’s pretty sure. He’s so deep, Taeyong swears he can feel him in his stomach, maybe higher. It’s going to leave an ache that he’ll definitely still be feeling tonight, but that’s good. It’s also gonna ache when Yuta comes that deep, but that’s good, too. Taeyong is his, after all, finally really his.

Yuta pulls back, wiping some spit away from Taeyong’s lips with his thumb. Taeyong flicks his tongue out, and Yuta smiles, pushing his thumb into Taeyong’s mouth and hooking it in the inside of his cheek. Taeyong lets out a garbled moan, blinking slow and pretty.

“I’m glad you’re gonna be here for a couple of weeks,” Yuta says. “So much I want to do to you.”

Taeyong’s not sure exactly what thought has sparked in Yuta’s mind, but he is sure that whatever it is, he’s going to like it. He swirls his tongue over Yuta’s thumb, making a soft “ah-huh” noise out of the back of his throat and hoping that Yuta understands this means he wants it.

Yuta drops down to his elbow so it’s easier for him to kiss down Taeyong’s chest, closing his mouth around one of his nipples and flicking his tongue across it. Pleasure sparks across Taeyong’s skin, sending tremors across his whole body. Yuta hums, and the vibrations make Taeyong gasp.

Taeyong reaches down to touch himself, but Yuta shakes his head, pulling off his chest. “Think you can come just on my cock?” he asks. “You just always look so pretty like that.”

Taeyong nods as best he can, letting his hand rest on his stomach instead. It’ll take a little longer, but if Yuta’s not in a rush, then neither is he. Yuta moves to his other nipple, tongue quick and practiced, and Taeyong clenches helplessly around him, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around Yuta’s thumb in an effort to stay grounded.

It’s hard, though. Yuta’s so deep; Taeyong gives soft little gasps every time he moves, involuntarily. It’s almost worse that he isn’t going fast. At least then, Taeyong would have an excuse for getting overwhelmed. But though Yuta keeps his pace lazy, he’s hitting all the right spots.

So Taeyong gives into it. He lets his eyes roll back, lets his breathing come ragged, lets the sweet little moans that he knows Yuta loves so much spill out of his mouth. Yuta groans softly against his skin.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “So good. Always sound so good for me. Never met someone who likes getting fucked as much as you do, it’s perfect.”

Taeyong shivers at the praise, whimpering softly as the pressure in his belly builds and builds. He can feel his body tensing up, and he thinks Yuta can, too.

He’s right again; Yuta raises his head, eyes hot and dark when they find Taeyong’s. “Close?” he asks. “Gonna come for me, untouched?”

Taeyong nods helplessly. Of course I am, he thinks, hazy. You asked me to, of course I am. Yuta pushes himself back up on his hand, turning the one that’s in Taeyong’s mouth and switching out his thumb for his index and middle finger, pushing them deeper. It’s not enough to make Taeyong gag, but it does make him feel nice and dirty, and he comes with a moan, his release dribbling slowly out over the head of his cock and dripping down onto his stomach. He convinces weakly; it’s always like this when he comes untouched, long and steady and nearly torturous, waves of pleasure that wrack his whole body.

“So pretty, honey,” Yuta whispers, sounding strained, pulling his fingers out of Taeyong’s mouth and planting that hand on the mattress instead to help keep his balance.

“Now you,” Taeyong manages, barely audible. “Now you.”

Yuta lets out a breathy groan, stilling deep inside Taeyong as he comes. Taeyong watches his face, the way his eyebrows pinch, eyes squeezing shut, the small curls of hair, damp with sweat, sticking to his neck over the spot where his pulse is jumping. Yuta, his Yuta.

They stay there for a minute, maybe, until Yuta’s arms start to tremble and he has to pull out, dropping to the side and pressing a kiss to Taeyong’s shoulder.

“Breakfast?” he whispers.

The idea of food is honestly repulsive in this moment, so Taeyong shakes his head, making a soft noise of protest. “Let me lie here for a little longer,” he pleads.

Yuta just laughs, giving him another kiss, this one to the cheek. “Okay, honey.”

They cuddle for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, skin to skin, Taeyong in Yuta’s arms. Taeyong wants to stay longer, thinks he could even fall asleep like this, only he can feel Yuta’s come dripping out of him. He doesn’t mind it necessarily except that he knows it’s making a mess.

Eventually, the clean freak in him wins over, and he raises his head. “Okay,” he says, “breakfast.” Yuta smiles and releases him, moving to stand.

Taeyong rolls off the bed, feet finding the floor easily. He pushes himself up to a standing position and nearly falls right back down on the bed as his legs shake. Yuta notices and laughs, coming around the other side of the bed with his hand outstretched.

“Fuck you so good you can’t walk?” he asks cheekily.

Taeyong takes his hand. “Almost,” he admits, willing himself to stay upright long enough to get to the bathroom.

Luckily, his legs grow stronger with each step, so Taeyong doesn’t have to worry about that brand of embarrassment. They rinse the come and sweat off, then return to Yuta’s bedroom to strip the bed, find some pants, and open the blinds.

The sunlight is bright and strong and makes Taeyong wince, but it’s warm and brings the room alive. Yuta giggles at Taeyong’s expression, kissing his forehead and then tugging him towards the door. “Let’s get something to eat,” he says.

Yuta’s kitchen is warm with the same light. Taeyong situates himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, looking out the window at the street below. Yuta sets some broth on the stove and pops a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster while their coffee brews. He passes Taeyong a bowl of raw eggs to whisk so he can scramble them while he finds the cream and sugar.

Taeyong whisks the eggs, thinking. What he and Yuta have, what they want, it’s not going to be easy. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever be able to share this with the public, if he’ll ever have to stop worrying about being discovered. But this, whatever it is, is also incredibly precious and rare. Taeyong doubts he’ll ever find someone like Yuta again in his lifetime—someone he matches well with, someone he cares about. Someone who cares enough about him to do what Yuta’s done—stuff away his pride and show Taeyong that nothing is more important than him. Taeyong won’t be able to let go of that, no matter how difficult things may get.

He passes the bowl of whisked eggs to Yuta, and a few minutes later, a simple breakfast is laid out before him. Taeyong sips at his coffee as Yuta takes the seat beside him, still watching out the window. There’s a young couple walking down the street; as Taeyong watches, the man stops to tie his shoe. His girlfriend realizes a few paces away, and turns to come back and wait by his side. When he stands, he kisses her briefly and she laughs. Taeyong can almost hear it, the joy there. She takes his hand, and they continue on their way.

“Sometimes,” Taeyong blurts, “I wish I had a different life.” He nods at the couple. “One like that.” Yuta looks, and smiles faintly. “Do you think—“ Taeyong hesitates, then plows on, “maybe in another universe somewhere—we have a life like that?”

Yuta’s smile grows; he turns and fixes his gaze on Taeyong. “You know,” he says, nodding, “for a while there I was considering auditioning at Korean entertainment agencies.” He shrugs. “Maybe in another universe, you aren’t a solo artist, but part of a group. And maybe in that universe, I did audition, and maybe I ended up in that group too.”

Taeyong giggles. “I’d like that, I think,” he says, imagining it. Maybe in that universe, Johnny and Doyoung and Kun are part of that group, too. It would certainly be less lonely, working side by side with his friends, sleeping in the same dorm, touring together. “Or—maybe in another universe, we’re not people at all. We’re two outdoor cats who live in the same neighborhood, and we make friends and bring our owners together, like in a rom-com.”

Yuta laughs brightly, head tipping back. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind being a house cat in another universe,” he agrees.

They’re quiet for a moment. The ghost of Taeyong’s laughter is still sitting in his chest. He looks at Yuta, at the man who changed everything. Yuta, his Yuta. “I don’t think I’d really mind what I was,” he says softly, “as long as you were there, too.”

There’s a moment of stillness, then Yuta reaches across the space between them and kisses him. He almost elbows his coffee off the table in the process, but he doesn’t, and it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re both laughing into the kiss.

“Yeah,” Yuta says when they break apart. “I think so, too.”

41 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

— out of reach | gojo x reader

request: Girllllll I just read your jealous gojo fic and my heart went 📈📈📈📈💥💥💥 youre now one of my fav writers 🙏🧎‍♀️And the spicy parts 😫😫😫 💖 If your asks are still open, could I please request a fic where GOJO has a size kink 🥺🥺🥺 my 5’1 ass is obsessed with that shizzzz

pov: you’re gojo’s childhood friend and roommate – which leads to utter chaos – or perhaps utter bliss?

warnings: size kink, lots of teasing, lots of cursing, dirty talk, choking (probably not in the way you think), body worship, lots of size difference scenes, slight manhandling, overstimulation, thigh fucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl guys) + unedited fic :D

notes: idk what happened here LMAOOO but i loved writing this one because i’m short as hell too lol. thanks for this request anon, i hope you like it! <3

word count: 10.5k

masterlist !

If you’re going to be honest, having Gojo as a roommate is something completely unexpected.

Not only are you two from entirely different worlds – him as a jujutsu sorcerer and you as an average human who can’t see curses – but he’s also just someone who is entirely out of your league. He’s respected and looked up to in his field of work, while half of your co-workers don’t even know your name, much less notice you in function parties where you mostly just nibble on sushi before calling it a day and turning back home.

You and Gojo met in elementary school. You could tell from the way he’s surrounded by servants and stern looking adults, firm hands on his small shoulders, that he was different from everyone else.

Apparently, he comes from one of the three big clans in the jujutsu world or whatever. You honestly don’t care about any of that, because Gojo refuses to act maturely about his role in the clan. You still remember how quiet he was on the first day of school, never smiling and keeping to himself despite your persuasion to eat lunch with him or play with him after school in the courtyard.

You miss that Gojo Satoru – the quiet, serious kid who was far too gentle in his actions yet firm in his words and beliefs. When you were still a little girl, you admired how he seemed older than his age, a wistful look in those azure blue eyes of his that you’ve always loved.

To you, Gojo Satoru was your hero. You’ve always been one of the shortest kids in class, and it didn’t help that you really loved pigtails all the way until middle school that made you an easy target from immature people who’s being hit way too fast by puberty and growing each passing day. You never minded your short stature because really, it’s just height, but you couldn’t ignore how your confidence dwindled each day when they called you several array of nicknames.

Too shy to fight back, you’d laugh it off or force a smile.

Gojo wasn’t having any of it. He’d break his silence and immediately pull you to his side (which only made things worse because Gojo was one of the tallest kids in class, further emphasizing how small you are right next to him) before threatening to smack the kids right in the face.

The threat should be enough to land him detention, but because he’s Gojo Satoru, the golden kid everyone loved, they took his word seriously.

At the age of eleven, you started seeing your best friend as your knight in shining armour. Gojo basked in this, growing protective and always glaring at whoever snickered when you walked past them. Sometimes he even bared his teeth to hiss at them, which was honestly so ridiculous now that you think about, though the message – the threat – always came across loud and clear.

So yeah, you love Gojo, you still do.

Years flew by and the two of you grew apart due to work and also as a part of growing up. You still kept in contact, messaging each other once a month to ask the other how they’re doing. His work kept him extremely busy though, and Gojo didn’t want you involved in the dangers of what he’s doing, so he makes sure to keep a safe distance.

Until six months ago, you hear a banging on your door. You’re just about ready to throw hands because your former roommate moved out to live with her stoner boyfriend, leaving you to shoulder all the bills and responsibilities of maintaining a two man apartment.

A sneer forms on your lips as you swing the door open, a scowl already on your face. You assumed it was your roommate who returned to get the pair of lace panties they left in their room, but instead, your childhood friend stands before you, taller (seriously, how has he not stopped growing?) and definitely a lot hotter than the last time you saw him.

One thing leads to another, and now it feels like there was never such distance between the two of you with how easily you both fell back into a comfortable – yet chaotic – rhythm and routine of being each other’s roommate.

Not that you mind, of course. Gojo’s definitely changed a lot from when you were kids. He’s no longer that stiff or sensitive when it comes to others. In fact, it seems like he loosens up a lot more with age, because you can barely recognize the man living under the same roof with you now.

For one thing, Gojo is loud. Like really talkative, won’t shut the fuck up and speaks like he’s in a screaming contest with someone. It doesn’t matter if you’re taking an important phone call or sleepwalking at three in the morning to pee, Gojo is always creating some sort of ruckus.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you loved it. You love him.

He’s definitely a lot more enthusiastic and fun to be with now that both of you have grown up, or in Gojo’s case, simply aged. His maturity reversed backwards because it feels like you’re taking care of a little kid.

Not only does his body clock is practically non-existent, he’s also horrible when it comes to taking care of himself and being punctual with work.

Fortunately for him, you love him, and you both leave for work at the same time. You always wake up earlier to prepare breakfast so you’d both have energy to start the day – although you highly doubt there’s really anything that depletes his endless source of one.

Sleepily walking through the kitchen with your fist rubbing at your eyes, you rummage through the refrigerator for some eggs when you realize there’s none.

Huh, you think to yourself, scratching your scalp. You’re sure that Gojo went grocery shopping last week since it’s his chore to do the outside stuff like buying groceries and throwing thrash, so where did it go?

You open shelf by shelf, checking each corner and shoving cans aside to look for the tray. With a glare, you stand on your tiptoes to pull the pantry open, only to have your mouth fall aghast because it’s all there – right at the back where you can’t reach it!

Fucking Satoru, you grit your teeth while heaving your body up onto the counter. It’s a struggle because not only are your muscles still half asleep, but because the shelf is right in your face, and if you’re not careful enough, you could hit it right with your face and fall over. Of fucking course you know Satoru did this to make fun of you – and now you retract your statement over your best friend.

It’s all a lie.

He’s a pain in the ass. Why do you even bother cooking for him and letting him live literally just a room away when you know he won’t stop pulling shit like this?

Because, the nagging voice in your head tries to mock, he’s your best friend and you can’t really say no to him. This makes you huff as you carefully pull the tray towards you, hooking two fingers at the edge while your other palm grips at the end of the counter for support. No thanks to your short limbs, you’re practically hogging the shelf by now in an attempt to reach it. You look ridiculous, that’s for sure, and you make a mental note to keep Satoru’s windows open tonight so he freezes to death –

“Aw, cupcake,” a sing-song voice emerges from the other side of the room. “You look so adorable. You should’ve woke me up if you need my help.”

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you flip him off. The man only laughs, the rambunctious sound echoing off the walls. It’s way too early in the morning and he’s already so damn loud; something builds up at the back of your head out of frustration already. His grin only gets wider when you finally got the eggs and clutch it your chest, setting it down on the counter while wiping your sweat away from your face. “Freeloader,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring him when he happily skips over to you.

“Ouch,” he places a palm over his chest, although you both know he’s never really affected by anything. “So what’s for breakfast today? You?”

“You know, I can kick you out anytime I want. I’m being extremely nice even going as far to cook you breakfast before you leave for work, so don’t test my patience.”

“Exactly, my best friend is so kind,” Satoru grows the audacity to rest his arm on your head. This triggers a reflexive response from you; shoulders tensing up and hands curling into fists beside you. “I would totally date her if she wasn’t such a temperamental little devil,” you nearly stab him with a fork with his statement, which he thinks he’s being so sly for but you heard it, and you’re most definitely not pleased with it. “Okay, I’m kidding! I’m going to go shower now!”

You roll your eyes at him and heat the pan over with some oil, muttering under your breath that you’re really going to kick him out soon. As if things couldn’t get worse – as if Satoru couldn’t get any worse – he smacks your backside in the process before darting to the showers.

“Gojo Satoru!”

“Morning, best friend, love ya!”

You were right. He is a pain in the ass.

“You don’t always have to walk me to work.”

“I know.”

“So why’re you still here? I’m not a little kid anymore,” Contrary to your words, you stick closer to Satoru when the morning rush of workers and students begin to crowd the streets. Your best friend notices this with a small smile, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Don’t even try, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“I know that look on your face,” you fiddle with the buttons of your uniform, sighing when Satoru follows you inside the bus after tapping your phone for two seats. It’s not a surprise to you anymore that most of your expenses are spent by him, for him, and he lazily sprawls his long limbs across the seat before you pulling you down right next to him.

As much as you hate this man, especially because he smirks at the attention he’s receiving from women – even men – in the bus, you have to admit he’s warm and smells damn good. You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking around in slight self-consciousness before inching a little closer, just to feel his warmth. He’s comforting – irrationally so – so you set your bag between the both of you to keep your sanity. “If you keep doing this, Principal Yaga might fire your ass because you’re never on time.”

“Trust me, cupcake, he won’t. I’m too valuable for that.”

How you saw that coming – you can’t tell anymore. The bus ride is relatively quiet and eventless, with you dozing off every now and then because you’re never a morning person. Thankfully, Satoru is more respectful this time around, lolling your head until it drops to his shoulder. After that, he snakes his arm around your waist before resting it on your thigh as a way to say you don’t have to head bang every damn second and just sleep.

On any other occasion, you would’ve hated it. You always look so small whenever you’re in Satoru’s presence. It doesn’t help that he’s long and lanky, either, his slender fingers effortlessly caressing your thigh while almost your entire body is flushed next to him. But right now, he’s too warm, too soft, and you’re too tired that for just a little bit, you allow yourself to relax.

A beeping wakes you up a moment later. Opening your eyes, you push yourself off Satoru when you see an old lady reaching for the handles. No one gave up their seats for her even as the bus driver asked her to find a seat lest she’d fall.

“Grandma, here, take my seat—” You’re about to stand up and offer it to her when Satoru tugs you by the wrist. Because of your small, wobbly composure, pulling you to him takes little to no effort. You end up on his lap, sitting on him as if you’re nothing but a small, dainty schoolbag. Satoru is clearly enjoying this because you feel him breathily laugh on the back of your neck, charming – annoyingly so – as he gestures to the now empty spot beside him.

“It’s no worries, Grandma. She’ll be fine,” he gestures to you, patting your head like you’re some puppy. “Please, take a seat. The bus is already moving.”

“Satoru, get off me,” You wriggle yourself from his hold, which only ends up in wasted effort because this big oaf doesn’t even budge. He even bounces you on one of his thighs, and you dig your nails into his arms as a silent plead for him to stop. He ignores this, ignores your small whines and the apparent embarrassment that has you debating whether to punch him or hide yourself in the safety of his uniform.

“She’s a feisty little one, isn’t she?”

The old lady watches the two of you banter, giggling behind her wrinkled hands. “You’re an adorable couple.”

“I think so too!”

“You’re so going to pay for this, Satoru,” you grumble, face planted onto your palms. This is it – the worst day of your life. It’s even worse because despite your protests, you have to admit his lap is actually comfortable. You’ve already known this before after countless times of cuddling with Satoru during movie nights, but its different when you’re both out in public. It feels...oddly intimate and maybe even romantic when he rubs soothing circles at your back, almost as if apologizing for this event. Most of all, you just hate the way something pools beneath your stomach at having him so close to you like this. “This is so embarrassing. I’m practically crushing you with my weight.”

“Please, cupcake, you barely weigh anything. I could easily lift you off with just my finger,” when you elbow him in the chest, Satoru only laughs, raising both hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing.”

You give up. No one seems to be paying much attention to any of you anyway, so you sigh, letting yourself hide in the crook of his neck as you watch the city pass through the windows. Your body moves as his chest rises and falls from his breathing, the movement oddly comforting. It’s embarrassing – it really is – but at least the grandma was comfortable until Satoru drops you off near your building.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way there.”

“Why not? You don’t want people to see us together or something?”

“No,” you stare at him from the corner of your eye. It’s no secret Satoru is attractive. This bastard knows it too, judging from the way he confidently and arrogantly swaggers next to you, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked with no care in the world. “My co-workers keep asking me for your number every time I tell them we’re not dating. It’s getting annoying at this point how they go Satoru this and Satoru that.”

“Am I hearing it right? Is cupcake jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m disgusted,” you correct, “They don’t know how much of a pain you are to have around. They’re so focused with your looks that they completely overlook the fact you can’t even wash your dirty underwear!”

Satoru frowns at this, pointing his finger to you as if you’ve accused him of a huge crime. “Hey, I wash my underwear.”

“Yeah and last time you did, you mixed it with whites! My work uniform turned a stupid shade of blue! Now I can’t picture the colour of your boxers out of my head and it’s giving me a headache!”

“Wow, Y/N,” the smirk on his face and the sudden drop of nicknames lets you know you’ve said something wrong. Even behind his blindfold, you could tell his eyes are just sparkling with amusement. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I never thought you’d ever picture my boxers. I mean, I don’t mind showing it to you if you ask nicely—”

“Ugh, you’re so hopeless. I’m going to work.”

Gojo laughs when you jog away from him. He catches up with you in a matter of seconds, only having to take a few steps forward before he’s right beside you again. You’re unsure if you should be annoyed it’s so easy for him to always be right next to you, and how he almost always is right next to you while you prefer running away. It muddles with your heart and mind so much you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to be swayed by the sickeningly sweet sound of his laughter. “I can’t pick you up later, okay? I might work overtime!” (that’s a lie since Gojo prefers shopping and sightseeing)

Both of you know that’s a lie. Gojo never works overtime. He’s going to work for a few hours and so and call playing around with his students as “on-hand learning” before he goes shopping for stupid souvenirs and wild-flavoured mochis, then end his day by sightseeing and coming back home.

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” you mumble, waving goodbye to him as the office doors close. Slowly, Satoru’s grin and enthusiastic farewell fades into view until nothing but the pale, silver walls of your office greets you.

Funny how you claim to hate this man so much, yet the moment he’s out of sight, everything becomes dull and pointless.

It’s an absolutely shitty day. Your equally shitty boss blames you for something you didn’t even do, all because his incompetent secretary – who you’re sure he’s sleeping with – lost this month’s report and claimed she handed it to you last week when you’re not involved in that kind of work. Logic doesn’t come by them because your boss publicly humiliates and scolds you, calling you all kinds of names until tears are streaming down your face.

You slam the door shut the moment you get home, kicking your shoes off as you head straight to your room. You don’t bother taking your makeup off anymore as you change into a loose shirt and floral cotton shirts, padding to the kitchen after seeing Satoru is well nestled into the couch.

At least someone’s had a good day.

Seeing as the sink is empty, he probably hasn’t eaten dinner. This makes you sigh, because when will he ever learn to look after himself? He’s literally like a child.

Satoru pauses whatever he’s watching before he hovers over you, head tilted to the side as he gazes at you with curiosity. You ignore him and begin to set down some bowls and chopsticks for dinner, all the while Satoru is studying every inch of your tightly pulled face. “Bad day?” he concludes.

“Hmm.”

“Bad day it is then,” he nods to himself. “I can cook dinner, if you want.”

“And have you burn my apartment? No thanks,” you scoff, pushing him aside to retrieve the pans when you see that he’s placed them above again, even after you’ve reminded countless times to just leave it near the holders in the sink. “Ugh, why do you keep putting the pans in this shelf? You know I can’t reach this. I’ve had enough with you pulling pranks on me, and don’t think I’ve forgotten you placed my shampoo above the shower head today, you idiot,” you snarl and hop over the counter again to get the pans, trying your best to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. “You’re really bothersome, you know that?”

“Then why don’t you kick me out?” he challenges, completely oblivious to how you’re struggling – both physically and emotionally. “You always complain about me being a nuisance here, but you’re not really doing anything to keep me out.”

“Because where else would you go?”

“Technically, I have a room back at the Institute.”

“Yeah, but because you’re so stupid and reckless that you got kicked out of your own home,” you spat out, and you watch as Satoru raises a brow at your statement. Banter is common between the both of you, but something about the intensity of your gaze lets him know you’re serious this time around. “I don’t even know how Yuuji puts up with you. That poor Megumi is right when he says you’re insufferable. You’re good for nothing!”

Satoru scoffs, “Fine, if you hate me that much, why didn’t you just say so earlier? I could easily pack my bags and go since I’m just making everything harder—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying when your hand over the counter that acts as support slips under you, and you fall, legs bent awkwardly while you scream, preparing yourself for the impact. The pan is long forgotten, your only thought was oh my god, so this is how I die.

But it never came, and you keep your eyes shut tight even as warm hands cup your ass. Satoru is breathing hard under you. Finally gaining the courage to crack an eye open, your breath halts when you see that he’s sitting on the floor, with you safely nestled between him.

Satoru has always had pretty eyes, but it’s rare he takes off his blindfold off even when he’s home. This is one of those rare occurrences that he seems like a normal human, dressed in a gray sweatshirt that hands low from his collarbones and magnetic blue eyes staring right back at you. His touch is gentle, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you, and his voice that is usually loud and teasing comes out breathy and hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

Your gaze drops down to his lips. He’s close, so close, that if you just lean a little closer you could – you snap out of your daze. “Get off me.”

“Cupcake, you’re the one who’s on top of me,” his voice falls an octave lower, eyes flitting down to your clothing – or rather the lack of it – before Satoru takes a deep breath. “Did you really have to wear that?”

“I have the right to wear whatever I want in the comfort of my own home.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he raised a brow, this time completely in control of himself as he gazes back up at you with a burning gaze. You see nothing but the way one corner of his lips tilt up, almost teasing, and he looks so much like a shit-eater that you feel heat crawl down your spine.

You push yourself off him but your bent foot behind you slips, and you fall forward with your hands clutching his strong shoulders. Satoru catches your leg behind you, drags it forward until your knee is pressed in between one of your warmth, very much still enjoying the way you wriggle away from his hold. He knows his effect on you – but you deny this wholeheartedly.

“Careful, cupcake. This isn’t a slip and slide.”

“I hate you so much,” you bare your teeth at him, slapping his chest until he finally lets go of you. Turning your back to him, you pick up the pan and begin preparing your dinner, muttering curses under your breath as you heat up the stove. “I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Eat your damn dinner first.”

Dinner after that is awkward. Although Gojo is someone who can wolf down his meal in three seconds, he takes his time in eating to start conversation with you. Sometimes he asks decent questions like how your day was or he’d talk about something stupid, but he’s quiet the whole time. He even volunteers to do the dishes before retreating to his room, coating the house in silence.

It almost feels like you’re all alone over again.

You’ve gotten so used to him being an utter mess everywhere that when he’s not trying to piss you off and actually giving you the much needed peace, you begin to hate it. Memories of the rude things you’ve said to him a while ago play and in your head, and you bang your head against the wall repeatedly.

How are you supposed to apologize to Satoru now?

The answer doesn’t come until you stare at your walls, wide awake at midnight. The house is still eerily silent and you don’t stop shuffling around your bed in discomfort. Many times, you wished that Satoru would shut up and leave you alone, but now that he’s actually done that, it feels weird. Uncomfortable. It feels wrong.

With a grunt, you kick off the sheets and carefully tread to his room, knocking lightly in case he’s already sleeping. “Satoru?” you call out, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Are you awake?”

You’ve seen Satoru angry as kids before, but what would he be like now? Would he still want to be your friend? Would he still annoy you by hiding your things somewhere you can’t reach? Or would he be the who is now out of reach? If he leaves...who’s going to walk you to work? Who’s going to complain he doesn’t want to do groceries but buys you things you don’t ask for but want anyway? Who’s going to keep teasing the living daylights out of you if not him?

All these thoughts claw at the back of your mind until your bottom lip trembles. You hate how weak you feel; how you’re never careful with your words.

You never meant it when you said all that.

Your train of thought is cut off when the door swings open, revealing an equally tired-looking Satoru. At the sight of you peering up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes the door wider and steps closer to you, his large hands cupping your face as he leans down in worry. “Cupcake,” his brows pinch together, “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything I said,” you blurt out, “I was just tired from work and my boss was being shitty, so I wasn’t totally myself that time and I’m really sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re insufferable and that I’m kicking you out so – yeah,” you breathe out, trailing your gaze downwards to stare at your feet instead. It’s difficult to look him in the eye right now. When you finally gain courage to speak again, it barely comes out as a whimper, your hands delicately tugging at his shirt. “Please stay. I like having my best friend around here.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

You’re about to look up at him just in case you’ve said something wrong, or worse, he refuses to forgive you, but then – “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t kick me out. You’re too much of a darling to say no to me.”

Sigh. Satoru laughs when he sees your shoulders deflate, absolutely shattered in exhaustion. Hiding your smile to now show him you’re relieved, you punch his chest that really feels like a fly had accidentally flew into him. “Way to ruin the mood, Satoru. And here I thought I could have a serious conversation with you for once.”

“Apology accepted,” he beams, tilting your chin upwards so you could look at him. Even in the darkness of his room, his eyes glow, leaving you hypnotized in its beauty. “Plus, I think I’m the one who should apologize. You’re right; I haven’t been the best roommate and I am a freeloader,” he scratches the side of his head in thought. “But I do buy you food all the time though.”

“Yeah, with my money,” you counter, but you don’t really care anymore at this point. You’re beyond elated you’re both fine now, and you shyly gesture to his big, warm bed that suddenly looks so comfortable. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

“You want Satoru’s bear hug?”

“Yes, I do.” There’s no hesitation in your words and you don’t complain anymore when he easily picks you up like a ragdoll using only one arm. He’s surprisingly gentle when he places you both down on the bed, sheets warm and soft as it blankets over you.

It would be perfect – except it’s so damn awkward.

Gojo’s long limbs are everywhere. Your face is pressed into his chest, both your legs tangled together. His arm is sprawled over the curve of your hip, his hand nearly grazing your ass that’s barely covered by the thin material of your shorts, but if he shifts, he’ll end up cupping the back of your thighs which is equally uncomfortable.

He seems to be stuck in the same position because you’re so small, and your knees are grazing his groin. Had he known you’re going to sleep with him, he would’ve worn underwear or even boxers under his sweatpants.

He’s never told you before, but he prefers to sleep in the nude. Satoru only picked up the nearest pair of pants when he heard you knock, and even then, he didn’t have the time to wear a shirt.

Your breath is hot on his skin and he’s so sensitive and aware of all your movements. Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, shifting until his arm lightly holds your back instead, but then he pulls away as if he’s touched fire when he’d unknowingly fiddled with your bra clasp instead. It’s so painfully awkward that Satoru chuckles above you, while you scrunch your nose, silently praying to the heavens above that he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating right now.

“Why is it so hot in your own room?”

“Maybe it’s time you get me an AC.”

“You wish, Satoru,” you mumble beneath him, making yourself as comfortable as you can with your cheek resting on his bicep. It’s not the softest pillow considering he’s pretty muscular, but he’s warm and smells like mint spice nevertheless. “You’re really not going to put on a shirt?”

Satoru sighs, a long and loud one that is extended for dramatic purposes. Suddenly, he pushes your knee off of him, grimacing and thanking the darkness that you can’t see how much he’s struggling right now. “Cupcake, this is hard for me as much as it is for you. You’re barely wearing anything.”

“Since when have you cared about what I wear?”

“I’m a man, Y/N,” is what he reasons with, “You’re lucky it’s me. Had it been someone else and you crawled into their bed wearing these—” Satoru pinches the waistband of your shorts, and you squeal in protest, only making him laugh afterwards before he lets it go and the material snaps back at your skin, “—poor excuse of what you call shorts, I can’t guarantee they’ll give you a peaceful night.”

You know exactly what he’s trying to hint at. Still, it’s hard to believe that Satoru is capable of seeing you that way.

It’s not that you feel you’re unattractive. You know you’re pretty and have been out on many dates, but it’s easy to feel that you’re not sexy when you have the height of a thirteen year old and you’ve been constantly chastised about it.

Satoru’s not-compliment compliment has your heart skipping a beat, and you scoff in response. “Shut up,” you warn lamely, “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s sleep, cupcake.” You don’t know if it’s because you’re utterly exhausted that you doze off seconds later or if Satoru’s words just held power in them, but soon all thoughts of anything unwanted drifts out the window, his arms keeping you close, completely safe and sound until the worst nightmares couldn’t even come close.

Hot. It’s extremely hot.

You crack an eye open to try and find the source of this uncomfortable heat, but you freeze when you realize you can’t feel your muscles from the chin down. Panic rises in your throat once you see the current predicament you’re in, and a scream rips through your throat so loud that the birds outside scurry away in a flurry.

You’re wrapped in Satoru’s blanket and comforter, rendering you unable to move because of how he’d treated you like a burrito wrap. Even your toes are captured inside this hell, and only your head is able to wriggle side to side.

“Satoru!”

The culprit comes out of the shower a split second later, his hair dripping wet and only a towel hanging low from his lips. If you weren’t so hell-bent on killing him, you would’ve been speechless at the way water drips from his hair down to the curves of his abs, going down down down into a place only your darkest imaginations could take you.

Satoru bends over in laughter as he whips out his phone, jumping from angle to angle and side to side to take photos of you. “Fuck,” he howls, slapping his thigh while you snarl in an attempt to break free. “You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.”

“Satoru! Get me out of here!”

“No, this is way too gold. I’m sending these to my students.”

“Satoru, I’m serious!” The devil incarnate himself falls deaf to your please.

Maybe it’s because the violent intent has coursed through your veins so strongly that a surge of energy and strength overcomes you, and soon, you’ve rolled out of the blanket. The fresh air nipping at your heated skin is most welcomed, but right now, you had a mission to fulfil: obliterate Gojo Satoru.

The platinum haired man is still laughing to himself, too distracted in scrolling through the best photos to send to his students that he doesn’t notice you escaping and zooming straight right at him.

The momentum is enough to catch him off guard until you end up on top of him, short arms clawing your way through to snatch his phone. Satoru yelps when his phone lands out into the living room and your hands come down to choke him. You don’t have plans to kill him, but you want to hurt him enough to remind him you’re not someone he can fuck with.

You’ve just about had enough of this man and you’re so sick of him!

Satoru yells out a “Hey!” when you let out a battle cry, using your legs to kick him back when he tries to sit up. Your plan backfires when your hands slip down his wet skin and you fall face forwards, hands barely touching the ground for support when your lips come crashing down on his.

He stills underneath you. It takes a moment for you to realize that holy shit, you’re kissing him and his lips are so soft that has you scrambling back, but Satoru doesn’t let you.

His large hand comes up at the back of your neck to pull you forward. The sudden movement makes you gasp, and Satoru slips his tongue inside when you do so. You no longer remember how you got here or try to make sense of what’s going on, because he feels so good, tastes so good that you bury your nails in his hair while he ravishes your mouth.

You’re so tiny that his hand cups your entire buttcheek almost possessively, a low growl emanating deep in his throat when your tongue eagerly intertwines with his. Satoru tastes like heaven and everything about the kiss is sloppy – tongue clashing with one another and teeth nibbling at the other’s lips. It’s clear both of you can’t get enough of one another as you moan in his mouth, shamelessly grinding on his crotch, suddenly thankful that you’re always wearing thin clothes when you feel him harden underneath you.

“Fuck, baby,” he pulls away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. “Yeah, just like that,” There’s something empowering about the way he pants at your ministrations, especially when you roll your hips faster across his erection. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing – fuck – so well.”

You smirk at his praises, latching your teeth on his neck to suck marks on them. Satoru groans at the same time you muffle your moans through his skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to tug the cups of your bra down. You nearly lose it when he pinches your nipple, bolts of electricity running down your spine at the contact. A moan breaks through your lips just as you come right there and then, the wetness of your sudden orgasm barely hidden in your flimsy underwear.

“Feel good?” he teases and drags your shirt down to the other side, but the post-nut clarity hits. And when it does, it hits hard.

Fuck. You just came from Satoru’s simple touches, and he’s so unsatisfied, still painfully hard underneath you but nothing but panic and regret washes over you like a strong tidal wave. Suddenly, you grow lightheaded as you push yourself off him, fixing your bra while ignoring the confused and hurt look on his face.

“I gotta go to work,” you run out the room, feeling your body tremble as Satoru runs after you. “Make yourself breakfast. I’ll eat on the way out.”

“Y/N, wait!”

You know you’ve just ruined everything – that nothing will ever be the same after that – but you’re scared, utterly and remorsefully so, that you slam the door right in his face as if you don’t have any idea how much you broke him.

You’ll never forget the way Satoru’s face fell when you left.

Just as you thought, nothing is the same after that. The tension is so thick around the apartment you make an effort and go out of your way just to avoid him and the apartment completely.

It’s cowardly – you know this much – but do you ever try to fix the friendship you cherish but shattered completely? You don’t. You don’t because it only crashes down onto you now that maybe your feelings for him aren’t just platonic, after all. It’s even worse because you touch yourself at the thought of him filling you up when he’s asleep, all because you want him so bad and the mere presence of him has your brain malfunctioning.

It isn’t entirely sexual either. Yes, you want to fuck him badly, but it scares you down to the core even more because you want so much more than that.

Now you understand why you always say he’s a bother but never asked him to leave. It’s because you like him, actually romantically interested in him. It makes sense now why you always felt so annoyed whenever your co-workers asked for his number, or how you’re immediately pissed off when Satoru talks about this hot woman he saw at work. You always chalk it up to an excuse you just hate how he can’t keep in his pants, but it isn’t true at all.

It’s because you actually like him – and you’re at a loss on what to do or how to deal with it.

The next few days feels like hell. Satoru isn’t stupid; he knows you’re avoiding him. He stops teasing you eventually and even buys takeout all the time when you lock yourself up in your room right after work, refusing to cook dinner or even eat all so you’d be spared the torture of looking at him.

He’d knock at your door and ask you to eat, but other than that, he’s respected your distance.

You feel like the most terrible person on earth. You don’t miss the way dark circles line under his eyes or how he’s lost his spark, barely even speaking to you when you’ve come or about to leave for work.

You’re alone the whole ride, as well, and it only dawns on you how lonely you are when Satoru isn’t always annoying you all the time.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why is he so bothered by it? Didn’t he regret it? It’s painfully clear you’re not Satoru’s type. You’ve seen the women he dated before, and you’re not close to them so why does he seem like he’s struggling with this as well? Or maybe...he’s just sad that his friend is avoiding him.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Satoru is a man. He was probably turned on at that time, but after giving some thought about it, he probably wants to keep his distance too. He’d be insane if he ever actually wants to date you – his best friend out of all people – because he’s Gojo Satoru and he could literally have everyone else.

You don’t care that you’re a coward.

You don’t care that Satoru is sad to see you this way.

You don’t care because you know he’ll reject you, you know he’ll be weirded if you admit your feelings for him. To him, you’re like his little sister. There’s just no way you two would work out. For now, you have to get comfortable with the uncomfortable. You just need some time to get over your feelings for him, and when you’re confident you won’t fall for him again, you’ll mend your friendship.

You just need time.

“So, Y/N, you still don’t want to give us your friend’s number?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you should share it,” your co-worker encourages by jabbing her shoulder to yours. It’s a lazy Friday night and the staff went out for dinner. You don’t usually come to these hangouts since dinner with Satoru is always much more fun, but he’s the last person you want to think about now, so you happily join them. Now, though, you’re starting to regret ever coming here. “If he’s really single like you said, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask for it.”

“Well, since you want it so badly, why don’t you ask him directly for it instead?” you snap, feeling anger begin to trickle. All you wanted was just one day where you don’t have to think of him, but of course they had to bring him up. It’s also annoying how they can never seem to get the message across that you don’t want them dating him. “Why do I have to be the messenger?”

“We haven’t seen him much. Doesn’t he always walk you to work?”

“He’s been busy with his job, that’s all.” And also because I’m avoiding him – so now he’s avoiding me too.

“He’s a teacher, right?”

“Oh, come on, guys, don’t be so dense,” your senpai chugged her drink rather loudly, catching the attention of your nosy co-workers who wouldn’t stop pestering you for his number. “Look at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s obvious she doesn’t want you guys to be involved with her friend for a reason. Think of how weird it is for her too if ever her co-worker and best friend dated. She’s going to feel like a third wheel.”

“I’m not—”

“That makes sense,” your co-worker nodded beside you, “Are you sure you just don’t like him though?”

“Ew, why would I?” the food began to taste bitter through your lies, “He may be tall and attractive, but as his roommate, I’ve seen his ugly side. Satoru is a complete slob and can’t even cook to save his life.”

“I don’t mind cooking for him all the time if I were to be his little housewife.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” your words came out harsher than it was, and you laugh it off with a wave of your hand when your co-workers’ eyes widened. “I’ve been living with him for six months and he’s never brought anyone home or told me he’s going on a date. I told you already, he’s a no strings attached kind of guy. He’s nothing but a one night stand.”

“You have to admit he’s still sexy though.”

Right. You hide your groan through another shot because there’s no way of convincing them otherwise. As much as you hate to admit, you’re actually jealous on how freely they could talk about him like that, but then again, it’s not like you and Satoru were dating – or would ever date, for that matter.

They start to leave one by one when it starts to get late, leaving only you who’s still desperate to avoid Satoru. Nothing prepares you for when the sky darkens and a storm comes pouring just as you’ve left the closing shop, the rain drenching and soaking your clothes through and through. Running under the nearest tree for shelter, you shiver. It’s cold – way too cold – and curse yourself for not bringing a darned umbrella.

The nearest bus stop is like what, fifteen to twenty minutes away? Your teeth are chattering and your legs are shaking, and you fumble through your phone as you dial a number you know by heart before you even realize what you’re doing. “S-Satoru?”

“Y/N,” the surprise is unmasked in his voice, something shuffling in the background before it falls silent. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, are you busy right now? It’s fine if you are, I’m just—”

“I’m training with Yuuji, but what is it?”

“Listen, I,” you inhale sharply when coldness bursts through your body, making you shiver and press yourself closer to tree to get away from the rain. Above you, thunder crackles before the rain grows heavier and angrier. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and I’m absolutely soaked right now. The nearest bus stop is fifteen minutes away and all the buildings here look so shady—”

“I’ll be on my way. Text me where you are,” You nod and thank him, too cold and numb to realize you’ve just broken days of silence. You lose track of time under there, hugging yourself until your lips turn blue. It doesn’t take long before Satoru shows up minutes later, his hair equally drenched and sticking flat to his eyes free from his blindfold while he pants, hand on his knees. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I rushed here so fast I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

After seeing Satoru drenched like that, something snaps within you. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact the rain is unforgiving as it slaps the pavement, and your heart breaks when you see that he’s more concerned for you – even after you’ve given him the silent treatment. “You idiot! Now you’re soaking wet too, you’re going to get sick!”

“Highly unlikely,” he shrugs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“But what about—” Satoru suddenly carries you before draping his coat over your head, running until he found a cab to hail. He immediately asks the driver to turn up the heater while you tremble on top of him, not caring anymore that you’re sticking so close to him for heat.

Satoru doesn’t let you go all the way inside the apartment. He sets you down on the couch where you take off your wet clothes in haste, too cold with teeth chattering that you silently take the hoodie and boxers Satoru offers you, making sure to keep his gaze averted the whole time. Once fully dressed, you snuggle back into the sofa’s comfort, stiffening when the couch dips beside you.

Not a moment later, Satoru towel-dries your hair, leaving your mouth and throat dry with guilt. Even after you’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to him, he’s still so kind with you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Satoru...” you twiddle with your thumbs just as he starts to ruffle the towel in your hair, making sure to squeeze water out of the strands as he dries it. “About what happened the other day—”

“It didn’t happen if you don’t want it to,” his voice is cold’ monotonous and so emotionless you’re rendered speechless. “You can forget about it.”

“I...”

“You regret it, right?” he’s done with drying your hair, and he stands up to place the wet towels in the sink as you watch him stride all the way there. He’s changed his clothes too; looking comfortable in a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants, looking every bit the domestic boyfriend you’ve always wanted but can never have. “It’s fine. We can forget about it and go back to normal,” to emphasize his point, Satoru winks at you, though it does nothing but make your heart sink.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” your voice is small; hesitant and wavering with fear. “What if...the only reason I pulled away is because I wanted more of you?”

Satoru’s back freezes as he sets the towel aside. At this point, your heart is pulsing on your tongue, and you dig your nails onto your thighs when Satoru sits down next to you, right next to you. He’s silent the whole time; eyes calculatedly piercing through yours. Your breath hitches when his hands that are burning hot against your cold skin cups your jaw before his thumb runs across your lips, his eyes turning dark at your reactions.

“And what if I said I felt the same way?”

“I,” you gasp, closing your eyes because it all feels so surreal. “I like you, Satoru. I like you a lot and I—” he doesn’t let you finish. Soon, you find yourself in his lap with his hands cupping your cheeks while he smashes his lips onto yours.

Satoru is absolutely feral. He’s breathing hard and almost angry, even, with the way his teeth are biting down to nibble on your lips. You moan when he drags you closer, your clothed centre rubbing on his thigh with delicious friction. “You have no idea,” he rasps down on your lips, “how much I’ve fucking liked you ever since we were kids,” Satoru pushes his hoodie aside, revealing your sweet neck to him, and he doesn’t waste his time in sucking and abusing the poor flesh so he can mark you as his. “I’ve always wanted you, Y/N, it’s always you, always you.”

You fist his hoodie when Satoru sinks his teeth down into the juncture of your neck, his hands curious and exploring every inch of your body. He knows you’re naked underneath his clothes, but it’s a different thing when he actually feels your breasts right on his palm. Satoru tweaks the hardened bud in his fingers, growling when you moan at the contact and use his thigh to get off.

“You—” you gasp as you expose your neck to him, wild and needy as you keep rubbing your heat over his thigh. “—talk way too fucking much,” you scold, finally pushing his lips away from your neck. Satoru chuckles at your eagerness but you silence him by flinging his boxers off of your body and somewhere far away, exposing your heat slick with arousal right in front of him. His pupils blow in excitement, hands coming up to grab at your hips, but his attention is taken away when you nibble on his ear to whisper, “Shut up and fuck me.”

The simple command is enough to make his patience snap. In a flash, you’re pinned underneath him, whining and moaning when his finger meets no resistance as he slips it inside. “You’re that needy, huh?” he laughs even louder when you lose it, humping yourself on his finger because it’s not enough.

“Satoru,” you beg, clutching his bicep when he adds another finger in. “More.”

His fingers are so long, hitting places that your small ones could never reach. He begins to scissor his way in, his fingers deliciously rubbing against your velvety walls while pumping them inside and out in a speed that causes you to squelch around him.

It’s absolutely lewd how you’re eagerly spread out before him, but your head is clouded with lust, no longer hindered by shyness out of your need to cum. Your chest is rising heavily, his thumb now rubbing against your clit as he coaxes you to cum. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, eyelids, nose, anywhere but your lips, his voice so gentle and innocent as if he’s not knuckle deep inside you. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside,” you whine, gasping when he brushes against a really sensitive spot that has you clamping down on him. “‘Toru, fuck, just fuck me.”

“Beg for it,” he smiles against your skin, relentless and harsh as he keeps pushing inside you. You feel him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Another finger adds in until you’re dripping enough on his palm and staining the couch, but neither of you care. “I said, beg for it.”

“No,” you hold back, nearly crying out when he pulls your fingers out of you. That sudden emptiness is back again, but you don’t want to beg. You’ve never begged another man before, and this won’t be the first time you’ll be doing so either. You refuse to let him have the upper hand despite the crystal clear fact you’re already soaking wet for him, but because you’re stubborn, you only fumble with his sweatpants to spring his cock free.

He’s already dripping with pre-cum from the slit, his cock hard and angry. Despite his arousal, Satoru stops you from going further, using only one hand to trap both your wrists. “Beg for it,” he demands again, his other fist already pumping down on his shaft.

You nearly cry at the sight. Both of you are aware that Satoru is capable of pleasuring himself, but it’s not that easy for you. Your small, dainty fingers will never be parallel to the pleasure his long cock could give you. All you had to do was beg for it. He’s right there, within reach, if only you’d just –

Impatient for your answer, Satoru takes you by the hips and discards your hoodie in the process, sinking you down his cock, inch by delicious inch. You don’t hold back from the sensual and high-pitched moan that leaves your lips. He’s long, and the tip of his cock just about brushes your cervix when he bottoms out. He feels so good, so warm and huge and filling you up right where you want him to be. Your head falls down on his shoulder as you begin to roll your hips, but Satoru has had enough.

“Fuck, look at you,” he presses on the bulge of his cock visible through your abdomen. “You’re so fucking small – how do you take me so well? I could ruin you. Do you want that? Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck.”

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that, huh?” he slaps your ass, eliciting another moan from you and making you clench around his cock. Satoru falters for a moment. Before you can react, he stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist with nothing but his tip hitting inside you. “You’ve been so fucking mean – leaving me wanting you like that and ignoring me for days. Do you think you deserve this, huh?” Satoru kicks his door open at the same time he loosens his hold around your ass, making you slide down his length the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out just as Satoru begins to bounce you, your breasts following the motion of him fucking deep into you. “Fuck, Toru, that’s too—”

He’s so eager to fuck you, to make a mess out of you and have you losing your mind over his cock that he doesn’t even wait until you’re both on the bed. You no longer register when your back hits the pillow, or how your arms are frozen when he pins it above your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises as he watches you clench around him. You’re so small and his eyes zero in on the way your abdomen bulges then flattens again every time he pounds into you, rolling his hips in a way that has you screaming and thighs quaking. “Beautiful, beautiful, perfect,” the moment his hands grip at your hips to pin you down, you know he’s not going to stop. And you don’t want him to.

Satoru latches his lips around your right breast, gently grazing his teeth over it while his other hand pinches and rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers. He feels so good – and you’re crying already by the time you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

The room is filled with the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with his breathy grunts and your moans like heaven on his ears. Satoru wants you to feel how much he loves you – how much he adores you – and the pace he sets is torturous. He snaps his hips against yours and presses down on the bulge of his cock through your belly, chuckling when you tighten more around him.

Your head lols to the side, tears falling down your pretty face because of how rough he’s being. But you don’t complain, not when he’s filling you in so deep and he’s kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, making you feel nothing else and nobody else but him.

“You’re amazing,” he rasps, watching the way your tight cunt sucks him in greedily as if you don’t want him to go anywhere else. “You take me in so well – you really want me to destroy you, huh?”

“Satoru, please,” you finally plead, “I-I’m cumming, I want you, I need you, oh,” you squeal when he finally lets your arms free. You look so precious, so innocent, and he doesn’t let up his pace. He plants his feet into the ground and his strokes begin to grow sloppy, your tight walls encouraging him to go faster, go deeper.

If possible, Satoru is only even more fuelled with the way you look so precious and innocent in that moment. His touch is gentle in comparison to the way he’s mercilessly plowing into you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows he’s too big for you, that much is obvious from how much you’re already overstimulated just by his size, but your nails sink down on the flesh of his ass as a silent plead for more.

“Fuuuuck, I’m so close!”

“Yeah?” He fondled your clit, loving the sight of your small body creaming down on his cock. “Come for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you coming on my cock. Come on, tell me you’re mine. You’re made me for aren’t you?”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck,” you squeal, throwing your head back for a second when he keeps hitting your g-spot that has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets behind you as he keeps impaling you with his cock right then and there.

You looked perfect; so perfect to him that he’s basically using you for his own pleasure at this moment. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, back arching and nipples brushing against his chest.

In that moment, you grow needy to have him even closer, tilting up to blindly search for his lips. Satoru complies; leaning down and leaving open mouthed breathy kisses that’s a mix of you moaning and crying around him, while he struggles to do so when he’s cursing at the feeling of you coating his cock with your juices. Satoru looks down at your tiny frame trapped in his arms, his voice husky as he groans once he saw both of your arousal absolutely leaking out of your wet cunt.

He’s so close but you’re already over the edge, scratching at his back at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive from when you came and Satoru doesn’t slow one down one bit. He loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, and Satoru buries his face in your neck as his cock twitches inside you until he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole.

Satoru’s arms give out beneath you, his chest colliding with yours but not enough that he’s crushing you with his weight. You’re both breathing hard and panting, his dick softening inside you.

He pulls back a moment later to slide out his sensitive cock, wincing while he watches pools of cum gather in your pussy before it drips out. It isn’t until he’s witnessing the mess he’s made he realizes how you’ve been so good for him; taking him all the way in despite your quivering frame. It dawns on him now just how tiny you are when he pulls you close to him; you’re practically hanging off his chest with how small your body is.

He wonders how you’re able to fit all of him, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Satoru shows his appreciation by peppering kisses all over your face, his hand snaking down to caress your inner thighs.

“Hmm,” you moan into the kiss, jolting when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit. “Satoru, no,” you whine while pushing his hand away, and he shushes you with another kiss. “’M too sensitive, please...”

“It’s fine, cupcake, it’s fine,” his nickname for you is back again, and you lean closer to him just as he begins to massage your sore legs. “You did so well for me, cupcake, you know that? You’re such a good girl for me,” too fucked out to have a comprehensive answer, you only nod in response, spreading your legs open again and ignoring the warm stickiness between your thighs as Satoru kneads your abused flesh. You feel him kiss your temple before he leaves to get a towel and cleans you up. Meanwhile, you’re so tired you’re about to doze out in his bed.

“Hey,” he soothes, bundling you up in his arms until you’re tucked in the safety of his body. So small, he coos inside his head, watching as you fold yourself even smaller while your eyes flutter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh into his shoulder, “I feel good. Thank you.”

Satoru doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for. He feels like he’s the one who’s mostly indebted to you after everything you’ve done for him. You’ve already fallen asleep before he gets the chance to tell you how he feels, so Satoru only covers you both under his blanket, making sure there’s no more space between you out of fear you’ll distance yourself from him again.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that because you’re right next to him, and you’re never out of reach.

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

blame it on the neighbours : b.b

having recently moved in next door, you and bucky become fast friends. however, there's something looming between the two of you and it comes to light when it's revealed you're in the hospital. (1.7k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

requested: yes! by the very sweet @didsomeonesaybucky warnings: bucky freaking out if that counts? descriptions of hospitals

Ever since you moved in and became Bucky's next-door neighbour, he could tell things were going to be different. In the first instance, he could hear you in the corridor, chatting away happily to your other neighbours, offering baked goods. He watched cautiously through the peephole, still having to yet meet you, he merely observed from afar.

When he finally met you, it wasn't the interaction he quite hoped for.

Standing in front of his door with a tray of cookies in hand, you release a shaky breath having heard from your other neighbours that the occupant in apartment 4F wasn't the friendliest. But you would simply have to judge that for yourself, you told them.

"He's a bit of a strange one, dear." Your neighbour, Clarissa in 2F warned you as she accepted the container of muffins you had made that morning. "Doesn't really leave or go out much, I think I've only ever heard him say morning once in the six months he's been here!" Her words echo in the back of your mind as you lift your hand up, knuckles lightly tapping the door.

With wide eyes, Bucky hesitantly walks toward the door and stares straight through the peephole. His breath halters, watching as you stare down at your feet.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky glides his fingers over the several locks across his door and slides through the small gap in the doorway with an attempted smile gracing his lips.

"Hi," You start, now lifting your eyes up toward this mysterious neighbour who is definitely not what you anticipated. "I, I'm Y/n, I moved in next door a week ago," Motioning to your apartment, Bucky forces his eyes to glance across down the hall before averting them back to you, taking in your features up close as you rub your lips together.

"Yeah, I heard you moving in." Bucky comments, internally cringing at his choice of wording. "I mean, I," His words falter at the sound of you chuckling softly to yourself. "can I start again? Is that alright?" He asks, grateful that you nod. "It's nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm James."

"Well, it's lovely to know my other neighbour, James. I, these are for you." Thrusting the tray forward, Bucky pushes his door open further with his foot to accept the tray, forgetting he didn't have his glove on.

Your eyes wander down to see his left arm is entirely metal. "Thanks." He mutters, feeling your eyes burning into his arm.

"I'm sorry," You quickly say, looking up at his face. "it's rude to stare, my Mom would scold me if she were here right now."

Bucky shakes his head, moving his leg to catch the back of the door. "Don't worry 'bout it." He brushes it off, but he notices your eyes wandering around the bland corridor and your lips parting.

"You don't happen to know any good places for dinner 'round here?" You move the conversation on, causing Bucky to raise a brow in response. "I'm kinda new to the area and I was wondering if you knew any good spots." You shrug your shoulders, hoping he couldn't read your mind and know that sentence was a complete lie.

"Erm, yeah." He sheepishly tells you, hearing Doctor Raynor droning in the back of his mind about putting himself out there, and not on those godforsaken dating apps again. "There's a great sushi place I know of."

Your smile brightens at his suggestion, and Bucky can't ignore how his lips rise at the sight. "Great, wanna join me then since you know it so well?" You suggest nonchalantly. "And you can always enjoy those as a dessert afterwards."

Looking down at the tray of warm cookies, Bucky tries to hide the sound of his stomach grumbling against the tray.

"Sure," He reaches into his apartment, grabbing his things including his gloves before following you out. "so, what brings you to Brooklyn?"

It's been several months since you moved in next door, and Bucky couldn't be happier that you plucked up the courage to knock that day.

Every week you two hang out, sometimes you join him and Yori for lunch who spends most of the time trying to convince Bucky to ask you out (only to be scolded when you're absent.) Sometimes you'll cook dinner, dance around your apartment and watch movies or wander around the city whilst Bucky tells you old stories; just like normal friends do, right?

It was truly blissful, but there was still so much about each other you had yet to learn.

Running his fingers through his combed hair, Bucky tugs on his blue henley before heading out.

As he locks his front door, he carries out dinner that he promised to make for you tonight.

"Oh, James." Your neighbour in 2F, Clarissa, stands in front of her door with her handbag and walking stick.

"Hi, Clarissa." Bucky forces a small smile, having heard her conversations regarding his past, muttering about having a murderer in the building shouldn't be allowed.

"Heading into Y/n's I take it." She hums, eyeing him carefully as he nods in response. "She should be back later, told me she had to go to the hospital." Waving herself off, Clarissa turns the lock in her doors.

"The hospital?" Bucky speaks up as the containers in his hands begin to slip, his mind going a hundred miles an hour. "Y/n's in the hospital?" Trying not to yell, Bucky steps closer, causing Clarissa to clutch her handbag tightly in front of her chest.

"Yes," Clarissa states calmly, but Bucky notices the keys in her right hand begin to shake.

"Thanks." Bucky mutters, stepping away as he darts back into his own apartment and grabs his coat, barely able to process his thoughts before rushing down the stairwell with nothing but you on his mind.

Reaching the entrance to the hospital, Bucky hands the driver some money without any words being exchanged. Bucky knew he looked like hell; he couldn't focus properly on anything. He had only seen you last night, the two of you in his apartment painting his living room walls, laughing together as you accidentally flicked paint across his cheek.

The reception area was crowded, voices bounced from wall to wall as Bucky strode toward the desk where a woman sat, staring blankly at a screen.

"How can I help?" She asks, briefly glancing up at Bucky before focusing on her screen once more.

Suddenly lost for words, Bucky homes in on a man crying in the waiting area, loudly sobbing into his hands as a nurse stands over him.

"Y/n Y/l/n, I'm looking for Y/n." Bucky forces the words out as the Nurse simply nods whilst typing away, humming a tune to herself.

"Oh okay," The Nurse pauses as her eyes scan over the monitor.

Clutching the edge of the desk, Bucky can hear the plates in his metal arm whirring as his grip tightens, nearly tearing the panel off as the silence becomes insufferable.

"So Y/n is currently in the operating theatre." The nurse tells Bucky nonchalantly, glancing up to see something change in his expression.

"No," Shaking his head, Bucky steps back. "she, I, I we were going to have dinner." It sounds pathetic to him, saying it aloud. But seeing you, having any moment with you made him feel human again, almost normal.

"Yeah, crazy how schedules fall." A heavy sigh leaves the nurses lips, unaware of the cool gaze that is locking in on her.

"Do you know when she'll be-" Before Bucky can finish his sentence, he's caught off guard by someone calling his name from the corridor.

"James?" You chuckle, walking toward him wearing your uniform adorned with your badge.

"Doll?" Bucky stutters, stepping closer as he tries to stop the tears in his eyes from forming. "You, you're okay?" He mumbles, looking you over, keeping his hands on your arms.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You ask, evidently surprised. "Everything okay, James?" Lowering your voice, you peer down to look him in the eyes whilst his head hangs low.

"Clarissa said you were in the hospital." Bucky huffs in annoyance to himself. "I, I didn't put it together," He mumbles. "I forgot that you,"

"That I'm a Doctor?" Holding back the laugh in your throat, you sigh before tugging Bucky closer into your embrace. "I'm okay, James. I'm only sorry you came all this way."

Keeping you in his arms, Bucky doesn't want to let go. Whilst your face rests in the crook of his neck, he allows a few stray tears to fall in relief. "I, I made us dinner." He eventually says, feeling you pull back to look at him, your eyes softening at the trails left on his cheeks.

"Oh, James." Raising your hand, you cup his cheek. "I'll be off work in an hour. I'm so sorry I should've said something or let you know sooner."

Shaking his head, Bucky takes your hand from his cheek and runs his fingers over your knuckles. "Don't worry 'bout it, Y/n. I'm just glad you're safe." He tells you, wishing he could say something else, but for now, that was enough.

"Did you make,- Your eyes light up in excitement, but Bucky cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

"Yep." Bucky chuckles as you do a little dance. "You're such a dork sometimes, doll."

"Yeah," You admit, slipping your hand from his as you bury them in your pockets. "but would you have me any other way, neighbour?" Raising a brow to him, Bucky shakes his head. "Thought as much."

"I'll keep dinner warm for you." He smiles, hearing the word neighbour circle his thoughts. Yet, for once, Bucky forces his intrusive thoughts aside as his lips brush across your forehead. "Be good, Doc." He can't help but laugh to himself at the sound of your heart beating rapidly whilst externally, you remain cool.

"I'll try my best, Barnes." You salute him, watching as he walks back out of the hospital, knowing he's one step closer to calling you his girl.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

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buckyjamess-archive · 3 years

Text

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

a/n: keep writing reader as the villain of the story, about time this man screws up • wordcount: 1.3k • warnings: kids, babies, parenthood, cheating, alcohol, bucky being an idiot, mentions of sex, blink and you'll miss it.

summary

going through rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

He shouldn't be here. He promised himself to never wake up in this bed again, ever and yet he finds himself sitting on the edge of the memory foam mattress, soft lilac blankets underneath his naked thighs. The smell of the room is familiar but it's not you, not Rosie, not JJ, not home.

He should've stayed home, told you he didn't need a boys night out because he deserved just that– for taking care of the kids while you were a mess, not available and not there when he needed you the most. Yes, he deserved that but maybe the pub his friends had dragged him too was not the right place to be.

She worked there. She who he had ended things with weeks before meeting you. She with a head of brown curls bouncing around her face, bright green eyes through thick lashes and the cute little dimples in her cheeks whenever she smiled so bright, nose covered in freckles on a sun-kissed canvas and god, if only her personality matched her looks, he would have fought for this one the way he's fighting for you and his family.

God, he was in love back then, one of the firsts he saw a future with. Like a bunch of teenagers, making the eyes of his friends roll with the lovey-dovey behavior– looking back at it made Bucky cringe. The first six months were amazing before her attitude took a 180 and changed for the worse. Possessive, jealous, lowkey crazy.

He wished to never bump into his ex Melissa ever again.

But he did and with the beers coming, alcohol running through his veins and the lack of real intimacy made his mind foggy. The hugs, the cuddles and stolen kisses were not cutting it anymore, he missed you in all other ways and Melissa was there to fix it, like an angel with a halo above her head and rays of light casting from behind her – guiding him straight to what he desired most.

He shouldn't have been here. Your relationship was taking the right turn, amazing, a do over, like the beginning. The acceptance letter to that nursing school you applied for and your weekly visits with your therapist did wonders for you. Giving bucky back the girl he so deeply fell in love with and he put it all on the line for some sex. Sex he would've gotten if he just had asked you and even then he didn't have a reason to complain. His 7 months old son asking all your attention and a jealous rosie hanging around your leg nearly every hour of the day– you had the right to fall asleep as soon as your head hit a pillow.

"You know what they say; once a cheater, always a cheater."

Bucky clenches his jaw and bites the inside of his cheek, nails digging half moons in the skin of his palms as his hands turn into fists– god, all the reason why he dumper her coming back up.

"I never cheated on you." He hisses through gritted teeth, back still turned to her.

Melissa snorts "pretty sure you left me for that baby mama of yours."

"We were long done before that," bucky spats back "for reasons. You being a pain in the ass being one of them."

"That's not what you said last night."

God, he didn't even call you or send a text. A shit excuse of staying with a friend for the night, too drunk to get home while he knew damn well he wasn't going home with them.

"I can ask her you know- ask her why she doesn't want to have sex with you anymore."

Bucky nearly gives himself a whiplash with the force he turns his head around to meet with the green eyes of the half naked woman on the other side of the bed with a smug smile on her face. Playing with her phone in her hand.

"Don't you fucking dare."

"She has a right to know bucky." Melissa smiles wickedly "she has the right to know you slept with your ex."

"I'll tell her myself." Bucky hisses again "I don't need you for that."

"y/n, right?" Melissa quips, phone stills in her hand as she unlocks it with a swipe of her finger "I think I've seen her Instagram before– gotta say Barnes, the boy looks like you."

"Melissa, I'm begging you." Bucky sighs "please, I'll tell her myself."

I'll tell her myself– only if he believed that lie himself.

A date night, some one on one, some time alone is all what was needed to fill the missing gaps in your relationship. Both kids off to spend the night with bucky his family; just you and him.

Dinner at your favorite sushi bar before strolling through the city hand in hand, catching a movie the both of you were dying to see followed by a round of beer at the first bar you stumbled upon and right back home– a trail of clothes leading from the kitchen, too desperate. Hands on each other and whispered sweet little nothings. Skin to skin. Raw. Real. Perfect.

But his mind couldn't help and wander to last week; tangled up in his ex her arms under thin sheets in a familiar bed. Mind wandering back to that night, not because he couldn't get Melissa out if his head but the regret– he'd done the same thing tonight but with the real love of his life, the mother of his kid, his future wife but it eats him alive; you can do better than the lying man he is. He needs to tell the truth, it's the least you deserve but he can't. He can't lose what he has now, a future.

He wants that white picket fence outside of the city with a big garden for your babies to grow up in. He wants another mini him or mini you running around, maybe even two if life is that kind. He wants to be by your side through thick and thin, in sickness and health, the bad and the good. He wants to see you stroll down the aisle in that perfect dress. He wants to be a good father figure for rosie, the perfect father and perfect husband– he's put it all on the line for some bad sex with a woman he despised so much.

He can't but he needs to tell the truth. No lies.

The smell of sex is still stuck in the air and the rays of moonlight cast through the crack between the curtains, the sound of the city a background noise– his arm is asleep from where your head rests but bucky runs his hand through your hair and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, taking in the warm fruity smell of your shampoo. Your naked body cuddles up to his, soft legs entangled with his and a soft and warm hand laying on his chest right near his heart.

you're asleep, have been for a while but he can't; his eyes on the ceiling, following the small cracks in the paint and the cobweb he missed earlier this week.

Bucky once again finds himself preparing himself a.nd his stupid apology 'a drunken mistake' and 'it won't happen again' followed by a pathetic 'forgive me?'

He hopes you're getting angry at him, call him names, cursing him, wishing you never met him, a big mistake– bucky simply cannot bear the thought of you crying over him, he doesn't deserve your tears, doesn't deserve you. But above all, he wishes things will turn out okay in the end; see you happy even if it means without him. You deserve that.

God, he needs to tell the truth. You'll find out one way or the other, if not from him it'll be Melissa herself.

'Hey doll, we need to talk.'

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #rosie and i*

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camistired · 3 years

Text

stranger

scenario: trying to show Bucky that your there for him during tfatws, but he keeps ignoring you

a/n: i started writing this yesterday after watching the first episode of tfatws. if people like this, i might make this a whole ff following the show, so let me know if you like this. also please ignore any mistakes or if it’s wordy, i haven’t written anything in months. i am open to criticism!

edit: i didn’t realize i didn’t name until i was trying to add it to my masterlist, so please ignore the half-assed name, please and thankyou

reader has been left gender-neutral and has no specific race written

spoiler warning

It had been a few months since everyone started reappearing, yourself included. The last thing you remembered was waiting out the fight with Thanos with Shuri, and you remembered feeling lighter then usual and you watched as your friend turned to dust before your very eyes. However what felt like the same breathe, you watched as her being was rebuilt by the same dust the took her away.

It had been a lot to process, to know that you and others close to you had basically died, and came back to the same exact fight happening. It was worse to come back to know that one of your dearest friends was dead and she couldn’t be brought back like the lot of you. It sucked standing in-between Bucky and Sam at Tony’s funeral.

You had missed five years of life, and for what? For some giant purple pyscho titan to stop over population and then become a space rancher? In your eyes, it was complete and utter bullshit. But you can’t change the past.

With Steve’s retirement, Bucky’s pardon, and Sam still kicking ass and saving people as The Falcon, you felt lost. Everyone else has scattered around to handle everything by themselves. But you thrived off of others, that’s just how you worked. So, sitting lonely in your single bedroom Brooklyn apartment, you let out a loud sigh.

You stayed in New York, purely for Bucky’s sake. The man is a hundred and six, and is an ex-assassin, he doesn’t need your help. Especially since you can barely hold a gun without nearly pissing your pants. But you knew the man was basically alone. He spent his past ninety years being in and out of ice fighting, except when he had his moment of peace in Wakanda.

You’ve tried to reach out, called him every now and again, but it was always went to voicemail. You left so many voicemails, your surprised it isn’t full by now. But you’ll keep leaving them, no matter if he actually listens to them or if he just deletes them immediately. You hoped that they gave him some sort of comfort if he did ever listen to them.

You looked at the time, it was a quarter past eleven. You let out another sigh. Something you still haven’t been able to get down was your damn sleep schedule. Sometimes you stayed up until two - three in the morning and sleep into the afternoon, and that was on a good day. You tried to establish a routine, but it just never worked. If you tried to go to bed earlier, you end up either staring at the ceiling till sunrise or waking up in the middle of the night, for no reason. You didn’t have to use the bathroom, you didn’t have a nightmare, you just woke up, and you couldn’t go back to sleep, no matter what you tried. You’ve expressed this to your brother, you suggests maybe you go see a therapist, maybe do a sleep study, but you just shut the ideas down. That was the last things you wanted to do, was be monitored.

However, you couldn’t do this anymore. You forced yourself out of bed and changed your clothes from your normal sweatpants and baggy t-shirt to leggings and a slightly less baggy shirt. If you couldn’t fall asleep naturally, might as well take a walk around the block and maybe take a melatonin tablet or two, see if that does anything.

Locking your door, you start walking down your hall when you see a man walk away from your neighbor’s, Yori Nakajima’s, door. You’ve known the old man for as long as you lived here. You’ve tried to help him out as much as he will let you, and even though he’ll never admit it, he appreciates the help. He tries to repay in small ways, he even offers you to join him and a younger friend of his for sushi down at Izzy, but you always turn him down. You helped to help, not get anything in return.

You walked up to Yori’s door but he closed it before you could reach his door. You sighed and instead decided to talk to the man walking away.

“Excuse me!” You called out, walking towards him. He seemed to tense up and walked a little faster but you touch his arm before he could go much farther.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just have a few question...”

He cursed under his breathe but he didn’t move. That’s when you noticed the way he held himself. His body language very much showed he was uncomfortable, and whether he was doing on purpose or subconsciously, he was leaning away from where your hand met his arm.

You moved your hand back down to your side but you walked in front of him and you froze when you saw his face.

“Bucky?!”

He seemed to shy into himself more when you recognized who he was, making you instantly felt bad. However, examining him he looked different. His hair was a big one, ever since you first met Bucky, his hair was shoulder length. But he looked a lot cleaner with shorter hair, his loose curls a lot more prominent now. However, that seemed to showcase the most change. It felt as if he went backwards more than anything.

His jacket, the gloves, the brooding energy radiating off of him. He felt like the man you met back when the whole “Civil War” mess was happening.

He softly addressed you, but he still never looked at you directly. It was concerning especially since you considered you two close. But maybe it was because you two haven’t talked properly? Maybe because he’s been ignoring your calls? Whatever the reason, you didn’t care. It made you feel better he was out talking to people, no matter that it was your older neighbor, he was interacting with people. It made you wonder if he had talk to Sam, but you doubted it.

“Long time no see, stranger. Glad to see your still alive.”

He looked at you with a blank expression, and you recognized that looked. He was looking for a tell, if you were angry at him or not. In all honesty, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry like he excepted you to be. You’re glad he was doing something, he didn’t have to be okay fully, just as long as he was going out.

“I’m not angry, Bucky.” You said flatly, as his eyes met yours. You could tell that he relaxed, physically. “I mean, concerned, sure. Scared you had locked yourself in your apartment, definitely. But not mad. Just... wished you would have called. Sent a text to let me know you were okay... Anything, really.”

He sighs, “I know... I should have done something- said something. I just have a lot going on.”

“Everyone does. Half of the population got turned into dust, we’ve lost a lot of friends. It’s just... we’ve gotta stay together, you know? We can’t rely on Steve anymore... And the more we’re by ourselves, the more we’re just creating terrible coping mechanisms, ya know?”

He seems to be taking in your words and you just smile at him softly. “Just think about it, okay?”

You begin walking down the hall before you turn towards him again, “Oi! And Barnes?”

He looks up at you, “Yeah?”

“If I don’t hear from you soon, just know I will hunt you down and beat your ass! No more of this distancing, stranger shit. I know how to find you now. And you know where I live!”

You smirk as you turn around to finally go on that walk, but little did you know that Bucky had a little smirk of his own as he took in your words.

“No more distancing, no more acting like a stranger... I have to start nurturing my friendships...”

#bucky barnes #sam wilson #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soilder #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #mcu fanfiction #mcu #mcu fluff #mcu angst #mentions of infinity war #mentions of endgame #tfatws spoilers #marvel

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 1.5

portraiture and speculation

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, slight angst, swearing, and idk libraries?? ‘Tis not a heavy one

AN: So this is a mini-chapter, entirely Levi’s POV, hopefully to give some more background/insight into what homeboy’s thinking. And we get some Hange in this chapter which I had so much fun writing:)) Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter and again, please don’t hesitate to reblog/comment/send in an ask with any suggestions, questions, or feedback!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1 here)

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture came next. Artists aspired to elevate the importance of…

Levi takes a slow sip of tea while his eyes glide over the article in front of him: the latest reading for his European Art History class. His mouth twitches at the bitter taste of over-brewed Earl Grey. The library cafe never seems to be able to get tea right, but he was desperate for some caffeine to push him through a couple more hours of studying.

...female members of the royal family have been depicted as goddesses…

Fuck. Levi’s brain had gotten away from him again. I have no idea what I just read.

With a deep sigh and adjustment of his posture, Levi starts the paragraph again.

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture…

The portrait in his room flickers into his mind’s eye. Nearly complete, his mother’s smiling face stares back at him. The stormy grey of her eyes had taken Levi a week to remember and another to perfect. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he sits cross-legged on his bed facing her and wondering if it’s truly an accurate depiction. In his best memories, she is warm and smiling and beautiful. Levi can’t help but wonder if somehow he’s written over his mother’s true features with an invention of his own; some sort of collage of the kind women in his life. He had caught himself painting Hange’s wide smile instead of his mother’s once, and he hadn’t worked on the portrait for a month after. If he was going to ever do it justice, he had to be certain it was as close to his actual memory as possible.

The end of the page jars Levi out of a reverie, and once again he hasn’t retained any of what he just read. Leaning back in his chair with a frustrated groan, he allows the ambient noise of the library to drift back into his consciousness.

The beeping from the front desk as a librarian scans books. The thunk of someone’s metal water bottle on a table. A spirited discussion between two professors in line at the cafe. Levi can feel his will to work slipping from his grasp with each passing moment.

“No use trying to study with your mind caught up in more important things,” your voice seeps through the cracks of his work ethic. It had been six weeks into living with each other when you caught Levi staring into space at his desk instead of working yet again and decided to do something about it. Your pretty hands had guided his own away from the laptop and closed it with a finality even your obstinate roommate couldn’t argue against.

“We’re going out for sushi,” you’d insisted. “And then you’re going to watch your favorite show and go to bed.”

You were right. It’s exactly what Levi needed, both then and now.

“Hey, shortstack!” A pair of hands lands heavily on his shoulders, and Levi has to quell the urge to break Hange’s nose with the back of his hand. He settles for a steely glare over his shoulder, greeted by her energetic grin.

“If you touch me without warning like that again I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital.” Hange doesn’t seem perturbed by his deadpan delivery, but nonetheless removes her hands and holds them up in surrender.

“I come in peace! Just thought I’d say hi before my lab.” She pulls out the chair next to him and plonks down but doesn’t bother to put down her backpack or unwrap her scarf. “How’s the studying going?”

“I was just finishing up. Can’t concentrate in this environment.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings.

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to find you here, actually, don’t you usually hole up in an empty studio?”

“Eh, figured a change of pace might help. Clearly not.”

“Great, then you can walk me to class! I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Hange bounces out of her seat and flits her gaze around the library as Levi packs up his stuff.

As they leave the library together, frigid winter air swirls around them, kicking up a flurry of snow from the snowbank by the sidewalk. Levi zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands into its pockets. Hange is unusually quiet as they walk towards the sciences building. Levi hazards a glance and sees her deep in thought, chin tucked into her scarf and glasses fogged with breath.

“So are you gonna tell me what you wanted to talk about or am I supposed to guess?” He nudges her with an elbow and she jumps.

“Oh! That’s right. It’s about your delightfully brilliant roommate,” she starts, grinning at Levi once more.

“What about her?”

“How has she been doing? Y’know, since the breakup?” Hange’s tone is almost too casual, and it makes Levi take a second to carefully consider his answer.

“She’s been fine, I think. Going to class, eating, studying.” He pauses to think again. “She has been staying up late a lot. Why do you ask?”

“That’s just it, she looked exhausted this morning in our seminar. Like she hadn’t slept at all.” Her quizzical gaze is fixed on him as he considers this.

Come to think of it, you had been looking quite tired recently. He had attributed it to upcoming exams, but it could certainly be deeper than that. For the past two weeks since the breakup, Levi had noted light from under your bedroom door every night as he went to bed. And yet, you were consistently awake before him, already on your first or second cup of coffee.

“You’re right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he affirms, setting his mouth in a thin, worried line. While Levi was no stranger to insomnia, he did have strategies to help himself get enough sleep even when his mind couldn’t rest. Chamomile tea, meditation, sleeping pills when it really came down to it. Does she have those resources? he wonders.

They arrive outside the sciences building and Levi stops just short of the stairs, Hange turning to face him.

“Will you check up on her, please? Make sure she hasn’t actually been turned into a vampire?” Her tone is joking, but Levi can see the worry behind Hange’s eyes as he gives her a nod.

“Of course. I’ll text you later. Good luck in your lab.” He waves her off as she practically skips up the steps, giving him an impish salute.

“Have a good one, shortstop!”

As Levi turns back to begin walking home, worry sets in his chest with a winter-like frigidity. He thought you had been doing fine.

I thought she was glad to be rid of that jackass.

-- (read part 2 here)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe #swearing #alcohol #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

The Usual Order

Charlie slumped back into the chair, arms folded over her chest as she glared at the plate in front of her. She knew better, she really did. She should have expected that showing up late to dinner and taking the subway to get from school to the restaurant, thereby missing her brother’s text with the picture of the menu, would result in him ordering her something he knew skirted the boundaries of her preferences.

"I'm not eating it," Charlie told her brother.

Harvey had already plucked a piece of sashimi off the plate and dipped it carefully in the soy sauce.

"I sent you the menu," he shrugged. “You didn’t respond, so I took a chance.”

"I didn't see it," she answered. "And you know what I like. It's the same thing every damn time."

Though Charlie was a picky eater, she had a “usual order” ready for each of the cuisines Harvey and Donna liked. She never groaned or whined when they selected a restaurant because she already knew what she’d order long before they got there. Harvey and Donna both knew as well.

The question “you want to usual?” was rendered almost completely unnecessary at this point, because Charlie never ordered anything else. And for sushi, that meant miso soup and peanut avocado rolls, because Charlie Specter refused to even try raw seafood. In fact, she refused to try just about any seafood.

“If you were on time, you could’ve ordered for yourself.”

"Things ran late and the train—"

"I’ve told you I don't want you taking trains by yourself."

"Well, I would have been even later if I had called Ray."

"No trains. You call Ray or you walk."

"Harv—"

"It’s not a negotiation, Charlotte."

Charlie rolled her eyes. Harvey hated the subway and because of that, it had always held a certain fascination for her. Charlie begged to ride the train at every opportunity when she was young, and then once old enough, she just started taking the train from time to time, when she thought she could get away with it.

She never got away with it though. Somehow her brother always seemed to know.

"Fine, no trains, but I’m not eating whatever that is." Charlie poked at the thin slices of what she assumed to be raw fish.

"You don't even want to know what it is?" he asked.

"I don't care what it is. It's not cooked and I'm not eating it."

"Try some."

Charlie shook her head, folding her arms across her chest.

"Well, we're not ordering anything else right now so you might as well see if you like it."

Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed as she glanced down at the plate set in the middle of the table. She scanned over each of her options with narrowed eyes and her stomach flipped a bit at just the thought of holding a small bite in her mouth. She imagined the cold hunk of fishy flesh swimming down her throat as she forced it down and shivered, shaking her head.

Charlie leaned back in her chair and tucked her chin into her chest, putting as much distance between herself and the supposed food as she could manage and her lips formed a nearly straight line. Charlie shook her head once again and reached for the only safe, ingestible thing on the table, the water glass.

"Alright, I guess we'll just sit here until you try something off that plate, then."

Charlie choked a bit on the water as she sipped through the straw. Her brother had issued the very same declaration once before, back when she was five or six and refusing vegetables.

He had come home to Riverside for a few days, just visiting Charlie and their father for a long weekend. Gordon had been going through Charlie's intermittent refusal of certain vegetables, pretty much anything green, for close to a month by the time of the visit. It was frustrating and slow going, but they were working through it.

After raising his boys, Gordon had felt confident that she'd get over it eventually and, in the meantime, Charlie was still eating carrots and cauliflower and peppers so long as they weren't green. It wasn’t like she was nutritionally deficient. But Harvey being Harvey decided he could just push through it and end his sister's stubbornness in the span of a single weekend, in one dinner, even.

Gordon had warned him to let it go—Charlie and Harvey were too alike for it to work out in Harvey’s favor—but Harvey was determined and confident, so the brother and sister sat at the table in resolute silence for hours while Gordon left them both to their stubbornness and went about enjoying his evening.

Charlie never did end up eating a single pea that day, and rather than solving anything, it ingrained in her an automatic refusal to any food Harvey suggested she try, refusals for the mere sake of refusing, no thought or consideration spared as to whether she might like something was factored in just because the suggestion came from his mouth.

"Fine," Charlie answered, settling back with her water. "How was your day?"

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "How was my day?"

"Yeah, if we're going to close the place down tonight, we might as well talk to pass the time, even if you are being a stupid jerk," she said. "You're essentially denying me food, which is actually a human rights violation.” Charlie scanned through her phone, intending to deliver him a direct quote. “It’s article...twenty-five of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Everyone has..." Charlie stopped herself as she scanned through the words on her phone’s screen, realizing how pretentious she sounded, how insensitive the statement was considering there were people in the world, people right outside on the city streets, who actually didn’t have adequate access to food.

Harvey didn't offer an immediate response, just glancing down at the plate of food set between them. “The right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family?” he offered after a long moment. He could have gone further, could have listed off any one of the articles from memory, but his point already being made he didn’t bother. “Go ahead and call up the UN. Let me know how that goes,” he said. “In the meantime, why don’t you try some squid?”

Charlie swallowed, poking with her chopsticks at the slimy white cut of seafood and then she glanced up at her brother. “So, if I try it and don’t like it, can I get my usual order?”

Harvey rolled his eyes. It had long been the rule when trying something new, though Charlie hadn’t tried anything new, and therefore hadn’t invoked it, in quite a long time.

“Fine, but we’re talking an actual bite here, a whole piece chewed and—"

Charlie swallowed the bite so quickly Harvey wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t just watched it happen. He sat in stunned silence while his sister downed the rest of her water and placed her request for miso soup and a peanut avocado roll when the waitress appeared at their side to refill her empty glass.

She took a sip from her refilled water glass, an innocent smile on her lips. “So Harvey, how was your day?”

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

#suits usa #suits fanfic #suits fanfiction #specter!sister #harvey specter #charlie specter #lines to live by #I love you prompts #300 follower celebration

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

ACITW AU one-shot - “Draining Pipes” (Rated M)

Summary: After Sebastian is accidentally exposed to Covid, Kurt convinces him to quarantine. While the rest of the city is slowly opening up, Kurt is returning to a life that resembles normal. But for Sebastian, home alone without his boyfriend, isolation is changing him. And Kurt has some concerns... (2063 words)

Notes: Yes, this is a pandemic fic, but I promise, it's funny XD

Read on AO3.

"Hi, honey! I'm home!"

"Nope. Try again."

Kurt's head snaps up so quickly he stutters a step, nearly tripping over his feet even though he'd already stopped walking. He glares at Sebastian from across the room as if the man had gotten up from his seat, strolled over, and, without a word, vomited rancid sushi all over his Manolo Blahniks. "What?"

In a tone reminiscent of one his NYADA dance teacher, Cassie July, used that made Kurt prickle from head to toe, Sebastian says, "Try. again."

"Try what again?"

"Walking through the door."

Kurt spins around to examine the doorway, searching for clues about what he could have possibly done incorrectly. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with the way I walk through the door!?"

"Every time you come home, you say, 'Hi, honey! I'm home!'"

"Yeah, and... ?"

"It's boring. Unoriginal. It harkens back to an era of television situation comedy that had no hand in influencing our generation and, frankly, regurgitating it is beneath you and your dramatic talents."

Kurt plants his hands on his hips and gawks. What the hell happened to his boyfriend while he was away? He was only gone four hours! "Have you been rifling through my old schoolbooks again? I told you, there was no Illuminati conspiracy going on at NYADA!"

"Why don't you try something different?" Sebastian counters, neither confirming nor denying Kurt's accusation. "Something a bit more, dare I say, exotic?"

"Exotic?" Kurt scrunches his nose with distaste when he says it. Of all the words in the English language, that's one of his least favorite. "What constitutes exotic in your twisted opinion?"

"I don't know. Think of something. You're the creative, not me."

"What? I... " A dozen arguments about how he's just gotten home, how exhausted he is, how travel between here and the theater was a pain in the ass because some people still don't seem to understand what 'over the mouth AND nose' means so navigating his way through the subway was like playing a game of human Tetris with potentially infected pieces and that he's never been all that good at Tetris anyway! die on his lips.

It would be a waste of breath.

Still, Kurt doesn't know why he indulges him, but he turns on his heel and walks back out the door. After a few seconds of deep breathing in the hall to keep from screaming bloody murder, he storms back in and brightly declares, "Buenos dias, motherfucker! Como what's up?"

Seeing as the two of them speak fluent French, Spanglish is the most exotic thing he could come up with.

Sebastian nods in stoic approval. "Better. How goes life on the apocalyptic landscape?"

"I'm not selling my body for Cocoa Krispies if that's what you're asking," Kurt quips, wondering if this is how Sebastian acts at work and how no one has put the man through a window yet, partner or not.

"So what I'm hearing is you didn't bring home Cocoa Krispies."

"Nope. Sorry."

"Bitch."

"Yeah, well... " Kurt removes his shoes and socks, then sheds his coat, his messenger bag, his slacks, and his dress shirt, carefully piling them on a chair by the front door - their staging area for decontamination. While he undresses, he eyes Sebastian, not paying him an inch of mind, sitting on what has been dubbed the convalescence corner of the sofa, dressed in a soft white tee and flannel lounge pants, his laptop open on legs covered by a quilt his mother made for him when he was ten. Sebastian knows for a fact that Kurt is undressing and yet he's not leering at him, wolf-whistling under his breath or licking his lips like he's watching an Outback Steakhouse commercial. He's simply sitting in his spot, eyes glued to his laptop screen.

And Kurt loathes it.

Sebastian's attentions have been waning more and more lately, and even though it's savagely bruising Kurt's ego, he can't blame him.

Depending on how they choose to look at things, this situation could kind of, slightly, sort of be deemed Kurt's fault.

"Thank you again for doing this," Kurt says, extending an olive branch. He's been doing this so often over the past few months, he's started buying in bulk. "I can't tell you how much you keeping your distance and staying home has put my mind at ease."

Sebastian doesn't look at him when he replies: "No sweat, babe."

"I know it was just one small cough... and the kid was wearing two masks... and a face shield... "

"Hey, like you said, no need taking any chances. Right?"

"Right," Kurt agrees. And he believes it. He believed it then and he believes it now. Had the roles been reversed, Kurt would make the sacrifice, more than willing to lock himself away for the sake of curbing this disease and keeping Sebastian healthy.

But it isn't him.

And he feels like dirt going to work three days a week, returning to something that resembles normal knowing what Sebastian is missing out on.

"It's his mother's fault for not mentioning that her little plague rat has covid before I got stuck on the elevator with them," Sebastian says, possibly trying to make Kurt feel better even though his gaze hasn't shifted.

"But quarantining for six days longer than necessary? That's above and beyond! I mean it. You deserve a medal."

Sebastian tosses him a wink over his shoulder but he doesn't linger, giving half-naked Kurt only a brief once over. "I got you, fam. Besides, time's up tomorrow. Then... " He thousand-yard stares in the direction of the flat screen "... it's rat-hunting season."

"It hasn't been all bad, has it?" Kurt asks guiltily as Sebastian's eyes return to his laptop. He'll admit that maybe he did go a tad overboard when he'd found out Sebastian had been exposed, banishing him to one end of the penthouse and the guest bedroom, keeping him at broom handle length for the past nineteen days.

But they were almost in the clear! And that's the part that pisses Kurt off most.

The disease hasn't been eradicated, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The theater started allowing small groups to return for socially distanced practices. That's a huge win for Kurt. Being away from Broadway and rehearsals and opening nights and curtain calls... it was becoming difficult for him to breathe.

Sebastian was on the brink of going back to the office a few days a week, too. It wasn't so much not being at the office that bothered him, but the peripherals - eating lunch at his favorite deli or hitting the gym before dinner.

Sebastian had taken three tests after that fateful elevator incident, all of which came back negative, so he was confident everything would be alright. He was in the midst of planning his first in-person meeting, but Kurt balked, pointing out that there has been so much controversy over the accuracy of those tests. Sebastian offered to take three more if necessary, but regardless of the outcome, Kurt didn't feel it safe. And even though they had access to the vaccine (because money), being exposed, even minorly, pushed Sebastian's timetable for receiving his first dose back two weeks.

Kurt's father and stepmother have both received theirs, and Kurt was so looking forward to taking a trip to Ohio for a first hug in over a year. He's going to be damned if a four-foot-tall Petri dish ruins that for him!

But because of his paranoia, Kurt and Sebastian haven't touched, haven't kissed in two weeks. They tried the whole Skype sex thing from different rooms of the penthouse, aiming to recapture old college day thrills to boot, but it didn't work out the way they'd hoped. And even though they see each other every day, talk to one another, aggravate each other, throw popcorn and other food items at each other, Kurt misses Sebastian like the dickens. He misses his hugs, his warmth, his smell.

And yes, he misses the sex.

"Since I've been back to work, you've had the peace and privacy to watch those wacky pornos that your brother sends you."

"Yup," Sebastian says, typing something into his search bar that Kurt can't quite make out. "The wackiest."

"Didn't he say something about them being illegal in the contiguous 49 states?"

"Forty-eight. Tennessee turned itself around."

"It would be Tennessee."

"Always is."

"You probably haven't given your fleshjack a rest in two weeks," Kurt prods, worried over these short responses.

"Mmph... mmm-hmm... "

Kurt starts circling the sofa when all he gets is a chuckle in response, curious if Sebastian is even listening to him. He comes up behind him, standing on a piece of painter's tape they'd put down to mark six feet so Kurt can peek over his shoulder.

And what he sees on Sebastian's screen makes absolutely no sense.

"What are you watching?"

"Drain clearing videos."

Kurt's eyes go wide. "Drain clearing? Wh-what does that mean?"

"This guy drives all over, and when he finds a street that's flooded, he takes out a rake, drags it through the water, and tries to find the blocked drain."

"Does he work for the city?"

"Nah. He's just some guy."

"And he's made a whole channel about... clearing drains."

"Yes, sir."

"And you're watching it?"

"It came up in my recommendations so I clicked one." Sebastian shakes his head, chuckling when stagnant grey water, punctuated by speckles of rain, turns into a whirlpool, rushing through thick iron bars embedded in the concrete and disappearing from view. "It's so satisfying."

"What on Earth were you watching before this that YouTube recommended it?"

"Car cleaning videos."

Kurt's left eyebrow slowly climbs up his forehead. "A-ha."

"Yup. I never realized how relaxing it is to watch a handsome guy Bissell Kool-Aid stains out of carpet. But now... it's my jam."

Kurt huffs, offended on behalf of himself and his own vigorous cleaning regimen. "It wasn't your jam when I was steam cleaning our throw rugs! And the curtains!"

"Yeah, well, things hit different when you're forced into isolation."

Kurt storms forward a step. But then he remembers. And he stops, foot hovering an inch past the sacred boundary that keeps him from venturing too close to infection. He teeters, determination creasing his brow while anxiety wrestles his shoulders back. All the while, a war wages inside his tired brain:

"Get him! You've been vaccinated!"

"It's only one dose!"

"He's not even sick!"

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!"

"It's not worth the risk!"

"Yes... it... IS!"

"Come on!" Kurt demands, throwing himself bodily at the sofa. He grabs Sebastian's hand, a small voice screaming inside his head as if his tiny naysayer is being burned at the stake. "Come with me... NOW!"

"Where are we going?" Sebastian asks, rushing to move his computer to the side before he gets dragged off the sofa by his surprisingly strong boyfriend.

"This is an intervention."

"But you shouldn't be touching me! Or breathing my air! I have one day left!"

"You're fine! If you haven't gotten sick by now, you probably aren't going to! This is an emergency!"

"What emergency?"

"Quarantine has turned you into someone I don't recognize! Car cleaning videos? Who are you right now?"

"They're educational. It's good to learn a new skill."

Kurt barks a laugh that could shatter crystal. "Right. Like you'd ever. You'd pay highway robbery to have your ten-speed detailed!"

"Nope, because you'd do it for free."

Kurt rolls his eyes, unwilling to entertain his boyfriend's mocking of him to ask whether or not that's code. "If you're going to ogle a man wielding a Bissell, Goddammit, it's going to be me!"

"So... are we going to clean some carpets?"

"We're going to take a shower and then have sex. A lot of sex. You're getting fucked and sucked until you're back to normal."

Sebastian snorts, delighted by his incredibly good fortune. "If you insist. But are you absolutely sure about this?"

Kurt stops short and faces Sebastian. He looks him over, making certain he doesn't seem particularly sick, and shrugs.

"We'll wear masks. Or three. I don't need to kiss you to make you cum." Kurt continues to drag Sebastian towards the bathroom as his grin grows to epic proportions.

"Kinky."

#kurtbastian #acitw #acitw au #sebkurt #sekurt

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Note

"should i ask for song requests?" MA'AM- anyways Show Me Love by Mali Hood with Cal pls

LMAO, look, it’s just a thought. Also I love Mali, but Robin S’s version--a BOP. So I’m going to base it off that version.

It’s long, whoops.

CW: Mentions of gaining weight. So if you’re sensitive, feel free to skip this!

___________

It wasn’t in Calum’s plan to be out this late. He had planned to finish up the first season of Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix. He had planned to order himself a pizza, extra large so that he could have a few slices for lunch tomorrow too and possibly a White Claw, or two, or more. Who knows? He surely wasn’t going to count those calories.

However, when Calum and Ashton found themselves deep into the evening running over lyrics along with some other friends and somebody mentioning hitting up a bar nearby to get some food, Calum figured he could tag along. He’d avoid drinking until he got home but greasy bar food could be an easy substitute for pizza.

It’s as Calum dips the end of fries into the ranch given on the side a tap sounds of the speakers, cutting through the music that’s been playing in the background. “Hope everyone’s doing great tonight,” a voice states.

Calum looks over his shoulder to see a man up on a stage. “Karaoke’s opening up in fifteen minutes. Find me at the bar to sign up or feel free just to jump in.”

“Oh, we gotta stay for this,” Ashton laughs. The rest of the group readily agrees and Calum shrugs, polishing off the last half the fries before going in for another bite of his sandwich.

It’s not until the music cuts out again that Calum realizes the fifteen minutes as flown by. The first two people are a little wobbly, and giggling into the mic as they sing their choice in song. One goes for Journey which gets most of the room to sing along too. It hits a lull after about the fourth person. The DJ calls for people who didn’t sign up to just jump in.

There’s a thick silence and across the room, Calum catches a shriek. “We have one!”

He turns to the shrill and sees a pocket of girls at a booth. Three of them are tugging at a fourth that remains seated, shaking her head. However, her unwillingness is no match to her friends and they end up dragging her to the stage. Calum watches as she speaks for a moment to the DJ.

Her friends cheer front and center. Their claps somehow echo throughout the entire building. Under the light, Calum can see more of her features, high cheekbones, brown skin dazzling and peaking out from the fishnets covering her long legs. She chuckles nervously into the mic just as the music cuts in. The low sound, the husky voice makes Calum gasps.

He hadn’t seen her ages since they ended their fling. And she looked different--her cheeks were fuller. The weight gain made her look healthier than ever. She looked fucking good in the green plaid mini shirt and white high neck sleeves top. Her thighs shake just a little as she taps the beat out with her heel and soon, she belts out the opening note to Show Me Love vocalizing before the lyrics are pushed out from her chest.

What hadn’t changed as how at ease she seemed to be on the stage. Though she always protested it. The second someone put a mic in her hand and a spotlight on her, she turned into a whole new person. “I really need a lover, a lover that wants to be there,” she belts out and smiles before stepping down the stairs.

Through the crowd, she dances, singing along to the electronic beat holding steady. “You got to show me love,” her voice dips to match the note change and she points out to someone in the crowd, singing to them for a moment before twirling her way down the room. The crowd eats up, cheering along as she sings and taking moments to dance along with her.

“Words are so easy to say a lie, you got to show me love. I’m tired of getting caught up in the one night affairs,” she sings and gaze lands on Calum. Her eyes go wide. They hadn’t really run in the same circles for a while after Calum ended things.

And admittedly, he ended them for legitimate reasons. She was leaving for school abroad and said they could try to just be friends. But that wasn’t something he was looking for and rather than string her along knowing he’d ultimately be breaking her heart, he was honest. And she understood that. She thanked him for it.

It was harder than he thought it would be--watching her leave. He wanted to text her, reach out and see how things were going, if she had settled in nicely. And the urges lasted longer than Calum had never admitted to anyone, but they did eventually dissipate; it took him unfollowing her social media.

And come to think of it, he still noticed when she liked something of his--as few and far between as his postings were and he wasn’t even that active on his private account but whenever he was, she always wound up liking it. Every notification made his heart flutter just a little.

She moves on, still not missing a beat to the song, though she does brush a hand over Calum’s shoulder as she passes, sending a wink his way before she carries herself to the bar. Her heeled boots wind up clicking up and down the length of the bar counter. She dances with a few more people, women and men, smiling as she twirls about.

Returning back to the stage, the last note falling off from the speaker, she thanks the crowd and DJ and quickly steps back down the steps. The crowd gives her a standing ovation and she waves before returning back to her booth. Calum’s thankful he’s on the end and excuses himself for a second. No one seems bothered by his exit--Ashton’s the only one that could possibly recognize her and it’s not shock he doesn’t.

Calum walks over to the table and even though she’s smushed into the corner, on the side of the group, he knows he can’t leave this bar tonight with talking to her. He smiles as he approaches the table. “Evening, ladies.” Everyone is at lost for words but at least smile and nod at his approach. “I-I just wanted to say that that was a great performance. You’re extremely talented.”

“Thanks,” she returns, leaning out. “Would you believe it if I said I don’t do that sort of thing often.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he laughs softy. He goes to ask her to talk, or if she needs a refill but the air’s tense, a little awkward. “But honestly, you were amazing.” He nods again at her and throws up a quick wave before continuing on like he’s headed to the bathrooms. That is not how he wanted that to go. But how does he act like the last they haven’t lost contact for nearly four years. Calum splashes some water onto his face, staring up into the mirror.

She remembered him, clearly. Maybe it was that defense mechanism, the part of him that was trying to tell him that it was too much time passed. She possibly had moved on from all of that. Yeah, she probably had moved on, Calum thinks to himself. If she had, there would be no use in trying to make a move, he’d get rejected anyway.

He grabs some paper towel and dries his face and hands before pushing open the door to the bathroom. He doesn’t get more than a four steps from the door before a voice calls out his name, “Calum. Hey, wait.” A hand grabs to his elbow.

He spins to find her, smiling a bit lopsided and lips still glossy as they always were all those years ago, with also a bit of a darker lip liner around the edges. “Sorry,” she rushes out, dropping her hand from his elbow. “I just-I just wanted to say thanks. For the compliment. And, uh, if you weren’t busy, if you wanted to catch up sometime. Over a drink, coffee, lunch, whatever.”

“I would love that,” he exhales in a rush.

“Cool. Here’s my number--I had to change it become of my ex, but that’s not what I want to focus on.” She hands out a napkin with numbers scribbled onto it. “Just text me and we can arrange a date and time.”

Calum takes it with a nod, reaching for his phone from inside his pants pocket. “I’ll text you so you have my number too.” He taps her number in before typing a quick message and pressing send.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d recognize me or like want to talk or anything.”

“What-what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, there might just be a pound or two more on me than the last time you saw me. And when I left, we kind of just ended things and I-I don’t know. We hadn’t spoken in a while. I just moved back into town about six months ago. Seeing you just made me feel like I did when I was 19.”

Calum can’t lie and say he never suspected that she had feelings for him. At that time, he wasn’t looking for anything. “Well, first, you still look fucking gorgeous so I wouldn’t worry at all about that. Things are different now. I’m looking for different things now.” She nods, casting a look to the floor. “It’s like the song said,” Calum continues, “I’m tired of giving my love and getting no where.”

“You probably think I’m crazy or something, all these years. But there’s always been something about you, Calum. Something I couldn’t shake.”

“Nah, it can’t be me. Do you know how many times when you first left I almost messaged you? And I know I kinda put a cork in things then. But if you think there’s something about me, allow me to introduce you to yourself.”

She laughs, playfully slapping at his bicep. “Oh god. Quit while you’re behind.”

Calum laughs in return, watching the way she shakes her head. “What are you doing tomorrow, around 1?”

“Um, nothing. Tomorrow’s my day off. Why?”

“Let’s get lunch. Anywhere you want to go.”

“There’s a new sushi place. Just up the block from here.” She rattles off the name and Calum nods. He went there last week to try it out. “There if you’re okay with it?”

“More than okay,” Calum agrees. “But uh, I don’t want to take you away from your friends too long. So I’ll see you there tomorrow, at 1.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah. Tomorrow at one.” She steps into him, almost as she’s going to bypass him but stops just before doing so fully. Her hand comes up to his cheek and she presses a kiss before finally stepping away. Calum exhales, lungs nearly collapsing in his chest. He forgot that about her--how she was open and actionable, always willing to make the first step even if blew up in her face.

He watches her, finally composed enough to turn around as she slips back into the booth with her friends. He hears her laughter above the sounds of Led Zeppelin, another person singing for the crowd.

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood imaigne #calum hood fluff #calum hood angst #calum hood x oc #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #h writes

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beybladefanfictions · 3 years

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Ryuga’s Return - Chapter 3

(Description: AU where Ryuga survives Metal Fury but loses L-Drago. He reunites with Kenta and struggles to figure out what he’s supposed to do without Beyblade, his purpose in life for so long. Character’s thoughts are in asteriks.)

Ryuga's POV

*Why am I doing this?* Ryuga wondered as he followed Kenta down the sidewalk. Kenta had somehow managed to talk Ryuga into going to meet his parents, mostly because Ryuga couldn’t think of an excuse not to. He didn’t want to but Kenta clearly wanted him to, for whatever reason. Ryuga couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. The fiercest Beyblade battles and harshest environments had no effect on him yet the idea of talking to people, especially people he didn’t know, made his stomach knot. It just wasn’t something he was very used to.

Ryuga never really had anyone to talk to regularly until Kenta came along and Kenta was almost always the one to initiate the conversation. Meanwhile, Ryuga was content with silence and didn’t get why Kenta talked so much. It was necessary sometimes, sure. However, other times Kenta would just talk at him for no reason about such random things. Ryuga always wondered why he did that. He had seemingly gotten his answer earlier that day, when Kenta mentioned wanting to “socialize” with his friends. Apparently, that was something friends did and Kenta was his friend now.

“Here we are!” Kenta’s voice shook Ryuga from his thoughts.

He looked up. Kenta was pointing at a fairly nice looking house with a flat roof and pots of plants decorating the front porch. Ryuga froze. Kenta continued on, then stopped and looked back at him.

“Ryuga?” He gazed at him expectantly.

Ryuga took a deep breath. With some reluctance, he stepped up to stand beside Kenta. He gazed at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Kenta asked, looking up at Ryuga with concern in his eyes.

Ryuga met his gaze coldly. “I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Kenta sighed, looking away.

He stepped in front of the door and knocked. Moments later, a green-haired woman, who was noticeably shorter than Ryuga, answered the door.

"Hey, mom,” Kenta greeted with a wave.

"Oh my goodness!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stared at Kenta and Ryuga. “What happened to you two?!"

"Long battle," Kenta answered, shrugging.

"Against each other?!"

"Well…” Kenta looked up at Ryuga. “We battled too… before Nemesis."

"It didn't last long," Ryuga replied with a smirk.

"Hey!" Kenta glared up at Ryuga, pouting like a child.

"So this is Ryuga then?"

Ryuga stiffened when Kenta’s mother said his name.

Kenta nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, nice to meet you,” his mother replied, nodding to Ryuga. “How do you know Kenta?"

"We travelled together," Ryuga answered swiftly.

"Just the two of you?" The woman looked back at Kenta, raising an eyebrow.

"I er, it's a long story…” Kenta rubbed the back of his neck. “But-but I wasn't alone for long! Ryuga kept us both safe."

Kenta grabbed Ryuga’s arm, gazing up at him with an almost desperate look in his eyes. Ryuga looked back at Kenta’s mom.

“Yes… I did,” he answered, hoping that was what Kenta had wanted him to do.

"Well, thank you.” Kenta’s mother smiled. She took a step back, pulling the door open and ushering them inside. “Here, come in, both of you. You two must be starving."

"Yes! Very!" Kenta answered, hopping up the step into the house.

Ryuga followed, instantly feeling confined in the small space. It wasn’t even a small house. There was space to walk around but it was nothing compared to the infinite space of the outdoors or even the huge Bey stadiums. This house however almost made Ryuga feel smaller.

"Well, there's plenty of sushi on the table,” Kenta’s mother was saying to Kenta. She turned to Ryuga. “There should be enough for you too, Ryuga."

*Sushi? As in food?!* Ryuga hadn’t realized he was hungry until the idea of food was brought up. Now he realized he was starving. He looked at the kitchen. A green-haired man was sitting at the table, reading a book. He looked up at Kenta.

"Hey, kiddo!" he greeted, with a smile.

"Hi, dad!" Kenta rushed over to his dad and threw his arms around him in a hug.

"How was your trip?" His dad asked.

"Really exhausting,” Kenta admitted, stepping out of the hug. “I'm glad to be home, and with food!"

He sat at the table, immediately reaching for the tray of sushi and grabbing three pieces. He placed them on a smaller plate.

"Ryuga, want some of this sushi?" Kenta asked, looking up at him and holding up a piece of sushi.

Ryuga froze. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him, which he would be used to in a stadium, but this wasn’t a stadium. It was the furthest thing from a Bey stadium.

"Ryuga, huh?” Kenta's dad didn’t even sound shocked. “Wow, Kenta really can make friends with anyone."

"You've heard of me then,” Ryuga muttered. He took a seat next to Kenta, across the table from Kenta’s parents.

"Sure, a while ago,” Kenta’s dad answered with a shrug. “How'd you and Kenta end up friends?"

Ryuga stared down at the table. "Long story."

"We can listen," Kenta's mom insisted gently.

Ryuga tapped Kenta’s shoulder. "Kenta, you tell them."

"Huh?” Kenta had been busy stuffing his face with sushi. “Oh, okay.” He turned to his parents. “I was with Gingka and the others on the journey to find the Legendary Bladers and defeat Nemesis…"

Ryuga zoned out as Kenta recounted the events of his travels. He glanced at the sushi tray. He was hungry, but the food looked so… Weird. Ryuga wasn't a picky eater, he was willing to eat whatever he could find, but he rarely ate processed food like this. However, he wasn’t dumb enough to deny food when it was right there in front of him. So he grabbed one of the rolls and took a bite. *What is this supposed to be?!* Ryuga could barely make out any individual ingredients, though he was pretty sure he tasted fish. He wasn’t sure if he liked it but he was hungry enough to eat it without thinking.

"So I ended up travelling with him for months and somewhere along the way we became friends," Kenta had just finished his story before taking a bite of his sushi.

"So you're homeless then?" Kenta’s mom asked, turning to Ryuga.

"You couldn't tell?" Ryuga asked, letting out a dry laugh. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but he probably looked like just as much of a wreck as Kenta did.

"Don't you have a family somewhere?" Kenta’s dad asked, tilting his head to the side.

"No."

"Oh…" Kenta’s parents turned to each other, their eyes wide. Ryuga growled. They were pitying him, he could tell.

Kenta’s dad turned to him. "Well, you can always come here if you need to, kiddo. Any friend of Kenta's is welcome."

Ryuga stiffened. *'Kiddo?!' Did he just call me 'kiddo?!'* He didn't know how to respond so he just turned his attention to his food.

"Thanks, Dad,” Kenta replied for him, “Um Ryuga…” Kenta turned to him. “Where are you going to go after this?"

"I'll figure it out,” Ryuga muttered, grabbing another roll of sushi. He briefly wondered if Kenta’s parents would get mad at him if he ate too much of their food.

"Do you want some water with that, kiddo?" Kenta’s mother asked.

Ryuga’s fist clenched around his sushi, smashing it to pieces. He glared at Kenta’s parents.

"Stop calling me that,” he growled, “I'm not a kid."

“Yes, you are." Kenta’s mother didn’t even hesitate in her reply.

Ryuga was going to retort but Kenta cut him off. “How old are you anyway, Ryuga?" he asked.

Ryuga actually had to think about it for a moment.

"Seventeen."

Kenta smiled. "Oh, so you're six years older than me. Cool."

Ryuga nearly choked on his sushi.

"You're eleven?!"

"Yes?!” Kenta suddenly stiffened. “How old did you think I was?!"

"Eight."

"What?!” Kenta gasped, nearly falling over. “Am I really that short?!"

"Yes." Ryuga couldn’t help but smile a bit at Kenta’s over the top reaction.

"Kenta, don't worry," his mother cut in. "You'll grow soon enough."

"I was still short when I was your age,” his father added, “Don't worry about it too much, kiddo."

"Okay, okay. Eight years old…" Kenta muttered as he took another bite of sushi.

*They call him a kid too…* Kenta's parents clearly saw no difference between Ryuga and Kenta, the latter of whom was obviously a kid. However, Ryuga didn't feel like a kid. He had been living on his own for years and everyone, regardless of their age, feared him. Yet Kenta's parents didn't. Were they crazy?

*Why are they acting so welcoming towards me when they know what I've done?!* Ryuga cast a glance at Kenta. Understanding stirred within him: of course they act like this, they're his parents, after all. What else should Ryuga have expected? After eating a few more pieces of sushi, Ryuga stood up and took a step back. He glanced at Kenta’s parents. *Am… I supposed to thank them?*

“Thanks…” Ryuga muttered. “For the food."

Kenta’s mother nodded and replied, "Oh, it was no problem, sweetie.” Ryuga let out a growl. *That's worse than 'kiddo!'* “Just let us know if you need anything else.”

“Somewhere I can be alone?" Ryuga blurted out without thinking. However, he meant it. He was already getting sick and tired of Kenta’s parents and could barely keep his anger under control.

“Um…” Kenta’s dad looked at something in the living room. “The basement is mostly empty." He pointed to a door near the front one, but leading to the side.

*What’s a basement?* Ryuga bit back the question. He didn’t care enough to subject himself to any more meaningless conversation.

“That'll suffice,” Ryuga replied, making his way toward the basement.

He pushed the door open and descended down the flight of stairs and into the darkness. Ryuga sat on the floor with a sigh. He had barely known Kenta’s parents for twenty minutes and they were already doting on him as if he was their own son. *Me… the former Dragon Emperor, reduced to this pathetic husk.*

His thoughts had wandered back to L-Drago almost immediately. Ryuga’s heart ached. It wasn’t just about L-Drago’s power, though Ryuga couldn’t deny that was certainly part of it. His status had been reduced greatly. However, more importantly to him, Ryuga lost his spark. Beyblade had defined his entire life and all of a sudden, it had been taken away from him and he had been thrown into a completely new situation that he had no idea how to handle. It all felt so… empty. With Beyblade gone, there was a void in Ryuga's life that he couldn't imagine filling.

Ryuga was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a door creaking open. He stood up.

"I thought I said I wanted to be alone?!" he snapped, staring at the foot of the stairs. The lights suddenly turned on, making Ryuga shield his eyes with his arm.

“Ryuga, it's me," Kenta’s voice replied from up the stairs.

Ryuga froze. “...What do you want?"

Moments later, Kenta appeared at the foot of the stairs, his gaze fixed on Ryuga.

“They don't mean it in a mean way, you know." Kenta’s tone was blunt, almost emotionless.

"Huh? Ryuga raised an eyebrow.

"My parents… calling you 'kiddo.' I know you probably think that they look down on you, but they're just trying to be nice."

“Whatever," Ryuga grunted, looking away.

"Ryuga?" Kenta let out a growl. "I can't take this anymore!" Ryuga stiffened as Kenta started yelling. "Ryuga, tell me what’s wrong!” he demanded, stomping his foot into the ground.

Ryuga staggered back.

“What?!” he gasped. *How did he know?!*

“You’ve been upset all day! What’s wrong?!” Kenta demanded, marching toward him. His eyes were blazing with anger though Ryuga sensed concern in his tone as well.

“I’m always upset!”

“Not like this! You’re sad about something, I can tell!”

“No, I’m not!” Ryuga clenched his fists, trying to stop himself from shaking. *I don’t want to talk about this!*

“Is this about L-Drago?”

“That’s none of your business!” Ryuga answered a bit too quickly.

Kenta let out a sigh, suddenly becoming less tense.

“It is, isn’t it?” he asked, taking a step back. “You miss your Beyblade and don’t want to replace it, so you don’t even want to Beyblade anymore.”

Ryuga froze. *How did he figure that out so quickly?!* Kenta stared at him with wide eyes, clearly realizing he had hit a nerve.

“Leave me alone,” Ryuga grunted, sitting down against the wall. His anger had dissolved, leaving him completely drained.

“No!” Kenta insisted. “You shouldn’t be alone right now! You should have a friend supporting you and that’s what I’ll do!” Kenta sat next to Ryuga, clinging to his arm.

“You can’t do anything about this, Kenta,” Ryuga muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Don’t waste your effort.”

“It’s true, I can’t bring back L-Drago, but I’ll listen to you. It can help to talk about how you feel.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ryuga pushed Kenta away.

“At least try!” Kenta insisted. He sat across from Ryuga now, gazing intently as he waited for a response.

Ryuga let out a sigh, staring down at the ground. “You don’t get it, Kenta. Beyblade was my entire reason for being alive, it’s one of the only things I care about.”

“What's the other thing?”

Ryuga met Kenta’s gaze. *You should know the answer to that.*

“Oh…” Kenta rested his hand on his chest, his eyes watering slightly.

“What am I supposed to do… without Beyblade?”

“Well… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” Ryuga stopped when he realized he had raised his voice. Kenta stared at him with wide eyes. “I’ve never wanted to do anything but Beyblade…” Ryuga continued, lowering his voice again.

“Maybe you could still Beyblade,” Kenta suggested, scooting forward a bit. “I know it’s not L-Drago, but Flash Sagittario’s power was originally yours, maybe-”

“No.”

“Huh?”

Ryuga dipped his head. During their travels, Kenta had gone on and on about how he felt cast aside and ignored by his friends for not being a Legendary Blader. Kenta probably didn’t think Ryuga had paid any attention, but he had. He needed Kenta to know that he was worthy of the power Ryuga had given him.

“The power in Sagittario is yours now… and I don’t regret giving it to you.”

“R-Ryuga…” Kenta’s eyes watered. “But-but L-Drago-”

“Was full of stolen power,” Ryuga cut him off. He looked away, his jaw clenched, “I never changed after overcoming the dark power. I let my greed consume me just like those stupid Americans did.”

"Ryuga…?" Kenta stared at him in disbelief.

Ryuga noticed himself trembling as he went on, “I was the most powerful Blader, I was respected, or feared. What am I now? Who am I without Beyblade?!"

Ryuga’s voice descended into a cry. He turned away, disgusted at himself for showing such weakness. Kenta threw himself at Ryuga, wrapping his arms around him. Ryuga stiffened. A single tear streamed down his face.

“I can’t answer those questions…” Kenta murmured, “But I want to help you.”

Ryuga was suddenly overwhelmed by appreciation for his friend. Shifting in place, he put his arms gently around Kenta, careful not to crush the smaller boy. He leaned forward to rest his chin on Kenta's shoulder.

“You’re already helping me.” Ryuga’s voice came out shaky, almost like a sob.

He had never allowed anyone to so much as witness him during a moment of weakness like this. However, Ryuga knew he could trust Kenta. The two of them stayed in the hug for a few more breaths before Ryuga let go. Kenta scooted back, dipping his head.

“Kenta…” Ryuga sighed. Kenta met his gaze as he spoke, “I’ve been sticking with you because I don't see the point in travelling on my own anymore."

Kenta just nodded, as if his suspicion had been confirmed.

“I…” Ryuga hesitated. He reflected for a moment longer before continuing, “I want to stay with you and your family, until I figure out what to do with myself.”

Out loud, the idea sounded even crazier. However, if Ryuga really couldn’t Beyblade again, he wanted to stay with the one person whose company he valued.

“R-Ryuga…” Kenta stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t have to do that. I know you hate it here.”

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “When did I say that?”

“You never said it… but I’m not blind, I could tell you were uncomfortable around my parents.”

“They were patronizing,” Ryuga grunted. “But… I can learn to deal with it. After all, I won’t be staying here forever.”

Kenta grabbed Ryuga’s arm, pulling him into a side hug.

“When you do leave, do you promise to visit?” he asked, gazing up at Ryuga with those dreaded puppy dog eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Ryuga grunted, attempting to get his arm free.

Kenta let go, smiling. “Okay…” His smile suddenly faded and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Um, Ryuga… I had a question.”

“What is it?” Ryuga asked, suddenly concerned.

“Everyone keeps telling me… that you gave me your star fragment because you respect me. Do you… respect me?”

Ryuga let out a sigh. *So he’s going to make me explain.*

“Kenta, I’ve always respected you.”

“Wha- huh?!” Kenta staggered back, as if a gust of wind had knocked him backwards.

“The problem wasn’t you, it was my delusion.” Ryuga dipped his head as he explained.

“You… you really mean it.” Kenta’s eyes watered. “Ry-Ryuga…” His voice came out in a sob.

Ryuga stiffened. “No, please don’t.”

Kenta wiped the beginnings of a tear away.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…” Kenta insisted, and Ryuga noticed that the kid was smiling. “I just didn’t realize you cared so much.”

Ryuga bit his lip. The idea of caring about someone still seemed so weird to him. However, he also felt a twinge of guilt. He didn’t want Kenta to think he didn’t care and he definitely didn’t want him to cry.

*Weak…* Ryuga instantly pushed the thought away. Kenta cared for his friends and he absolutely wasn’t weak. His love for his friends had driven him to follow Ryuga through the brutal wilderness and in turn, pushed him into becoming a stronger Beyblader. *Caring about his friends didn't make him weak and caring about Kenta doesn’t make me weak either.*

“Hey, you should let my parents know you want to stay.” Kenta’s voice pulled Ryuga out of his thoughts.

“I should?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.” Kenta chuckled a bit. “They gotta know.”

“W-why do I have to tell them?” Ryuga asked, backing up a bit. “Can’t you?”

“You’re the one who wants to stay…” Kenta stared at him for a moment. “Are you scared?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Scared?!” Ryuga bristled with rage. “No, I'm not scared!”

“It’s fine if you are, you know. I get that this is probably all really new to you.”

Ryuga stiffened. “Why do you know me so well?”

Kenta smiled. “We travelled for months together, Ryuga. I was bound to pick up on some things.”

Ryuga let out a sigh as he stood up. “Well, come on. If I’m doing this, you’re coming with me.”

“Um…”

“I don’t need you to say anything,” Ryuga grunted, rolling his eyes. “Just having you with me is enough.”

“Oh… okay.” Kenta nodded and stood up.

The two of them walked up the stairs side by side. Kenta pulled the door open. Ryuga glanced in the living room to see that both of Kenta’s parents were in the room, sitting on the couch and staring at small screens. Closing the door behind him, Ryuga took a few steps into the room. He cleared his throat. Kenta’s parents turned to look at him, their gazes lighting up.

“Oh, hello Kenta, Ryuga,” Kenta’s dad greeted, “Did you need something?”

“Actually…” Ryuga took another step forward. “Yes…”

“What is it?” Kenta’s mother asked.

Ryuga found himself shaking as he forced himself to speak. “Since… I have nowhere else to go and Kenta is my friend… I was…” Ryuga froze. *This is harder than I thought it would be!* “I was wondering if I… if I could…” *Just spit it out!* “Can I stay here? For-for a while at least?” Ryuga facepalmed. *I sound like such an idiot!*

Kenta's parents turned to each other, their faces lighting up. Ryuga’s jaw clenched. *Have I just given them exactly what they wanted?!*

“Of course!” Kenta’s mother was beaming as she spoke. “You can stay here as long as you need to, sweetie. It’s not a bother.”

*Apparently, I have.*

“Right…” Ryuga dipped his head, biting his lip. “Thanks…”

“Something the matter?” Kenta’s mom asked, tilting her head to the side.

Ryuga glared at them. *I've barely told Kenta this stuff. I'm not telling people I barely know, even if they are Kenta's parents.*

"Nothing important." Ryuga gestured to Kenta, silently praying he would change the subject, or give them an excuse to leave. Something. Anything. Why was talking to people so awkward?!

"Oh, uh…” Kenta looked up at him. “Ryuga, since you're staying here, you'll need a place to sleep. I could make space in my room."

"There's already space in the living room," Kenta’s dad suggested, gesturing to the space in front of the couch.

"What about the basement?" Ryuga suggested.

"The basement?" Kenta's mom glanced at him.

"It's quiet down there.”

Ryuga hadn’t taken the time to appreciate it, but the basement was the only room in this whole house that didn’t feel crowded. There was room to walk around and like he said, it was quiet.

"Well…" Kenta's dad looked somewhat doubtful. "Okay. We can set up a mattress for you in the basement."

Ryuga took a step back. "No, it's fine," he insisted, bristling defensively. "This is only temporary…” *Please stop doting on me.*

Kenta's mother stood up. "Temporary or not, we're not letting you sleep on the floor." Her tone was firm but not exactly angry.

"Why not?" Ryuga scoffed. *I do it all the time. What's the big deal?*

However, Kenta's parents didn't answer. They were already on their way to get the mattress they promised. Ryuga turned to Kenta.

"Your parents are weird.”

"Well, what did you expect?" Kenta asked with a smile.

Ryuga shrugged. “Nothing less."

He rested his hand on Kenta's head, smiling as he ruffled his hair. Kenta yelped in surprise. However, he didn’t move away. Ryuga smiled. Without L-Drago, Ryuga still wasn't even fully sure who he was, though he supposed "Kenta's friend" was a start.

(Author's Note: And that's the end. A lot of my fanfictions lately have been pretty short but this seemed like the most appropriate way to end it since Ryuga's inner conflict has been somewhat resolved and I wanted to leave the characters’ futures up to interpretation. Still, this was a really fun one to write.)

#beyblade #beyblade metal fight #beyblade metal saga #beyblade metal fury #fanfictions #ryuga #kenta yumiya #ryuga kishatu #more like Ryuga Yumiya #cause Kenta's parents wanted to adopt him on sight #whether they actually adopt him or not is up to the readers though #angst #hurt and comfort #platonic hurt and comfort #is that a thing?#because that's what this is #I enjoy the writing life

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wearevillaneve · 4 years

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Killing Eve S3, E5: “Are You From Pinner?“ should really be called “Killing Oksana.”

With “Are You From Pinner?” in the books, we are past the halfway mark of the Suzanne Heathcote era of Killing Eve and in some circles of the fandom, the hope is this wet firecracker of a season will blow up in the final three episodes.

Based upon what’ has come before, this may be a tad optimistic. As erratic and disjointed as the preceding four episodes, E5 introduced something entirely new and different to Killing Eve. A standalone showcase for Jodie Comer’s Villanelle without Eve or Dasha or Konstantin or any of the other regular cast to block the spotlight. Can you see the fatal error in all this?

Typically when something is dubbed a “shitshow” it’s meant metaphorically, but as one of the set pieces was Villanelle literally throwing shit, it becomes an accurate description.

Before we got to this point, the six-month time jump from the end of last season looked like a combination of a tactical error and a missed opportunity. Instead of Villanelle returning to Russia to drop in on the home folks, there were a many more unanswered questions from “You’re Mine” in dire need of an explanation.

1. Who rescued Eve found and transported her to the hospital? The “lucky some tourists found you” one-liner by the late Kenny Stowton seems pretty flimsy. Didn’t the Rome police have any questions about this Asian woman with amazing hair ended up in Hadrian’s Villa lying facedown in a pool of blood? Was it a robbery? Okay, so then did Eve have any money, passport or ID to get back to England once she healed sufficiently? Did she receive any rehabilitative aftercare? Is she on any pain-killing medicines? What was her mental state after being shot by V? What was her emotional and psychological state after slaughtering Raymond to save V?

2. How did Niko get out of the storage locker? Eve didn’t know where he was and neither did MI6. Even if he was found by someone else, how did he explain away the small matter of Gemma’s rotting corpse? Niko griped to Eve that MI6 intervened to make it look like Gemma committed suicide to cover up the fact that not only can’t a spy agency catch an international assassin who kills British citizens at will, they later hired her to work on an off-the-book mission where a technocratic billionaire got his throat slit.

Why would MI6 go through all that fuss and bother to cover up a murder of a civilian when it could easily be laid at Niko’s feet? His only defense is Gemma was killed by a beautiful blonde psychopath with a crush on his estranged wife. Carolyn told Eve she was on her own after Rome. What changed, because something must have for MI6 to ride to Niko’s rescue. 3. Isn’t The Twelve presented as this immense, almighty, sprawling international diabolical entity of murder, violence, and sowing chaos and espionage against nations with their dirty little fingers apparently manipulating every intelligence agency on the planet? It also deploys assassins and goons too fucking stupid to look under a bed to find an unarmed MI6 agent hiding there quaking in fear OR recognize said agent when a thug asks her out for a sushi dinner. Well, okay then. Killing Eve logic explains it all. Returning back to this sluggish solo flight, Villanelle’s family in Mother Russia are a bunch of dopey dunces with anger management issues, poor self-control, and flat-earthers who break out in spontaneous dance routines while the prodigal trouble child, Oksana, looking like the Whitest White Girl Ever who tried to shake her moneymaker, but couldn’t because both of her feet were super-glued to the floor, stands by bewildered probably thinking, “Who the hell are you people?”

A few weeks ago rumors from not-very reliable sources were floating around that executive producer Sally Woodward Gentle had mused it might be conceivable Killing Eve could conceivably go on without one of the two leads. Perhaps Woodward Gentle is hedging her bets should Comer or Oh not return after the fourth season. “Are You From Pinner” is proof that’s not true. The show is called Killing Eve, not Killing Villanelle. Though she has become the sun to Eve’s moon, there’s a reason for Eve Polastri to inhabit a central place in Villanelle’s life. She is the other half which makes Villanelle whole. Whether together or apart, what keeps the audience coming back is the strange relationship between Eve and Villanelle. Without Eve to humanize Villanelle, she become just another attractive, charismatic killer with a sad back story. Yet Villanelle is not a Marvel super villain and many fans were perfectly fine with not knowing what it was in her past that made her who she is now.

Heathcote subverted expectations of another meeting between the central characters in episode 5 as her showrunner predecessors Emerald Fennell and Phoebe Waller-Bridge had done previously, but she went further by removing Eve completely. Eve was not referenced a single time by Villanelle and weirdly, Sandra Oh and all the other cast members names were removed from the credits. Heathcote’s erred by that omission as it reinforced the notion some KE fans have held that she and Fennell tilted the balance in favor of Comer’s character as Oh’s is diminished. That may not have been the newest showrunner’s intention, but it certainly feeds the impression that it was. The conclusion of Villanelle killing her mother and burning down the house was a wrenching, powerful moment, but taken in totality of the entire show, not nearly enough to compensate for the lackluster and pointless set-up scenes.

What we learned from Oksana's origin story is you really can't go home again. Fine, but why did that require an Eve-less episode to know that. This all could have unfolded in the six-month jump after Rome as a sub-plot playing out over the first four episodes. It didn’t justify a standalone showcase for Villanelle.

All it did was blunt the equally affecting impact of Eve witnessing Niko’s death. A better and much fairer approach would have been devote the first half to Eve grieving for her murdered husband and the second to Villanelle less-than-warm welcome home. Minus Eve, and without Konstantin and no Dasha to exercise some guidance over the nuclear missile that is Villanelle, what you get is an unleashed assassin alternatively being childish, being a smart-ass, being mysterious, being fashionable, before inevitably turning murderous.

Most of the time it works and we forgive Villanelle her many trespasses This time it face-planted despite a sensational closing sequence between Oksana and her mother. Unfortunately, ten riveting minutes do not make up for the uninteresting 32 minutes which preceded it.

Villanelle has become unstoppable in her homicidal tendencies. She has morphed into a female Terminator who occasionally imitates human traits. Nothing can stop her or barely slow her down. She commits mayhem and slaughter like most of us breathe and suffers zero consequence for it. The fact she took out her own mother should neither shock nor surprise.

“Are You From Pinner?” demonstrates Villanelle’s complex charms shine most brightly in her interactions with Eve, Konstantin and Dasha. Remove them from the equation and even Comer’s wealth of talents are not enough to rise above flat, lifeless characters, muddled motivations and a plot which wavers between the comedic for too long and the tragic too late to register. A friend said she didn’t much like “Are You From Pinner” but hoped it would be better after a second or third viewing. I told sometimes a first impression is a right impression and that it was doubtful a third watch would help much. How much subtlety and nuance is there to be found from a turd tossing contest? I can say with all confidence, I can't see myself watching this episode again. Like ever. If you got something out of this misfire and it touched your heart and made you squirt a tear for Oksana, more power to you. All I got out of it was confirmation why the show is called Killing Eve and not Villanelle and Her Wacky Russian Family. Come for the comedy. Stay for the kills. In a new interview for her Elle Canada cover story, Oh spoke of how she had reached a point in her life where she was not looking for the next big blockbuster movie, but interested in roles where her Korean American identity can be explored. “I decided that I’m only going to play characters that are essential to the plot, that conduct the narrative and therefore can’t be cut out.” Eve is an essential character who conducts the narrative, and was cut out of the latest installment of the program that bears her name. And that bothers me. It bothers me a lot more than just a mediocre Killing Eve story. I will never watch another Killing Eve which erases one of the female leads to elevate the other. That is not how women empower women.

FINAL GRADE: C

#Killing Eve #Villanelle #suzanne heathcote #ke s3 #emerald fennell #phoebe waller bridge #showrunner #Eve Polastri #Villanelle x Eve

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fanfic-inator795 · 4 years

Note

No problem, I loved that ask. Actually, can you do a drabble of Lou introducing Draxum to his family?

I think I can whip up a little something~ ^v^

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

It was just a few months before their wedding now. One would have thought that he would have ‘met the in-laws’ long before this.

“It’s... complicated,” Lou had admitted, after an afternoon of pacing around their house, talking in Japanese over the phone and his tone ranging from aggravated and sheepish to sincere and even a bit excited. As it turned out, his handsome fiance had siblings. Not just one or two, but six.

“Wait wait, we’ve got other uncles and aunties besides just Shen?” Raph had said, his brothers looking just as confused.

“You do,” Lou had sighed before explaining the story. Some things, like Lou’s poor relationship with his father, his mother passing away when he was young, and he and Shen running away to Tokyo when Lou was 18, and then to America once they started making a name for themselves, remained the same, being the same story he had told Draxum years ago.

What he had neglected to mention was that he also had three brothers and three sisters, all ranging in age. He got along decently with all of them - though he admitted that he was sometimes creeped out by his youngest sister, and his oldest brother could be stern and a bit of an ass at times, but there was still love and care there with all his siblings.

Still, being a bitter teenager just barely on the threshold of adulthood, Lou had lashed out on more than one occasion, insulted that not all of his siblings believed he would make it on his own. They hadn’t completely supported his dream of becoming a star, and a couple of them like Nori and Saki thought he still needed their protection. So, Lou had cut contact - first out of spite, then because he was so busy with films and being a celebrity, then out of depression... It had been a couple months after adopting his boys did he finally remember his family, and wondered how they were doing now.

Still, between the distance between them and the frayed strands of siblinghood, they stuck to letters once or twice a year as their primary source of communication, despite a couple of his siblings pushing for more. But, it would seem that the tabloid’s exposing his and Draxum’s engagement was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were. His siblings were coming for a visit, at Saki’s stern insistence. Lou would see his siblings again for the first time in years, his boys would meet their aunts and uncles...

And Draxum would be meeting his in-laws. Not just ‘best friends who were practically family’ like with Shen, but actual in-laws. So, here he was, standing by the door with his family, dressed in a teal blue dress shirt and a gold tie, hoping to make a good first impression.

Lou opened his door, and his siblings practically piled in. Even if they all had their own unique features and styles, Draxum could already see a bit of family resemblance. Still, the fact that Lou was the only one in the Hamato bunch with a pompadour made him smile a little.

Lou greeted them all in Japanese, giving hugs and handshakes while answering questions, also in Japanese. Japanese that, despite a few years of trying to learn, his boys just couldn’t hope understand due to how fast their relatives spoke. “I’m gonna start speaking Spanish if they don’t stop speaking Japanese,” Leo mumbled during it all, pouting a bit after trying and failing to translate. Draxum sympathetically patted his head.

Thankfully, Lou didn’t take too long to notice that the rest of his family was feeling a bit out of the loop. So, clearing his throat, he got everyone to quiet down. “Alright. My brothers and sisters,” he began, “I’d like you to meet, my oldest Raphael-” He touched the shoulder of the eleven year old in red- “my ten year old twins, Donatello and Leonardo-” He gestured to each of them, not wanting his siblings to mix them up- “My youngest, Michelangelo-” the nine year old in orange grinned, happily waving at them, “and finally... my beloved fiance, Dr. Benjamin Draxum.”

Draxum bowed slightly at them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“It is good to finally meet you as well, Doctor!” one of Lou’s brothers said, smiling at him.

Draxum chuckled. “Please, just Ben is fine.”

“Very well, I-”

“He is Kenji,” another brother, obviously the oldest, said as he took the lead on introductions, “and I am Saki. And this-” he gestured to each of his remaining siblings in order of age, “is Nori, Hiroki, Hikari and Mei.” Each of the siblings nodded at their brother’s fiance before turning their attention to their nephews.

Nori took a knee so she could look the boys in the eyes. “It’s very nice to finally meet you four,” she smiled, “We have much to catch up on, huh?” The boys smiled back at her. She may have been a total stranger, but her kindness and friendliness was already reminding them of their Auntie Shen.

“We should sit,” Saki spoke up, before adding, “if that is alright. We can’t exactly have a proper visit in the doorway, after all. Unless you are planning on kicking us out already, Yoshi.”

Lou sighed a little, shaking his head. Same old Saki. “Make yourselves at home. Sorry there isn’t much seating, but I can grab a chair from the kitchen if anyone needs one. I’ll also make some tea - you all still like ginseng, right?”

They all settled in the living room, and within an hour, they were already getting along like family. The boys took most of the conversation, telling their aunts and uncles about their favorite things and sharing stories. Lou told the story of the day he first met his boys, and then told the story of the night he and Draxum first met - with Mikey butting in when necessary to tell his side.

Kenji chuckled. “It almost sounds like a movie!”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of the irony,” Draxum quipped, chuckling along with him. He felt Mikey hug his leg, the gesture feeling nostalgic given that the boy hadn’t done that since he was six or seven.

“Yeah, Ben is a great dad,” Mikey said, glancing up at his soon-to-be father, “I know I’m definitely glad I found him instead of someone else that night.”

“Well, he’s not your official stepfather yet,” Saki mumbled, quiet enough for the children not to hear him. Nori still elbowed him for it.

The Hamatos shared stories as well, tales that Lou remembered from childhood as well as new ones he hadn’t heard before. It was slightly bittersweet, with Lou silently wishing that he hadn’t stubbornly waited to get in contact with his family again. Still, this wouldn’t be the first time he had to fix mistakes he made in his youth, and at the very least, Lou was certain that even after his wedding, there would still be plenty of family visits.

When suppertime came around, Saki insisted on ordering giant platters from a New York sushi place that they could all enjoy, thinking it appropriate to splurge for an occasion such as a family reunion... And he volunteered Draxum to help him pick it up.

Lou gave his oldest brother a bit of look, but Draxum agreed without hesitation, standing up from the couch and following Saki out the door. Despite the difference in weather and setting, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of deja vu, being reminded of that Christmas Eve nearly three years ago.

“You and my brother get along well,” Saki said finally, after driving in silence for several minutes. Even though he kept his eyes on the road, Draxum could see the sharp sternness in his eyes. Not from malice, though, but from fierce protectiveness. Saki was easily the most serious in this generation of Hamatos, and he took his family very seriously.

Still, Draxum didn’t flinch. “We do,” he said, a small smile on his face, “I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have expected it either. But we-... I connected with him almost instantly.”

“Oh?” Saki said, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“...There was this one time, during a first few months of dating,” Draxum began, “Lou had done an interview, and somehow - not his fault, but the fault of a very nosey talkshow host - word got out that we were dating. It was... stressful, to say the least. I met more reporters and members of the paparazzi that week than I had in my entire life, and I nearly had to get a new phone number. ...We almost didn’t make it, because I wasn’t sure if I could handle the stress of, well, that whole situation that came with dating a well known celebrity.”

“...” Saki spared him a glance. “Then what made you stay?”

Draxum smiled again. “I missed him... Him and the boys, and it was then that I decided that I would rather deal with the rough and sometimes aggravating times with him and his family by my side than have peaceful times on my own. Lou made me happy, like no one else had, as did his children. And so, I decided that I was going to try and make them as happy as they made me in return. I wasn’t going to be a coward, and I was going to fight for the ones I loved. ...The ones I never knew I needed until they were nearly gone.”

Saki said nothing, just kept driving. Draxum didn’t mind, he had already said his piece, and if Saki still didn’t approve of him... Well, so be it. He still would try and connect with Lou’s relatives as much as he could of course, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

However, when they arrived at the sushi restaurant, Saki stopped him before they went inside. “My younger brother and I... we have not always seen eye-to-eye,” Saki began, his eyes losing their sharpness and instead taking on an air of fatigue, “But I have always cared about him. Try to guide him, protect him, even when I was angry or frustrated with him... When we did not hear from him in so long, only knowing that he was still alive because he was still in films, and then even losing that eventually... I can not tell you how worried I was about him.”

Draxum gave him a sympathetic look, but said nothing, not wanting to interrupt.

“...Then, when I heard about him getting married - married to someone who could see his fame and fortune as the only reason for marriage, someone who could break my foolish brother’s heart... I became worried once again. ...However-” His eyes became softer now. “I can see that you are not that type of man, Dr. Benjamin.”

Draxum nodded, appreciating the respect. “Thank you, Saki.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Saki snapped slightly, scowling once more, “You still have a lot to prove, and like I said, you are not part of this family yet! Not until the wedding, and even then-! ...However, eventually... I think I could see you being a good brother-in-law, as well as a good husband and father.”

“I can assure you,” Draxum promised him, his voice unwavering, “I am going to do whatever I can for them, and that I care about them with all my heart.”

Saki stared at him, and then nodded. A sign of acceptance, if only a small one. “Come, before the sushi starts to get warm,” he said, heading inside the restaurant. Draxum followed, relaxing somewhat.

It wasn’t long before they returned, platters in hand. Conversation and laughter filled the old home once again as stories were shared and connections were strengthened. Even Saki managed to smile once or twice! At one point, Draxum felt Lou squeeze his hand, his fiance happier than he ever thought he’d be and wondering why they hadn’t done this sooner. Draxum leaned over to kiss him, silently promising him many more evenings like this.

They were a family, and even if he still didn’t have the complete approval of his in-laws yet, Draxum wasn’t worried. It was like he had said before, he was planning on staying by his family’s side no matter what, and he would do all he could for them to make sure they were happy. It was the least he could do, and he was happy to do it.

...Besides, even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t leave yet. After all, there were still plenty more funny and slightly-embarrassing stories from Lou’s youth that he wanted to hear, much to his fiance’s dismay.

THE END

((Hehe, hope you liked it! ^v^))

#rottmntrulesall

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Level Up, Chapter Six (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

Asia shoots her a look that is all too knowing. “Sure it ain’t. But if Brooke already had a girlfriend, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Why would I care?” Vanessa takes a sip of her coke, because really, why would she? It wouldn’t matter. Not at all.

“Here’s a weird thought,” Monique lets out a little snicker as she leans forward, elbows on the table, “imagine if Brooke and Kameron were dating each other.”

“The fuck-”

“No way-”

“Aren’t they sisters?”

“They have different last names, dumbass-”

AN: Chapter six has arrived! I appreciate all of you for being so patient with this fic, especially with the updates taking more time than they used to. Thank you all for the kind words and reviews too, they make me so happy. Tell me what you think of this one after you read it, too. And as always, Writ is the bestest beta and I love them.

“I vote ramen, ��cause it’s been way too long since I’ve had my ramen fix.”

“Not ramen, we gotta get burritos. They’ll hit the spot right now.”

“Y’know, sometimes you make real questionable decisions.”

Monet and Monique volleying back and forth with one another is incredibly entertaining to watch, though Vanessa’s too wiped from their class to attempt to contribute to the dinner plans herself. Their weekly Monday night dinners had been Asia’s idea a few months back, brought up after class one night when they’d all been sweaty and thirsty and absolutely starving. Vanessa likes it, because it’s a chance to get closer to the three of them outside of class, learning about them past their hatred for cardio and their preferred colour of athleisure wear.

The sushi place a couple of blocks down from the gym is one that all four of them can agree on, as Asia holds the door open for Monet and Monique with a look at Vanessa.

“Ten bucks says they’re gonna order together and share their sushi.” Asia cocks her head towards Monique and Monet as the four of them sit down in a booth.

Vanessa watches the way that Monet and Monique nudge each other’s elbows, trying to take up more space on the table. “Nah. They’re gonna fight over each other’s pieces and make it a whole thing.”

“You’re on.” Asia holds out her hand for Vanessa to shake. “It’s kinda cute though, not gonna lie. In an idiotic way.”

Vanessa holds back a snicker. “Do you think they’re ever gonna realize?”

“I dunno about that.” Asia shrugs. “It seems like they’re so caught up in trying to get each other’s attention that they’re completely missing it.”

“Ah. Modern romance.” Vanessa lets out a fake sigh and dodges Asia’s elbow towards her rib cage.

“They’re blind to each other, not deaf to us,” Asia mutters, “so shut that foghorn.”

“Bitch-”

“Hi, my name is Simone, what can I get for you?”

The conversation doesn’t stray far after the four of them order, though the focus does shift - and Vanessa is glad that it does, from the way Asia folds her arms and scowls at the mention of a certain redheaded instructor, the slightest hint of pink on her cheeks.

“Fuck off, all of you. There’s nothing going on between me and Kameron.”

“Uh, let me correct you. Nothing yet.” Monique points at Asia with a flourish, looking unbothered when Asia sticks her tongue out at her. “Why don’t you ask her out? She’s clearly into you.”

“What? No she’s not.” Asia scoffs, her eyes darting around the table. “Is she?”

Vanessa snorts. “Please. As if it isn’t obvious to the entire class by the way that she flirts with you. And the way that you always flirt back.”

“I don’t flirt back. I don’t flirt in the first place.” Asia stuffs a piece of sushi in her mouth, though it doesn’t do much to stall the conversation the way she probably wants it to.

“Oh, Kameron, your muscles are so strong and your tattoos are so hot, can I lick them?” Monique’s high pitched, breathy imitation makes Vanessa nearly spit out her coke, even when Asia kicks her under the table.

“Come here, Asia, let me just bench press you real quick.” Monet flexes her guns for good measure when imitating Kameron, and puckers her lips towards Monique, who comes closer and closer with a pout of her own before pulling back at the last second, batting her eyelashes towards Asia.

“Hateful, unbelievable, I cannot believe my own friends are slandering me like this when all I do is support y’all and put food on the table-” Asia’s words are cut off when Vanessa holds up a roll to her mouth.

“Here, this dynamite roll will help you embrace the truth.” Vanessa snickers when Asia throws her the evil eye as she chews. “‘Kay, think of it this way. If Kameron had a girlfriend right this second, would you be mad about it?”

“She doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Asia’s matter of fact tone makes Vanessa raise her eyebrows, while Monet and Monique throw looks at each other. “What? She doesn’t.”

“Now is there any way that you know that, or is that just wishful thinking on your part?” Monet asks, ignoring the way Asia lets out a huff.

Vanessa pats Asia’s shoulder. “She better not have a girlfriend, just so you can get some puss and unwind a little, you know what I’m saying?”

“See, now you’re one to talk, Vanj.” Asia turns towards Vanessa, brandishing a roll in her chopsticks and using it to point. “As if you and Brooke aren’t circling each other like hawks.”

“What?” Vanessa squeaks the word out because hey, she’s having fun roasting Asia.

But it’s too late, because Monique and Monet have matching grins on their faces and Asia looks entirely too happy to have the conversation diverted away from her.

“Now that I think about it, you do spend a lot of time in her office. Does she push you up against the desk that much?” Monet wiggles her eyebrows and Vanessa lets out a scoff.

“It ain’t like that.”

It’s not. Brooke is…her friend. Someone who Vanessa enjoys talking to and learning more about, someone whose smile lights up the room she’s in when she’s really happy. Someone who, for being muscles stacked on a pair of legs, is really clumsy on a set of wheels.

Someone who Vanessa wants to keep spending more time with, that’s all. It doesn’t matter if Vanessa thinks about kissing her sometimes, anyway. Her friends don’t need to know that.

Asia shoots her a look that is all too knowing. “Sure it ain’t. But if Brooke already had a girlfriend, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Why would I care?” Vanessa takes a sip of her coke, because really, why would she? It wouldn’t matter. Not at all.

“Here’s a weird thought,” Monique lets out a little snicker as she leans forward, elbows on the table, “imagine if Brooke and Kameron were dating each other.”

“The fuck-”

“No way-”

“Aren’t they sisters?”

“They have different last names, dumbass-”

But the idea is enough for the four of them to burst into laughter, move on to other topics. And Vanessa’s glad for it, because she can take a step away from thoughts of Brooke for a little while.

Except that they filter back into her stream of consciousness as she sips on her soda, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. Vanessa would be lying if she ever says that she hasn’t…y’know. Thought about Brooke like that. Because Vanessa’s not blind, Brooke is hot and tall and her legs go on forever and maybe the way she smiles makes Vanessa’s heart do a flip, but-

Brooke is so much deeper than that. Their friendship is. Because Vanessa’s told her shit that she doesn’t really talk about with anyone else, and sure, she’s kept it vague, but it’s more than she lets anyone else be privy to. And Brooke’s beginning to open up to her too and it’s nice to see what makes Brooke tick. What thoughts lie behind her fists and the subtle lift of her eyebrow and power her brain. It feels like Brooke’s trusting her, and thinking of her as more than just an athlete at her gym. Hell, Brooke had let Vanessa take her skating, something out of her comfort zone and had just rolled with it.

Vanessa likes it. And it’s hard not to smile as she finishes her sushi, watching Monique down glass after glass of water because she’s had too much wasabi, thinking about hanging out with Brooke even more.

Plumbers are expensive. Brooke can fix a simple leak.

At least, that’s what she had told herself two hours ago, before being splattered with water and who knows what else and feeling a squelch in her shoes and rattling off every curse word under the sun, as she twists the wrench in her hand because the stupid thing still won’t stop leaking, damnit.

But the bathroom is going to be unusable if Brooke can’t fix it. She’d looked up a tutorial on Youtube and everything, and the guy on the screen had made it look so easy, just with a few tools that she already has lying around in the storage closet. Who needs to shell out a couple hundred bucks for a plumber when Youtube exists?

Brooke, apparently. Because the leak is continuing to drip, drip onto the bathroom floor and is nearly filling up the bucket underneath it.

Maybe Brooke just has to watch the video again. Maybe she’d missed something the first time around, a crucial step that has to be done in order to stop the leak. She reaches her hand up to pat the counter above her, grabbing her phone when she feels it under her hand, and-

“What’re you doing under the bathroom sink?”

“What - ow!” Brooke winces at the ache forming at the crown of her head, lifting a hand to her still speeding heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Vanessa’s voice sounds sheepish from above her, before she squats down beside Brooke and shrugs her shoulders. “You having an 80’s movie moment or something?”

“What does that even mean?”

“I dunno. Sitting in the bathroom by yourself seems deep.”

Brooke snorts, lifting the wrench in her hand the point at the pipe in front of them. “No movie scene. Just fixing a leak. Well, attempting to fix a leak,” Brooke groans, rolling out her neck, “because it’s refusing to cooperate with me.”

“Scoot over.” Vanessa elbows Brooke’s side, fitting herself in the small space beside her. “Gimme the wrench.”

“Why, you wouldn’t happen to have a hidden career in plumbing, would you?”

But Vanessa’s barely listening, leaning forward to look at the pipes. “Broken seal right under the sink. Get some sealant from Home Depot and it’ll be good as new.”

Well. Maybe Vanessa does.

“You think as a kid my mom was gonna, in her words, ‘let a crook rip us off and break everything more so that we have to pay extra ‘cause it’s all part of a money making scheme?’ Nah. I can find my way around some tools.” Vanessa hands the wrench back to Brooke before nudging her shoulder. “Now that’ll be two hundred dollars, please.”

“Nice try.” Brooke snorts. “But thank you. Let me grab you lunch or something?”

“Well…there is something I wanted to ask you about anyway.” Vanessa’s shifting in place, her eyes suddenly flickering back along the pipes. “And no pressure to say yes at all, ‘cause I was just wondering, but it would be real great…”

The way Vanessa trails off makes Brooke raise an eyebrow, turn towards her because she has no idea what Vanessa’s talking about, but maybe it’s because Vanessa doesn’t really want her to stick around for extra training anymore, or maybe Vanessa’s tired of spending time with her, or something else that’s going to make Brooke want to hide away for a little. But Brooke swallows, ignores the way that she feels her lungs filling up, and pushes on. “What? What would be great?”

“So hear me out first, don’t get mad…” Vanessa trails off, and the way she’s fiddling with the ends of her hair makes Brooke want to shift in place herself. “There’s another tournament coming up. Kameron mentioned it during class yesterday. And I know that’s not your thing, and that’s cool, but I wanted to sign up for it at a higher level than last time and maybe…you can help train me for it?”

Brooke’s about to open her mouth but doesn’t really know what to say, because Vanessa’s right that it’s not her thing, but Vanessa holds up a hand before she does. “Don’t say anything. Just think about it. I’d pay you and everything, though with the rate that all these classes are taking my money I’m about to be broke as hell. But still. Think it over?”

Vanessa’s getting up onto her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder before Brooke can even think of something to say. “So. Sealant. Home Depot. Maybe training me? I can be your padawan or something. You into Star Wars? ‘Cause I was, as a kid. Anyway, I gotta bounce, but think about it!”

Vanessa shouts the last bit as she exits through the door and Brooke can’t help but let out a breath, resting her cheek on one of her palms as she watches the slow and steady drip of the water from the pipe.

She really does have a lot to think about. But that’s what Brooke is good at doing, after all–thinking, and thinking, and overthinking. Mulling over scenario after scenario until they all blur together and it becomes too difficult, really, to discern what is actually real and going to happen. Not that Brooke even knows.

Vanessa’s question stays in her mind once she’s home that evening, curled up on the couch with Henry and Apollo on either side of her, the episode of Parks and Recreation on the television one that she’s seen a dozen times already. Brooke can hear Yvie clanging her pots and pans in the kitchen, letting out a string of curse words when the oven begins to beep, but the noises of her roommate and from the television aren’t enough to distract her mind from what it really wants to think about.

Vanessa wants Brooke to coach her. Actually, properly, coach her. It’s not as if Brooke doesn’t do it right now, anyway - spending time with her in the gym behind a punching bag and giving Vanessa tips here and there. But it’s never for an actual purpose, to reach a goal. It’s just for Vanessa to get better, to motivate her and sue Brooke, she enjoys the time with her, too.

But coaching towards something, like the tournament that Vanessa wants to sign up for?

It feels too…close. Boxing in the gym is safe, because punching bags and controlled matches leave some room for error but not too much, not the way a competition does. The athletes at Brooke’s gym don’t go home with broken noses or goose eggs on their heads, because they’re not fighting to win at all costs. They’re there to get better and work out and work on technique and if they sign up for tournaments? It’s on their individual coaches, such as Kameron. It’s not on Brooke if something bad happens, she’s not the one leading someone towards injury or…worse.

If Brooke coaches Vanessa more, if she works on drills and plans workouts and and trains her, properly trains her, then it’s on her. If anything happens to Vanessa, it’s Brooke’s fault. Brooke’s going to be the one left to pick up the pieces, the one who’s going to have to tell Vanessa’s sister and mom when things inevitably go wrong. She’ll be responsible.

Brooke can’t do that to Vanessa. She can’t be the one to ruin everything for her, the one to mess things up in a way that can’t be fixed anymore.

“Scoot over.” Yvie plops herself down on the couch beside Brooke, pulling the blanket on Brooke’s lap to cover her own legs, too. “Want some? Latest kitchen experiment. It’s supposed to be jambalaya but I strayed a little from the recipe. Well, I strayed a lot. But still.”

“It’s 10 p.m. You’re having dinner this late?” Brooke raises an eyebrow but reaches for a spoon nonetheless, taking a bite. “This isn’t half bad.”

“Scarlet facetimed me in the middle and I got distracted.” Yvie shrugs, taking a bite of her own. “But we got here in the end.”

“What, did she hypnotize you with her boobs or something to make you forget about your dinner?” Brooke ducks out of the way when Yvie shrieks, whacking her with a pillow.

“One day, your lonely ass is gonna get a girlfriend, and I can’t wait to tease you about it, you old hag.” Yvie cackles as she says it and Brooke can’t help but snort, too.

“You share this old hag apartment with me. We’re both old hags.”

“Speak for yourself, grandma.” Yvie lifts up her bowl when Henry climbs into her lap, reaching his nose up towards the food. “Speaking of the apartment, I’m thinking of doing a Target run Sunday morning for a cast iron skillet. Wanna come with?”

“Can’t. Gonna be at the gym with Vanessa on Sunday morning.” Just like Brooke does every Sunday, and many other days during the week, but she can feel the way her heart turns in her chest, the way it feels like there’s a current running through her fingertips because…

Well, Brooke still doesn’t know what to do.

“Hello? Did you hear anything I just said?” Yvie’s snapping her fingers in front of her face and Brooke jumps, causing Apollo to let out an annoyed meow.

“Maybe? Not really. Sorry.” Brooke mumbles, shifting Apollo on her lap. “Repeat that?”

“I was gonna say we can go Saturday instead. But let’s backtrack, why do you look like you just swallowed a bag of nails or something?” Yvie tilts her head slightly, and Brooke can’t help but make a face at her description.

“Nails? Jesus.” The mental image is a little too strong in Brooke’s brain for her liking, but Yvie is unperturbed.

“What’s up?”

Brooke sighs, her hand scratching Apollo’s chin the way that he likes it. “Vanessa asked me to coach her.”

“And? You’re already doing that.” Yvie raises an eyebrow.

Brooke shuffles on the couch, turning more towards her. “Yeah, but I’m not officially coaching her right now, I’m just there to hold the punching bag and sometimes throw her pointers, it’s not like I’m her personal coach and responsible if things happen to her and it ends up being my fault.”

“Alright, hold up.” Yvie covers her mouth as she chews, though she still gets her words out. “Your fault? And who says anything is going to happen to her?”

“I’m not saying it will, but if it did.” Brooke sinks herself further into the couch cushions. “Boxing competitively is a lot, y’know? It’s not just easy matches and punches, it’s hits to the head and occasional tears and stitches. It’s shit going down that you don’t feel until after the match is over.”

“And? Vanessa’s a grown woman. And from what you’ve told me about her, it seems like she can handle herself just fine.”

It’s true that Yvie’s heard a lot of stories from Brooke about Vanessa. About the hilarious things that she says, the way she cheers anytime there’s a water break during her classes, the way she brought Brooke some timbits that one time. But the way Yvie’s looking at Brooke with eyes that are too knowing makes her want to shift in place, pull a cushion on top of herself.

“But what if something happens and she can’t?”

“Here’s the thing. Bad things happen all the time. When you step onto the street, you can be hit by a car. Hell, a vending machine can fall on you. You can get attacked by a vulture or something-”

“I’m not so sure about that last one-”

“-and honestly, there’s no stopping any of it. Shit happens. And knowing Vanessa, she seems like the type to want to train more and more and compete more too. She’s going to do it regardless of whether you’re there or not. Wouldn’t you rather be the one training her and making sure that she’s as prepared as she can be? That she’s ready? Isn’t it better that she learn from the best in the first place?” Yvie’s eyes are sympathetic, though the effect is slightly ruined as she takes a bite of her jambalaya.

“Who’s saying I’m the best?” Brooke has to hold back a laugh at the way Yvie’s rolling her eyes.

“Don’t start fishing for compliments with me, you know what I mean. If she’s competing anyway, support her. Be there for her. Beat up anyone that she loses against.”

“Not very sportsmanlike.”

“Regardless, maybe you being there can help prevent any chance of something shitty happening, because you can catch things. And you actually care for her as a person rather than just an athlete, which is more than can be said for many coaching relationships.” Yvie shrugs.

“I don’t do coaching, though. I never have before, not properly.” It’s another reminder that takes over Brooke’s thought process, because she doesn’t know how to refine someone else’s skills, not really. “What if I’m shit at it and it makes her crash and burn in a competition?”

Yvie shoots her a look. “Do you really think that’ll happen?”

“It could.”

“You take what you already know about boxing and what you’ve learned from your own coaches in the past, and you pass it on. That’s all it’s gonna take. You two can learn the rest together.” Yvie’s hopeful smile makes her words sound like the easiest thing to do in the world, but it’s not that simple. It can’t be.

“This isn’t an elementary school group project.”

“Yeah, it is. Gym class.” Yvie snickers, before reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Honestly? I feel like it could be good for both of you. You get to spend more time with her, don’t you?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“As if you don’t absolutely love it and come home from each practice session with her with a million stories about her.” Yvie’s knowing look is paired with a snicker, and it makes Brooke scowl.

“I’m just telling you about my day, Yvette.”

“Not the full name, Brooke Lynn. But either way, you know you’d enjoy coaching her. You’re telling me you wouldn’t be jealous if someone else started coaching her one on one?”

“What? No, I wouldn’t care. She can do what she wants.” Brooke scoffs, because it wouldn’t matter. None of Brooke’s business what Vanessa does, anyway.

“You’re as convincing as fifteen year old me was while trying to convince my parents that no, I didn’t have a hickey on my neck from my chem lab partner. Spoiler alert, didn’t work.” Yvie has a shit-eating grin on her face that makes Brooke roll her eyes, nudge her side.

“Shut up.”

“Do it. Coach her. You know you want to.”

Yvie’s right, which is a problem in itself. Brooke really does want to. And when the clock on her bedside table passes one in the morning because she’s unable to fall asleep, she finds herself reaching for her phone.

BLH: Fine, I’ll train you.

The three dots at the bottom of their conversation pop up immediately, and Brooke rubs her eyes as she waits for Vanessa’s reply. It’s not a text that comes through, but rather an audio message that Brooke eagerly presses play on.

“BIIIIIITCH! Are you serious?! Yesss! This is gonna be so good, you won’t regret it I swear. Question, can we play Eye of the Tiger the first time we train? I feel like it’s gonna set the mood real well. Also, why you still awake? Go to sleep. NIGHT!”

Brooke has to stifle a laugh as she shuts off her phone, placing it back on her bedside table. She’s not sure how it’s going to work - coaching Vanessa, trying to recall her days of training under her dad and what she’d do day in, day out, to refine her skills. But it’ll be interesting to try and get back into that mindset.

Maybe Brooke can start now. She’s not going to fall asleep anytime soon, anyway.

It feels strange turning on her laptop and going to the boxing folder, then the subfolder of training videos organized by year, with the most recent being five years prior. The folder is a time capsule filled with videos taken at the gym of Brooke training with her dad to watch and observe her own techniques, all of her tells as a boxer. She remembers watching them during practices back then, her dad pointing out moments where she’d left herself vulnerable to attacks, others where she would have been able to strike more efficiently.

Now, when Brooke clicks on a video, she’s not watching for herself, not anymore. Now? She’s watching for her dad.

He’s in the blue t-shirt that he always used to wear, the watch with the cracked screen on his wrist as he holds up punching mitts in front of Brooke’s face on the screen. A Brooke five years ago with less worry lines on her face, less bags underneath her eyes. One with muscles that flexed as she moved, with an expression of steely determination that’s almost surprising to see now, so many years later.

“Don’t drop those arms. Even if you’re taking a second to breathe, keep them up.”

Shit.

The sound of her dad’s voice is like a cold gust of air to Brooke because she hasn’t heard it in so long, and the familiarity of his intonation, his rhythm pulls her right back. It’s as if he could still be here, as if she could wake up tomorrow and go to the gym and practice like nothing has happened, like it hasn’t been five years of trying to cope and heal and not necessarily succeeding.

“Good one. Try that combo again.”

Brooke still has the tank she’s wearing in the video, she’s sure of it. Another item that she hasn’t let go of.

“Step sideways, not always backwards. You know that. Don’t get cornered in the ring.”

She can keep watching these videos and try to relive the moments, the practices with her dad and give into the longing that clings to her heart like debris, that she’s never truly been able to shake off. It does provide that short term relief, the feeling of seeing her dad happy, breathing, alive. Seeing how good he was.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s take five, grab some water. Then we’re gonna keep going.”

But it also shows Brooke a past that isn’t here anymore. A time that she’s not going to get back no matter how hard she tries to manifest it, because she can’t step into her computer screen into a simpler time that she used to take for granted. It’s a fact that she knows well, one that’s been repeated to her by friends and family members and therapists and one that her brain ignores on default, despite the way that doing so can make the knife twist in a little deeper.

“Get your gloves back on, we’ll-”

Brooke shuts her laptop, pushing it to the other side of the bed before her brain can protest. Apollo lets out a mrrp at the movement on the bed, and Brooke reaches out and scratches his chin, trying to ignore the silence in the room that feels deafening with her screen off.

She tends to get sucked in. It’s a fact that Brooke knows well. That when she finds something, she clings to it until it loses all meaning, until the sentimental value is diminished.

But Brooke isn’t going to now, with the old videos. Because sure, it’s her dad in shitty old iPhone video quality and it’s more of him than she’s had in ages, but…

It’s not helpful. Not right now.

Not that any of Brooke’s coping methods are, but she’s trying. Or at least, she’s going to start.

Brooke can almost hear the faint cheer of her old therapist in her ears, thrilled that she’s finally being listened to. Sure, it’s something insignificant, something small, and maybe part of Brooke really does want to open up her computer again, rifle through the videos, but she wont. Her hands are buried in Apollo’s fur, anyway, and why would she want the purring to stop?

Her cat is a big enough reason for now to avoid watching them, falling back into the memories. He’s a start. And maybe that’s all Brooke has to do, find more reasons to keep herself grounded and in the present.

But first, she has to find another way to prepare herself to properly coach, though that’s a problem she can save for the morning.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #boxer au #level up #holtzmanns

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neocityarchive · 5 years

Text

ends | mark lee (pt 3)

summary | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Mark’s POV

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: “I saw how happy you made her. No one could compare to that. That wasn’t something in your head. It was real, and everyone around you can see it, too.”

Mark walked out of the SM building. He was going to check on Hyuck who has been gone for nearly twenty minutes just to get coffee. Even if there was a line at the cafe, he wouldn’t take this long. He probably got distracted by something again.

Mark wanted to get coffee for himself as well. If this was two months ago, he would have easily told Hyuck what he wanted, no question. But something between them is just not right at the moment. He wanted to fix it, but how can he when he had no idea where and why it started to go wrong?

He turned at the corner and immediately stopped in his tracks. Hyuck was there but he wasn’t alone.

She was there, too, hugging Hyuck who was trying not to spill six cups of coffee in his hands.

Mark counted. One. Two. Three… four... five counts before she let go.

His heart skipped a beat. He hasn’t seen her since the day they broke up. So many times he wanted to call her to ask her how she’s doing. So many times he typed a good night text out of habit before realizing he shouldn’t. So many times he looked at her face on the wallpaper of his phone, telling himself he should change it, but he never had the guts to.

And now she’s here, as beautiful as ever. She was smiling up to her eyes, a look he had seen so many times before, but this time, she was looking at someone else. It wasn’t even a look that screams admiration. It was just a look of pure respect, but somehow, it still hurt.

“I’m the biggest idiot,” he told himself with a sigh.

Before Mark knew it, Y/N was walking away and Hyuck was coming his way. He bowed his head and continued walking as if nothing happened, partly hoping Hyuck won't recognize him.

Mark was knocked out of his thoughts when Renjun patted him on the back. He was already saying his ment which meant that Mark is next.

He looked at the crowd. For the most part, it was green. That alone made him thankful. The Dreamies told him to introduce the next song. Everyone cheered, but nothing felt right. He always feels so alive on the stage like nothing could possibly go wrong. But today, not even the screams of the fans could lift his mood up.

“Alright, so this next song,” Mark started, desperately trying to clear his head, “it’s one of those songs that play between happy and sad. It’s one of my favorite songs that we’ve ever released. It actually has a much deeper meaning if you allow yourself to think about it. And lately…”

He thought of all the times he wished he could hold Y/N’s hands a little longer, to talk to her a little more. He remembered secretly wanting her to miss the last bus just so he could spend time with her a bit more and walk her home. It seems they’ve already ran out of those moments.

“Lately, it made me realize how scary it is to think how you could lose someone at the blink of an eye, how you could say goodbye before realizing you’re not ready to let go of them at all.” His voice nearly cracked but he cleared his throat.

“Mark hyung sounds so worried about his graduation this year,” Hyuck teased, trying to change the mood. He was smiling, but something in his eyes felt threatening.

The audience awed. But everyone on the stage knew what Mark really meant.

After seeing Hyuck’s gaze, Mark quickly changed the subject. “Unfortunately, this is our last song for today. So think of it as our parting gift for you. But we’ll see each other again, right?” He pointed his mic to the crowd.

They cheered. The Dreamies smiled.

“This song’s called Walk You Home.”

The song started. He could feel the pressure of six eyes beside him, looking worriedly. The internal atmosphere within the group is so far from that of the crowd. Mark felt guilty.

He knew he hasn’t been 100%. He tries to hide it as he always does, but the boys always know when something is off. They haven’t been acting normal around him lately, like they’re trying too hard not to be a pain in the ass, but it just made him more uncomfortable.

When the song ended, they said their goodbyes and went backstage. Mark went straight to the dressing room.

Then the boys entered one by one.

He was just on his phone, staring at his lockscreen for far too long, not unlocking it, but not allowing the screen to turn dark either. It was like he was waiting for something to pop up, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Hyung,” Jeno said. “Are you okay?”

Mark nodded. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“You‘ve been staring at Y/N’s face on your phone for too long,” Renjun said. “It’s not going to talk.”

“Why is her face still there anyway? Aren’t you guys supposed to be over?” Jaemin asked.

“I, um, I just forgot to change it. I got used to this one so…” Mark cleared his throat, putting his phone in his pocket. “I wasn’t even looking at her face.”

“Then why are you staring at your phone like an idiot?” Renjun asked.

“He’s waiting for something,” Chenle said.

Hyuck sighed as he took off his mic. “Hyung, that ‘great job on your stage today’ text won’t arrive because you broke up with the person who used to send you that, remember?”

Jisung’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from Mark to Haechan then back to Mark.

Mark didn’t reply. He just took his mic and in-ear off quietly. Hyuck has been slyly giving him comments like that since the break up and he was always too tired to argue. Mostly because he’s right.

“Why did you even break up with her? She used to bring us sushi after our events. Now we just settle for instant ramen,” Chenle said.

Jisung frowned. “But you love instant ramen.”

“Sure, but sushi??? For free???”

“And a non-toxic, unawkward atmosphere in the dressing room, plus a much happier Mark hyung?” Renjun added. “It makes us miss Y/N.”

“It’s about time we ask. Why did you break up, Hyung?” Jeno asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“You brats, why are we talking about this? Aren’t you all tired already?” Mark sighed.

Hyuck snorted. “We are, but when we’re tired, we just rest. We don’t break up with our girlfriends.”

“We don’t have girlfriends,” Jisung noted.

Jaemin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for bringing that up.”

“We broke up because that’s what people do when they don’t love each other anymore, okay? Are you happy now?” Mark snapped, throwing his in-ear to its box.

On the other side of the room, Mark heard Hyuck mutter, “That is the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re a fool,” Hyuck jibed. “You’re nothing but a selfish naive little shit who can’t appreciate what you have when you have it. You have no right– absolutely no right to feel this sorry for yourself when you’ve hurt someone far worse than this.”

“What’s your problem?” Mark challenged.

“Donghyuck, don’t—“ Jeno tried. But Hyuck couldn’t be bothered.

“No,” he said. “I’m sick of seeing you look so down all the time when you’re the one who broke up with her. If breakups happen because people stopped loving each other, then you shouldn’t have broken up in the first place. Literally everyone can see how much you still love her, and the whole world knows she still loves you. Maybe if you just cared enough to look past your selfish reasons, you wouldn’t be in this shit right now. But you know what? You brought this upon yourself. You deserve this. But Y/N? She doesn’t. So why don’t you think about that?”

Mark couldn’t speak. His face slowly turned into a frown, not because he was mad but because he was confused. He didn’t know what just happened. One moment, they were just teasing him, and now Hyuck just snapped at him about his breakup.

“I don’t understand,” he said, “why does my breakup with Y/N even bother you this much?”

Hyuck pursed his lips. He had something to say but decided against it. Instead, he just turned around and walked towards the door. “I don’t have time for this. Tell the 127 hyungs I’m sleeping at the Dreamies’ dorms tonight. If they asked why, tell them,” he said.

The Dreamies groaned in protest.

“Shut up,” Hyuck just said before walking out completely.

Just like that, he was gone. The tension and awkwardness in the dressing room increased exponentially that the guys started leaving one by one until Mark was left alone with even more questions, and a whole level of hate directed at no one but himself.

2 weeks have passed since the incident. Hyuck is back at the 127 dorms but he and Mark still barely see each other. When they do, they don’t talk. No one questioned it, but the rumor circled around the group pretty quickly. No one dared approach Mark about it, not even Doyoung who usually had a say about everything.

A few days ago, Mark went out for a walk to clear his mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. The only two people who he felt could understand what he was going through wasn’t there for him anymore.

He didn’t mind where he was going since his mind was as busy as his feet. It was too late when he realized he was walking across the street of the building where Y/N was working. It was out of the way from work or anywhere the group usually goes to. So he was surprised to see Hyuck leaned against the wall of said building, clearly waiting for someone.

Y/N appeared a few minutes later. She had that same big smile on her face when she saw him. It didn’t look like it was a surprise. They hugged and started walking towards the opposite direction where Mark was headed to, immersed in talking to each other.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the road, Mark stood dumbfounded. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He was watching his girl go out with his best friend with a smile she used to have while looking at him. Hyuck was doing everything he used to.

Does she like him? he thought. He couldn’t even answer himself.

Mark wanted to ask Hyuck about that night when he got back at the dorms, but whenever he even went close, Hyuck would take one look at him and leave the room.

There had been no contact between them since the dressing room incident, or when they’re forced to talk to each other on screen… until today, when Hyuck texted Mark asking to meet him. It came so much a surprise that Mark wondered if the Dreamies were just pranking him.

“마크 바보 (Mark idiot), meet me at xxxxx cafe in 20 minutes. k?”

But no one other than Hyuck calls him an idiot without so much as a ‘hyung.’

Mark replied okay. He didn’t know what this was about, but despite the fact that he’s been in his pajamas all day or that today is his only rest day for the whole week or that it was already 8 in the evening, he was ready faster than he is on most mornings.

When he arrived, Hyuck was at the corner of the cafe. His back was facing the rest of the world so Mark snuck up on him easily.

“Why did you call me here?” he asked as he sat down across from him.

The cafe was half full but no one minded anyone. Everyone was on their laptops and cellphones and college textbooks.

“I wanted to talk,” Hyuck said, sipping from his cup.

“Why not just at the dorms?”

“Why can’t you just shut up?” Hyuck sighed. “I was out today and I didn’t want to go back to the dorms yet. I’m sick of hearing Doyoung hyung nagging at me to talk to you.”

“But you’re talking to me right now,” Mark pointed out.

Hyuck glared at him, making Mark feel stupid. He’s a scary person in general. Sure, he’s adorable in the eyes of many, but God, the way his mind works is on another level. Hyuck could plan something that’s months in the making. He is a great deceiver and he loves it.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Hyuck said, his eyes averting Mark’s gaze, “for lashing out on you in the dressing room. And for making bad faces at you behind your back, and also for telling Johnny hyung that you’re the one who stole his sandwich.”

“But I‘m not–” Mark tried to protest. Johnny clearly warned everyone not to touch his sandwich. He got it from a restaurant on the other side of town.

“That’s not the point,” Hyuck cut in. “I know I’ve been horrible to you lately–more than usual, I mean. And I’m sorry.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s okay, but… why?”

Hyuck let out a deep breath. “Because you’re an idiot,” he said. “I hate what you did to Y/N. And I hate that I sort of helped you do it.”

Mark’s face contorted even more, completely confused.

“You were at a crisis, remember? You thought you were falling out of love because you’re so tired of keeping up your relationship with her,” Hyuck said. “Then I told you that if you wanted to, just break up with her. Somehow, I feel like that helped convince you to do it. And you did.”

Mark nodded. He remembered that day. He still couldn’t imagine Y/N listening to their conversation. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her to hear him talk about how he wanted to give up on them. Suddenly, he wanted to punch himself for it.

“After that, I couldn’t contact her. We were just friends, but you hurt her so much that she didn’t want anything to do with you. So she cut me off, too.” Hyuck explained.

“I still don’t understand why it’s a big deal for you,” Mark said quietly.

“Because!” he exclaimed before muttering under his breath, “Damn. You really are so stupid sometimes.” He sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? I like her.”

Silence.

“Since when?” Mark asked, his voice soft.

“Even before you started dating. I liked her ever since she started coming to our schedules and we got to talk more. I liked her even when she told me she’s starting to have feelings for you. I liked her even when you two started going out. I told myself to stop, and believe me I tried so hard to. But I can’t. So I learned to settle for the friendly texts we send each other, just goofing around. And when you two broke up, even that was taken from me.”

Mark stared at him. “I had no idea,” he said. “I… I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell anyone except for Jeno,” Hyuck said. “And he only knows because he caught me smiling so much when she texted that one time.”

“Wow.” Mark didn’t even know what to say. After all this time, he didn’t even notice. He felt bad for being selfish. Maybe Hyuck was really good at hiding his feelings that the thought of him liking Y/N never occurred to Mark. But still, there are questions he needed answered.

“So when I saw you two the other night outside her work, does this mean…” Mark cleared his throat. Even the thought of it makes him want to cry. “Are you guys seeing each other now? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”

Hyuck frowned. “You saw us?”

“I–I didn’t mean to. I was walking around and somehow ended up there. Force of habit, I guess.”

Hyuck shook his head. “We only agreed to meet because we promised each other we’d catch up,” he said. “Hyung, I know I said I like her, but I never wanted her for myself. I know what I am to her and I’m fine with it. I’m working my way to get out of my feelings, because believe me, it does hurt–” he chocked out a laugh. “But I saw how happy you two were. I saw how happy you made her. No one could compare to that. That wasn’t something in your head. It was real, and everyone around you can see it, too.”

Mark looked away. A lot of people had told him that for the past two months. He was getting sick of hearing them rub in his face what he lost. But maybe he deserved it. I was too naive, Mark thought. And not just about Y/N but about Hyuck too.

He can’t imagine being in Hyuck’s shoes. Come to think of it, he was always there for her whenever Mark and Y/N would fight. He’d always be the one to talk some sense into Mark. That’s what he’s doing here again, Mark realized.

“She still loves you.” Hyuck bit his lip. “She loves you so much. I know, because she broke down crying when I said I think you still love her, too.”

A tear escaped from Mark’s eye. He wiped it off immediately, but it was only the beginning of many. He didn’t want to cry in front of Hyuck. He wouldn't hear the end of it. But it seems he couldn’t help himself either.

“Hyung, you found something special. I’m sure you already know how big a mistake you made by letting her go. So I’m begging you please, don’t be your usual stupid self when you get the chance again. And you will get the chance again. Because you do, right?” Hyuck asked. “You still love her?”

Mark couldn’t speak. He was too busy trying not to make himself cry. He feels like his head is going to explode.

“You don’t have to answer,” Hyuck said. “You wouldn’t be trying so hard not to cry right now if you don’t.”

Mark let out a weak laugh before burying his head in his hands. Then he broke down, crumbling like a delicate porcelain. “I messed up, Donghyuck,” he sobbed. “I really messed up.”

“You did,” Hyuck agreed. “But the Mark hyung I know isn’t going to be stopped by that. Now, stop crying in public. Someone might recognize us.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes as much as he can and tried to compose himself. He didn’t think anyone was paying attention to them, but still, Hyuck was right.

“Promise me, you’re going to make this right.” Hyuck said.

Mark nodded. “I promise.”

Hyuck looked at his phone. “Alright. I have to go now. You wait here for ten minutes before going out after me okay? I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Yes,” Hyuck answered. “Use this time to absorb everything.”

“Whatever. Just go.” Mark sighed.

Hyuck rolled his eyes.

“And thank you,” Mark said.

He smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Mark wasn’t sure what he meant, but before he could ask, he was already gone. Everytime Hyuck walks out, Mark is always left with more questions.

He stared at the almost empty cup of coffee that Hyuck left and let his thoughts run wild. He remembered all the times he would catch him staring at Y/N when she’s laughing. Mark always thought he was annoyed by it, but apparently, it was otherwise. God, Hyuck liked her even before he did and he never got the chance.

And now, he wants Mark to make things right with Y/N. But how could he? He was too ashamed to call her or even text her. He couldn’t bear to see her after what he did. He doesn’t know how she’s been like lately, but from what Hyuck said, it didn’t sound good. What he needs right now is more time to think.

Mark checked the time on his phone. It hasn’t been ten minutes but he was pretty sure Hyuck was too far from the cafe already. He decided to leave.

Just as he was about to stand from his table, the bell from the cafe door rang. He looked up. Suddenly, the whole world was quiet, like everything stopped moving for a second, and all that mattered was the person that just walked through the door.

It was her. She was looking around, as if trying to find someone. Her lips were in a small pout like they always are when she’s concentrating.

Mark couldn’t move, but somehow, he felt as if he was sinking to his chair.

Her eyes wandered around the cafe until it landed on his. She gasped, then blinked three times. For a moment, she looked lost, but then she shook her head and started walking towards Mark who was still frozen.

“Hi,” she said, looking at him but averting his gaze almost immediately.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He was pissing himself, trying to find the words to say, but his mind was malfunctioning at the moment. He didn’t know what to do. This is the most nervous he’d been in his whole life and that says a lot.

Mark stood up, took a deep breath, and mustered all the energy he could. “Y/N,” he said. “H-hi.”

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