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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 4 months

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pretty boy | jeonghan

I can't help myself from writing enemies to lovers Jeonghan, because he provides the source material himself. Also big thanks to Hani @vanillacheol for letting me use her name and likeness to a) provide our MC with a bestie and b) provide Seungcheol with a girlfriend. Anyway, here are the details: Word count: 8.3k Summary: After a complicated first date, you swear to hate Jeonghan forever, but fate has other plans >:) Genre: E2L, academic rivals to lovers, royalty au kind of, college au kind of Warnings: reader is referred to using feminine pronouns and other identifiers, reader is mentioned to be wearing a skirt and a gown on separate instances, Jeonghan calls reader "princess" a lot (because she is), there are pranks mentioned, pressure to choose someone to marry is mentioned, lots of name-calling, a couple of arguments, lots of kissing, some suggestive language, some brief actual bullying (not between Jeonghan and MC), long-hair Jeonghan (def needs a warning), and Jeonghan is an absolute menace as per usual.

“Are you listening to me?” your friend Hani asks, bringing you back down to earth.

The truth is, you hadn’t been listening to her at all. You’d been miles away in your mind, daydreaming of home. “I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Would you mind repeating?”

Hani rolls her eyes. “I was asking,” she says pointedly, “if you’ve got a flight for my birthday ball yet.”

“Of course,” you reply. “Why?”

She fidgets nervously — a telltale sign she’s hiding something. “Oh, no reason,” she says, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Your grin drops. “He’s coming,” you realize. “Jeonghan is coming to your birthday ball after all.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I need you to be rational about it. Jeonghan is Seungcheol’s best friend, and I couldn’t just not invite him.” Hani plays with her pearl bracelet, a gift from her boyfriend, and avoids eye contact with you. She’s gotten more assertive since she started her relationship with Seungcheol, the prince of a nearby country, who’d fallen in love with your friend at freshman orientation at your posh private college. They’d been together for a year and a half, and six months ago she never would’ve said any of that to you, carefully concealing her real feelings behind a placid smile.

It’s for this reason you’re grateful for Seungcheol. He’s helped your friend feel confident and strong, and you can tell how much he loves her. He’s also kind and thoughtful and genuine and funny, very down-to-earth despite being a prince, and full of good advice when you need it. Becoming his friend has been a huge perk of the relationship he has with Hani.

The one major downside? Yoon Jeonghan. He’s Seungcheol’s best friend from home, the son of a high-ranking military leader in Seungcheol’s home country, and apparently they were raised like brothers. Unlike sweet and harmless Seungcheol, though, Jeonghan is a devil in disguise. Blessed with the face of a fairy prince, with intellect to match, he was confident to the point of arrogance and seemed to always get exactly what he wanted. He could sweet-talk even the strictest professors into extending deadlines just for him, and had a penchant for connecting especially accommodating students and teachers to job opportunities and networking events and even really nice favors — once he paid for one of the school secretaries to fly to a tropical island with her new husband just because she straightened out an attendance issue for him.

You had butt heads with Jeonghan almost upon first sight, which had coincidentally been on a date that Hani insisted you go on. “You’ll love him,” she had oozed.

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to fulfill your lifelong dream of us dating brothers?” you’d grumbled, trying to avoid showing how nervous you’d been.

“They’re not really brothers,” Hani had reminded you, “but of course I would love it if you dated Jeonghan for real. He’s perfect for you, trust me.”

She’d had to eat her words when you came home from the date soaked to the bone, a murderous glare in your eyes. “He is without a doubt the most bull-headed, self-important, cocky, absolutely despicable human being I’ve ever met. I never want to see him again,” you’d fumed.

“What happened?” Hani had exclaimed, rushing to grab you a towel. She listened sympathetically as you recounted how it had all gone down.

It had actually started off well. Jeonghan struck you as the kind of person who could make a brick wall feel clever and important, and he was a perfect gentleman at first. He’d even addressed you as “my lady”, a reference to your position as eldest princess of a small island country, until you begged him to relax, but the level of decorum he’d approached you with had bolstered your confidence a bit.

“So...princess,” he’d said cautiously after you’d insisted he call you by your name, and you’d rolled your eyes at this. “How’s the island these days?”

“Are you asking me about foreign policy on our date?” you had asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m asking you about your home,” he’d countered. “What’s it like there? It’s one of the few places I’ve never been.”

“Oh, really?” Your eyes lit up. “Well, it’s much warmer than it is here.”

“Naturally,” Jeonghan had said. “Do you miss that?”

“More than anything,” you’d said, frowning at the snow falling in soft piles outside. “Near the palace is this one stretch of beach -- you sort of have to hike through a small jungle to get there, but nothing too bad, you know -- and when it snows like this I have to remind myself that it still exists and I can go back there one day.”

Jeonghan grinned. “What does it look like?”

“Well, there’s a thick treeline since it’s just past the woods, but that means it’s very private. It’s got the most beautiful sand -- it’s pink!”

“Pink sand?” Jeonghan had repeated, his head propped up by one hand as he gazed at you, rambling on excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s from a micro-organism that lives in the coral reefs that grow around the island. There are a few different pink beaches on our island, but this one is special. Hardly anyone knows about it. Seokmin -- my cousin, you know, the theater major -- found it first, and I’ve been going there ever since.” You caught sight of him watching you and felt your face heat up. “Uh, sorry. I got carried away.”

“No, no, it was cute,” he reassured you, which made you feel even more embarrassed.

“What about you?” you had asked, and you’d listened with rapt attention as Jeonghan had described the mountainous region he hailed from, with so many clever little asides that made you laugh. You were generally more of a “black cat” type personality, but Jeonghan was bringing out an eager, girlish side of you that almost no one got to see. He made you feel like your blood had become carbonated -- like little tiny bubbles were flowing all over your body, all tingly and excited.

The conversation had lasted hours, covering everything from your families (yours was close, his was rather distant) to your favorite foods (seafood for you, fried chicken for him) to the most unusual kinds of music you liked (film scores for you, musical theater songs for him). Finally, with all your food eaten and the drinks all but drained from their fancy bottles, it had come time to talk about education. “If you weren’t a princess, what would you be studying?” Jeonghan had asked.

“I think I would still want to learn about public policy, especially as it relates to nonprofits,” you had replied. “At my core, I want to use what I know to help others, and there’s almost no easier way to do that than improve the legal conditions for charity work.”

Jeonghan nodded thoughtfully. “You might be the biggest nerd I’ve ever met,” he finally said with a grin.

You had gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “Even bigger than you, Mr. Political Science?”

He shook his head. “Imagine how cool I’d have to actually be to be studying poli-sci and still be considered cool.”

“Oh, are you considered cool?” you’d teased. “I hadn’t heard that.” (Which was a lie. When a girl in your dorm had found out who you were going on the date with, she’d almost keyed your car out of jealousy. Jeonghan was notoriously cool.)

He clapped a hand over his chest. “Please don’t wound me like this. My reputation is all I have.”

You looked him up and down in the way that tabloid articles had called your “man-eater move.” “Just your reputation, pretty boy?” you questioned lightly. “How disappointing.”

Jeonghan’s eyes got wide, but he recovered quickly. “I actually have one more thing. Way more important than my reputation.” He said it so seriously that you leaned forward in interest.

“What is it?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned forward to match you and whispered in your ear softly, “A fully completed Death Star Lego set.”

And you had burst into laughter. People were generally easy for you to read, but Jeonghan took you by surprise every time. The rest of the meal was full of giggles and simmering tension. More than once you caught yourself staring at him and wondering what it’d be like to kiss the smirk right off his gorgeous face.

Which is how you found yourself in the custodian closet at that very restaurant twenty minutes later doing exactly that.

He had begun it -- suggesting a quick bathroom break that you somehow understood with your eyes, and on your way in he’d pulled you right into that tiny closet and pressed his mouth to yours like it might be the last thing he ever did. You were surprised at how strong this lithe boy was as his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands tightening into fists around the fabric of your skirt at your hips as he pressed you up against one of the shelves, knocking several bottles of cleaning wipes onto the floor. You had gasped and pulled away, just enough that you could look at him. “Careful, pretty boy,” you’d hummed breathlessly as you pulled him back for more, and he’d groaned.

“Call me that one more time, princess, I dare you,” he’d murmured against your lips.

“Is that a threat?” you’d whispered back, knotting your fingers into his long hair, perfectly content to let him do whatever it was he’d had in mind.

But then his cellphone, which had somehow slipped out of his pocket onto the floor, rang. Loudly. You both dived for it, worried that someone would hear, and you reached it first. After silencing it, you saw a familiar notification pop up on Jeonghan’s phone.

“No way!” you’d exclaimed quietly. “Are you in Exploration of Debate?” It was an online class you were taking as a general, where you posted anonymously on an online debate forum. The person with the highest number of won debates was the person with the highest grade, and to your chagrin, you were in second place after a devastating loss to “TwinkleToes17”. In fact, so ruthless was TwinkleToes that they’d gained a reputation outside the class as someone who was a pure psychopath, willing and ready to twist every word to their advantage. It seemed like everyone on campus had heard of this person.

Which is why you’d burst out of the closet two minutes after. “I can’t believe this,” you’d yelled, not caring that the other restaurant patrons and the wait staff were staring at you. You’d ripped your coat off your chair, grabbed your bag, and ran out into the wet, snowy evening, Jeonghan hot on your trail.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It’s a class,” he’d insisted, jogging to keep up with your dramatic pace, a laugh in his voice that only made your anger more overwhelming.

“Okay, firstly, even outside the class everyone knows you’re a monster,” you’d said. “And secondly, you manipulated me and twisted every word that I said to win that debate.” The third thing, which you hadn’t said, is that you couldn’t bear looking stupid in front of anyone, even if no one knew it was you. Mistaken, fine. Naive, sure. But never stupid.

And Jeonghan had made you look really stupid.

So you’d ignored his repeated calls after you, until he’d finally got frustrated and stopped following you. You’d walked the entire five kilometers home in the snow, arriving soaked and cold and grumpier than you’d possibly ever been. Worse was when you shared classes with Jeonghan for the next two semesters, unraveling your plan to never see him again.

When recounting this story to Hani, you left out the part about the short-lived makeout session in the closet and the undeniable chemistry between the two of you. You, instead, focused on the massive betrayal of learning about his online activities, Hani had scolded you for being too stubborn, prideful, and competitive, and that had been the end of it.

But the true rivalry had begun six months ago. You had had to go over to Seungcheol’s apartment to take care of Hani while he was away. Hani usually stayed at his place when she was sick, mainly because Seungcheol was the world’s biggest worrywart and called her constantly when he couldn’t be there while she wasn’t feeling her best.

So you had driven to his place, to hopefully ease some of her suffering (and Seungcheol’s), completely forgetting who he lived with. To your shock, it was Jeonghan who answered the door. “Ah, princess,” he’d exclaimed. “Welcome.”

The way he’d beamed when he saw you was infuriating. Peeking around his shoulder, you made venomous eye contact with Hani, who was sitting in a heap on the couch, her eyes red and watery with her illness. “How are you?” you asked, pointedly stepping around Jeonghan to go to her.

“I’m suffering,” she said. “But Jeonghan has been taking really good care of me.”

“Has he, now,” you’d said in a deadpan voice.

“Well, now that you’re here, I need to run some errands,” Jeonghan had said, quickly excusing himself to go to the grocery store. You had tended to Hani while he left, not turning when he’d called a goodbye over his shoulder as he stepped out into the night.

Watching Hani was mostly uneventful. You brought her water when she finished her glass and watched TV together until Seungcheol came back. As you’d stood up to leave Hani and Seungcheol, who were snuggled together on the couch, Hani asked if you would grab the ibuprofen out of Jeonghan’s bathroom.

You had been surprised (and a little annoyed) at how clean it was inside, but he had left his toothbrush out on the counter, which immediately made you think of the fluorescent blue dye you had in your bag that you had needed for a recent experiment in your geology class. The dye, coincidentally, was colorless until it reacted to saliva, and stained everything around it a shocking shade of blue for several hours before fading completely. You had tried to be good, you really had -- you’d almost left the bathroom without doing anything to the toothbrush -- but there was a petty streak in you that desperately wanted Jeonghan to feel even one bit as foolish as he’d made you feel. Plus, when were you ever going to get an opportunity like this again?

This had been the beginning of the prank war between you and Jeonghan. The following week, you’d come home to a flock of confused pigeons trapped in your apartment. “Where did he even get a flock of pigeons?” you had muttered as you mopped your hardwood floors free of all the lingering gifts that the birds had left for you.

“Beats me,” Hani said, spraying your tabletop with cleanser. “But I think this is a good learning experience for you. Jeonghan is really sweet, but he’s competitive, and he’ll do anything to win.”

“Oh, but I’m the exact same way,” you’d told her with a grim determination.

And so, it had continued. One week you were swapping out Jeonghan’s bar of soap for one that was almost identical but had a particularly itchy ingredient, the next week Jeonghan rearranged the letters on your keyboard and made it nearly impossible for you to finish your assignments in time, the week following you stole his textbooks and replaced them with poorly written erotic novels.

The pranks had only escalated the academic rivalry you’d had, especially as the two of you had striven to derail the other. When the exam results came out, you were elated to learn that despite Jeonghan’s efforts, you had come out of the semester at the top of the class — with Jeonghan just below you at number 2, by .02 points. Now, as you were about to fly to Hani’s birthday ball during spring break, your elation has been crushed. “Are you still going to come?” Hani asks, giving you her big sad eyes that you can’t say no to.

And because this is Hani, who knows you better than anyone and has always been there for you, you already know what you have to say. “Of course I’m going to come,” you reassure her. “It’s your birthday. I suppose I knew he’d probably end up deciding to come. But I’ll be darned if I let a man get between us.” You can’t suppress an eye roll. “Especially not that man.”

“You’re the best!” Hani exclaims. “Do you have a dress yet?”

“I have a few options,” you say. “I’ll take them with me so we can try things on together and you can help me choose.” You grin at her squeal of delight and try not to think about all the strategizing you’re going to have to do to avoid Jeonghan at the ball.

******

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groan.

Jeonghan grins from the seat beside yours. “What? Did you want the window seat?” he asks, pointing out the small window of the airplane. It’s one of those huge jets with two stories, built for a seventeen-hour flight across the world, and yet, of all the seats you could be sitting in, of course Jeonghan is sitting in the next one over.

You huff as you sit down. “Why didn’t you fly with Cheol?”

“He flew with Hani,” Jeonghan replies. “I didn’t want to third-wheel for that many hours in a row.”

That’s honestly pretty fair, but you can’t let him see you agree, so you roll your eyes. “Well, this is actually good. I needed to talk to you.”

“About?”

“The ball. We have to call a truce on our war.”

“Our war?” Jeonghan repeats with a raised eyebrow.

You clear your throat. “Our...rivalry.”

“I would call it a ‘friendly competition’,” he tells you.

“It’s really not that friendly,” you snap, and rifle in your bag for your headphones. “And it doesn’t matter what you call it, we just need to be well-behaved and civil during the ball because I will not have you or anyone else ruining Hani’s birthday party.”

“Well, I can’t promise to be well-behaved, but I promise I won’t ruin Hani’s party,” he comforts.

You shake your head. “I guess that’s the best I could really hope for,” you grumble. Unable to locate your headphones, you toss your bag under your seat in frustration.

“What did that poor bag ever do to you?” Jeonghan asks.

“I can’t find my headphones,” you hiss.

“I brought an extra pair.”

You stare at him. “You did not.”

“I truly, truly did,” he says. “Would you like to use them?”

“What will it cost me?”

“Nothing,” he says, grinning. “Let’s call it a mark of our truce.” He pulls them out of his bag and hands them to you, and you accept them, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Do they zap your ears when you put them in?” you ask nervously.

“No,” he says, taking one bud and putting it in his own ear. “Just regular old headphones.”

So you put one of them in, bracing yourself. Nothing happens, but the way Jeonghan is watching you is making you worried. “Forgive me if I’m a little wary after the pen incident.” (You were, of course, referring to a prank Jeonghan had pulled where he had replaced your pen with one that shocked you at random intervals.)

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m not trying to make your life miserable, princess. Actually, right now, I’m trying to make your life easier.” He leans back against his seat’s headrest and closes his eyes. “It’s not going to kill you to trust me a little.”

You shoot him a dubious look before acquiescing, slipping the other bud into your ear. No shock. You decide he’s probably telling the truth, and you listen to an audiobook while you wait for the plane to take off.

Hours later, after you’ve watched the sunset fade to black outside Jeonghan’s window, and after watching two movies and dozing off during a third, you jolt awake to a sudden dip of the plane. Blinking rapidly, you try to make sense of your surroundings, and the first thing you register is a hand clasping your own.

You look over, mortified, to see Jeonghan staring at you. But instead of the sneer you expected, his expression is serious and kind. “Are you okay?” he asks, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“I’m fine,” you say, although your voice is shaking and you can’t bring yourself to let go of his hand even though it’s embarrassing.

“You’re scared of flying?” he asks you quietly.

“Not enough to not do it,” you reply. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes that makes you think that you’ve stepped outside the incessant teasing that has been the hallmark of your relationship with this man, but you find yourself saying, “I feel like I should be used to it already.” Immediately you begin to worry about how Jeonghan might use this weakness against you, but he just looks at you.

“Well, if it makes any difference,” he finally says, “you’re handling it pretty well.” He gives your hand a squeeze.

This is just too weird. The weirdest part is, it doesn’t feel weird at all -- not talking with him, not holding his hand, not even the way he looks at you. For a second, you remember how intently Jeonghan had listened to you speak at that dinner all those months ago. This seems much more like the person you thought he was before you’d found out he’d destroyed you in an anonymous online debate. And, terrifyingly, this was a person you could see yourself falling deeply into, with no hope of escape.

The plane lurches again, and you close your eyes and breathe deeply through your nose. A low chuckle from Jeonghan makes you shoot him an annoyed look.

He shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to laugh at you, I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“Because,” he says, as though choosing his words very carefully. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’s scared of anything.”

His tone is -- dare you say it? -- respectful, almost awed, full of admiration.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you remind him, swallowing nervously.

He purses his lips. “Sad, but true.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat again, closing his eyes. “Figure it out, princess,” he whispers, before falling asleep with your hand clenched around his.

******

The night before the ball, you’re on a video chat with your little sister when your dad enters the frame.

“How’s my girl doing?” the king asks, and you have to smile. Your dad is really an amazing leader, and an even better dad.

“I’m good,” you say. “Just three more days before I’m home!”

“We’re so excited to have you back,” your sister chimes in, and your dad nods enthusiastically.

“Can I have a word with your sister?” your dad asks her, and she skips away with a quick “bye!”

“What’s up?” you ask.

“There’s been a little bit of tension on the mainland lately,” your dad confesses. “Nothing too concerning, but we want to nip it in the bud. I think it’s time for you to think about your future.”

You know when he says “future” he means “marriage”, and your heart sinks. As the eldest child, you will inherit the crown once your father retires. His hair and beard are grayer every time you see him, and you’ve known for awhile that he’s feeling a bit exhausted. “I am thinking about it,” you admit. “I’ve been going on dates.”

“Anything promising?” your dad asks hopefully.

You fiddle with your shirt hem, hesitating before you answer. The truth is, only one date you’ve been on since college is memorable at all. You try not to think about Jeonghan’s smirk and the way he’d made you laugh and holding his hand on basically the entire seventeen-hour flight over and most importantly his lips against yours in that dusty custodian’s closet before shaking your head. “Not really,” you confess. “Most politicians are really boring.”

Your dad scoffs. “Tell me about it.” He sighs. “Well, I’m not trying to force you into anything, but maybe the ball can be a good networking event for you. I heard that Prince Chan will be there.”

Prince Chan was internationally famous for being a real-life “Prince Charming” -- the perfect gentleman, always smiling, handsome as a fairytale prince. Your country was off his country’s southern coast, so his home was close to yours. “That might be a good political move.”

“And Prince Seungcheol will be there, and the general’s son, I forget his name...” Your dad trails off, but you know who he means, and you rush to put an end to those thoughts.

“Seungcheol is dating Hani,” you remind your dad quickly. “And Jeonghan -- the general’s son -- is...not an option either.”

“Okay,” your dad says, not catching the unspoken information in your tone. “Well, you’ll have boots on the ground, so just try, okay? And we can talk about it when you get back.”

You finish your talk and hang up, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of your guest bedroom in Hani’s parents’ palace. It was a curse to be the heir to the throne sometimes. The weight of your mantle was often so heavy it felt crushing. Your country was a small one, inhabited by gentle people. Military power, the nuances of war, conquest — none of these things were built into your culture. You weren’t sure what you’d do if things went south.

Sighing, you head to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. When you emerge from your shower and as you’re brushing your hair, the wind starts to pick up from outside. By the time you get into bed, a storm is raging outside. This, coupled with the thoughts swirling relentlessly around you head, has you thoroughly wound up and incapable of sleeping.

So you wrap yourself in a dressing gown and head up the corridor toward the spiral staircase that leads to the library. One thing that always helps you sleep is a familiar book. You wander between the dim shelves, only lit by a few strategically placed lamps, as the thunder gets louder and louder. Finally, you’re able to locate a copy of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden, which you take from the shelf, cozying up in a large armchair to read by one of the lamps.

A few pages in, you’re nearly startled to death by a voice from behind you. “What are you doing awake?”

You jump out of the chair and whirl around. “Jeonghan!” you whisper-shout. “For the love of all that is holy, you scared me.”

He gives a small smile. “Sorry, princess.” He’s also in his PJs, his shoulder-length hair still wet from a shower, and there are dark circles under his eyes that make him look more gaunt and melancholy than usual — a vampire rather than his standard fairy. It’s especially pronounced in the low lamplight.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says simply.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you couldn’t sleep. I sensed you coming in here.”

You scoff. “What nonsense,” you say.

“I’m serious. We’re soulmates.” Jeonghan’s grin has turned sly.

“Don’t be difficult,” you snap. “Was there a real reason you wanted to share, or — ?”

But then a bolt of lightning briefly illuminates the library in bright white light. The following clap of thunder is so loud it seems to shake the library. Jeonghan cringes and claps his hands to his ears before eyeing you warily.

You point a finger at him. “You’re scared of thunderstorms?” you guess.

He blushes. “Scared is a strong word.”

He cowers as the lightning flashes again, plugging his ears preemptively to avoid the massive clap of thunder. “You’re totally terrified,” you say when he finally takes his fingers out of his ears. “Well, this is just perfect.”

“That seems like a strong word, too,” he grumbles, coming to sit in the chair next to yours. “Perfect, how?”

“Now I know your weakness, and you know mine,” you explain, turning your attention back to your book. “We’re even.”

You couldn’t be more shocked when Jeonghan snakes a cold hand onto your wrist. When you gape at him, he looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I held your hand during the turbulence,” he reminds you. “So this is actually how you get even.”

This is hard to argue with, so you just keep reading with his fingers wrapped around your hand. “Do what you need to do, pretty boy,” you sigh.

His sharp intake of air makes you look up from your book. “What?”

“You need to stop calling me that,” Jeonghan says quietly.

“Or what?” you say, shutting your book with a snap.

“Or I’ll lose my mind,” he says in a strained tone. His jaw is clenched, his cheeks are flushed, and his palm on your wrist has become clammy with sweat. “I thought it would be easier to be close to you, but you insist on making my life harder, don’t you?”

This hits you like a punch in the gut. Glaring, you wrench your hand from Jeonghan’s grasp. “You don’t have to talk to me, Jeonghan. It’s perfectly alright for you to ignore me if it’s that hard for you to stand interacting with me.” Suddenly the library doesn’t feel big enough for you and Jeonghan to occupy the space at the same time -- as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. You jump from the armchair and turn on your heel, your robe blowing out behind you.

But Jeonghan is following you again -- and it’s so reminiscent of that first night that you almost laugh. “I don’t understand how you’re not as tortured as I am,” he calls after you. “That’s part of what makes me so insane.”

“Who says I’m not? You’re absolutely agonizing to be around,” you shoot back over your shoulder.

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, and he catches you by the arm, whirling you around so that you face him. You try to shake free, but his grip is iron-strong. “It’s like you’re barely affected by my presence. You don’t feel this constant draw -- this constant need to --

“To what, Jeonghan?” you ask, taking a step forward. “Finish the sentence. To what?”

Your faces are inches apart, the tension between you so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Jeonghan flexes his jaw and swallows hard before his gaze flicks down to your lips. You’re breathing too hard, your pulse too quick, your face hot. He inches closer -- the tips of your noses nearly touching, and when he whispers, it’s in a husky tone that sends chills down your spine. “It’s impossible for me to understand how you don’t seem to think about what happened between us. For you, it’s like it never happened. For me...I think about it every day.”

He’s so close you can smell the peppermint toothpaste on his breath. So close that if you even slightly moved forward, your lips would meet.

And then lightning strikes again. Jeonghan lets go of your arm, takes a step back, nods to you like he would an acquaintance from class, and leaves you alone in the library, where you lean, trembling, against a bookshelf just as the more distant clap of thunder rings out. You have to place a hand over your chest to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. The rest of the night is sleepless -- you toss and turn, wondering what on earth has just happened between you and Jeonghan.

******

“Is Hani ready?” Seungcheol asks, meeting you halfway up the stairs.

“Almost,” you say, adjusting your pearl necklace so the clasp is in the back. “And she gave me explicit instructions that you are to stay at the bottom of the stairs. She wants that movie moment. And you are going to give it to her, because it’s her birthday.”

Seungcheol follows you back down the stairs. “So, Jeonghan’s been weird today,” he says, a question in his tone.

“He’s always weird,” you say shortly.

“Weirder than usual. You look great, by the way,” he tells you, gesturing at the glittering white dress you’re wearing. It hugs your frame with a corseted top, cascading like sea foam down your hips and ending in a train. Hani had picked it out, saying that it matched your small pearl-encrusted crown the best, but you also suspected that she knew it was your most devastating look.

“Thanks,” you say to Seungcheol. “Wait until you see Hani.”

He’s so down bad he even smiles just at the sound of her name. “I can’t wait.”

“And about Jeonghan,” you continue. “Did he tell you -- anything?”

Seungcheol gives you a stern look. “Should he have? Did anything happen last night?”

“There was a thunderstorm,” you say quickly.

“Ah,” Seungcheol says, his gaze a little too understanding. “Jeonghan is scared of thunderstorms.”

You nod, refusing to answer the question he isn’t asking. Luckily, you’re saved by the arrival of Hani at the top of the stairs, looking absolutely stunning in the prettiest blue dress. Seungcheol’s whole face transforms into a picture of joy. “Wow,” he breathes.

You can see her beaming from here. You decide to let them have their moment by themselves, and instead push through the magnificent double doors into the ballroom. As your eyes scan the crowd, you try to believe that you’re not looking for Jeonghan, but there has been a knot in your chest since last night, and you somehow sense he is the only person who can do anything about it. Before landing on Jeonghan, though, your eyes land on Prince Chan. You remember your dad’s request and plaster on your most winning smile as you approach him.

“Hello, Prince Chan,” you say, curtsying low to him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He’s just as handsome as everyone has said, and he’s smiling just as kindly as you’d expect. “It’s a beautiful party,” he says. “The hostess is your best friend, right?”

“She is,” you confirm. “Princess Hani is wonderful. Have you ever met her?”

“Only a handful of times. We were kids,” he explains. “But everyone speaks highly of her.”

You nod. “So, how are things on the mainland?” you ask, changing the subject.

You pass a few pleasant minutes discussing his interests, the state of his country’s affairs, and you. After awhile, a very territorial woman comes to stand between you and Prince Chan, interrupting your conversation. He shoots you an apologetic look over her shoulder, and you wave him off with a small smile and a bow, backing away.

“Already causing problems, I see,” says a familiar voice.

You turn to see him -- Jeonghan, in his decorated military uniform, looking far more handsome and ethereal than he had any right to. You stick up your chin. “Well, it wasn’t my intention,” you say. “He was standing alone.”

“What a kind soul you are,” Jeonghan says drily as Hani makes her grand entrance.

You pause in your bickering to applaud her, beaming and embracing her as she comes to greet you. “Do you feel beautiful?” you ask her.

“Yes, I do,” she tells you. “Thank you for always being here.”

After she walks away to greet her other guests, you turn back to Jeonghan. “So, do you have anything else to say to me? Or do you have more pigeons to sedate and put in my bedroom?”

He grins. “As tempting as that is, I have plenty more to say to you.”

Just then, the music starts, and before Jeonghan can offer you his arm to escort you onto the floor, you are turning to the nearest passing gentleman and asking him to dance. Jeonghan follows suit, escorting a pretty redhead in a yellow dress into the space right beside you. As you begin the steps of the dance, you make polite conversation with your partner, whose name you have already forgotten. Jeonghan seems to be vaguely paying attention to his own partner as she rambles on good-naturedly, but his eyes never leave you. His scorching looks from across the dance column have heat rising in your cheeks and the back of your neck, and a funny swooping feeling in your stomach, almost like you’ve done a massive drop on a roller coaster.

At the end of the dance, you politely bow to your partner and are just about to scurry away when Jeonghan catches your hand. “One dance,” he begs. “Please.”

And his eyes are searing with some barely-concealed passion, his skin unnecessarily flushed and his jaw set in a hard line, and you open your mouth — to refuse him, you remind yourself — but nothing comes out, leaving Jeonghan free to pull you back into the dance floor and into his arms for the waltz.

You have done a simple waltz a thousand times — maybe hundreds of thousands at this point. Your feet are familiar with the steps and the turns. It’s simple enough to do. But waltzing with Jeonghan is like trying to speak a language you’ve never heard before. Pressed against his body, his hand burning into the small of your back through your dress, you find yourself unable to meet his eyes as he leads you through the steps. Something about him holding you like this is reminding you forcefully of that distant janitor’s closet, and this is making it impossible for you to look at him for fear of what it might do to you. So, with your heart pounding in your ears, you fixate on the top button of Jeonghan’s uniform and let him whirl you around, until it feels like everything else has faded away but the music and his arms around you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, but you don’t look up until the very last strains of the song are fading away.

And as you do, Jeonghan’s angelic face breaks into a smile that could make the devil repent. He’s so unbearably beautiful that you actually feel your breath hiss out of you, stolen by his smile. You realize that it doesn’t matter how much you pranked him or ignored him or rejected him or lied to yourself — there was absolutely nothing that could have kept you from falling in love with him.

Just at this moment of revelation, someone taps Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt,” Prince Chan says.

“It’s no trouble,” Jeonghan says. He’s still partially holding you in his arms, and you are still struggling to remember how to breathe, but Prince Chan seems not to notice or care.

“Would you mind if I had the next dance?” he asks, looking between the two of you.

You find it impossible to speak, so you just nod in assent. Jeonghan gives your hand to Chan, looking mildly crestfallen, and you try to get your crap together before the music starts.

You successfully collect yourself enough to look Prince Chan in the face. He’s smiling at you, but his eyes are a little too understanding. “Jeonghan’s great, huh?” he asks.

You try to laugh, but it comes out choked and awkward. “He’s a bit too charming for his own good,” is all you’re willing to admit.

Chan nods in agreement. “He’s interesting. Most people like to show their very best selves to others, and you find out the bad stuff the more you get to know them. But Jeonghan kind of does the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’ll be crafty and cunning up front, but he’s actually very kind. And you only get to see that if you get close to him.”

“How do you know?” you ask.

Chan glances over at Jeonghan. “I actually stayed with his family for a month while my mother was sick,” he explains. “Jeonghan had gone through something similar, and he was a big help to me. Of course he still drove me crazy sometimes,” he adds with a laugh, “but he’s solid gold all the way through. You just have to crack him open a bit to see it.”

You’re silent, chewing on this information, when all of a sudden, someone tosses the contents of their wine glass at you, coating your gown in a deep red stain. You gasp and look over to see Jeonghan with his current dance partner -- who is holding her empty wine glass and grinning wickedly at you. You recognize her as the one who interrupted your earlier conversation with Chan. “Oops,” she says.

Your eyes bounce between Jeonghan and the girl. “I need to go change,” you say to Chan. “Please excuse me.”

Chan’s glaring at the girl, and he nods to acknowledge he heard you. You immediately turn away from Jeonghan’s wide-eyed stare, hugging your arms to your chest and heading straight for Hani and Seungcheol. “Some psycho threw her wine on me,” you whisper to her. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks with concern.

You muster a weak smile. “No, you stay and enjoy your party.”

“I’m going to go escort the psycho out of here,” Seungcheol says, his eyes focused behind you on where you’ve left Chan and the girl and Jeonghan. You look over your shoulder to see Jeonghan leaning in close to the girl and whispering something in her ear, and this is the final straw. A part of you wonders if he planned it himself -- even after you asked him not to ruin things. So you turn on your heel and flee from the ballroom, running up the stairs and heading toward the library.

The tears start the minute you cross the threshold. You hate crying, and hate being a cliche damsel in distress, but the lack of sleep, the confusion about your own feelings, and the blatant bullying you’ve experienced have overwhelmed you, and it’s hard to stop yourself from collapsing into full-blown sobs. You only have a few seconds to cry by yourself between the bookshelves, however, before you hear someone’s footsteps sprinting into the library.

“Princess?”

Oh, no.

You try not to make any noise so that he won’t find you, but Jeonghan still rounds the corner and finds you. You immediately turn your back to him, wiping your eyes as you face the bookshelf. You can hear him approaching you slowly. “Princess?” he repeats.

You slowly turn over your shoulder to face him, looking him in the eye. You know you probably look ridiculous, but you still have to ask. “Was that your idea of a prank?” you say in a hard voice.

“Not at all,” he replies, his voice equally sharp. “Seungcheol and I threw her out ourselves.”

“You did?” you squeak.

He gives you a sad smile. “Of course. She’s never going to be within fifty miles of you ever again if I can help it.”

You nod, looking at your feet. “Well, that’s good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Jeonghan hesitates, then takes another step forward. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

You avoid his gaze and back up a little, right into the bookshelf. “I don’t see what we have left to talk about,” you hedge.

“Are we back to the bickering?” he asks, sounding frustrated. He steps forward again, nearly toe-to-toe with you, and brings a hand up to your chin, tugging on it gently. “Need you to look at me, princess.”

You lift your eyes to him and are once again overwhelmed by his closeness. You can’t help the deep breath you take at the sight of him. “Why do you keep pretending you hate me?” Jeonghan asks you quietly.

“What do you mean?” you reply.

“I know you don’t really hate me,” he explains. “I’ve known it for months. But I just don’t know why you can’t admit it to yourself. I wish you’d just let it go.” When you don’t reply, he sighs. “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you. You truly have no equal.”

Your emotions are so overwhelming and close to the surface that this light barb stings a lot more than Jeonghan probably intended. And this sends you over the edge. You bat his hand away and whisper-yell, “Well, you’re selfish, and conceited, and self-important, and conniving, and I don’t know why I --”

But you stop yourself before you give yourself away. Jeonghan impulsively brings his hands to both sides of your face, trapping you in. “Finish the sentence,” he demands. “You don’t know why you...what?”

But the answer won’t come, stuck between your heart and your voicebox, your stubborn mind trying fruitlessly to bar Jeonghan from knowing the truth. But, as is always the case in all the love stories you’ve ever read, the heart is too strong for the mind, and for a moment, it overcomes all rational thought and takes control over your hands. You grab Jeonghan by the collar and pull his lips to yours.

No amount of shock could keep Jeonghan from responding to your kiss. Ever quick on his feet, he brings a hand to the back of your neck so that he can move you in just the way he wants to, and you, for the first time in forever, let go of your need to sort through all your feelings and make them make sense, and give in to your heart entirely. You don't have to think with Jeonghan -- he takes charge in a way that makes your knees feel weak, and you cling to him desperately to avoid toppling over. Jeonghan kisses with even more passion than he had in that closet, with enough fire that you think you both might combust. His lips are searing and insistent, and you melt into his arms. Instinctively, you tangle your fingers in his hair, and he gives a throaty chuckle. “Careful, princess,” he whispers between kisses, and you hum against his lips in bliss.

Eventually, his kisses turn soft and sweet, slowing down to a pace where you can both catch your breath. And then he pulls away. The sight of him with his hair ruffled from your hands and his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright makes you giggle, and he beams at you, his gaze flicking to your lips again. “Wait,” you say before he can kiss you again. “I like you.”

“Duh,” he says with a laugh in his voice.

You swat his arm. “I mean it. I don’t understand how, or why, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the night we met. And compared to you, everyone seems so...dull.” He’s smirking now, and you swat at him again. “Stop it! I’m trying to be sincere.”

“I can’t help it,” he complains, and he’s looking at you so fondly that it’s dangerous. “You’re so cute. And I love to listen to you speak, but when you speak you move your mouth, and suddenly that’s just become so incredibly distracting for me.”

“My lips are distracting?” you repeat, wrinkling your nose in disgust at how corny it is.

“Well, they always were,” Jeonghan admits. “But right now...” He leans in, gives you a peck, and then runs a hand through his disheveled hair and groans. “Oh, it’s nearly too much.”

You giggle again. “You’re truly obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

“Embarrassingly so,” he says proudly. “Why else do you think I bribed the person who would’ve sat next to you on the plane to take my seat on Seungcheol and Hani’s flight?”

“You switched flights to travel with me?” Yesterday, this would’ve been annoying to learn -- but now, it’s a little endearing.

He nods. “And I switched classes so that I could take them with you. I’m still going to do that until we graduate, mind you, so if you could please avoid the eight o’clock classes, I would appreciate that so much.”

You tsk in fond exasperation at him. “And all of this time, you didn’t think to tell me that you’re --”

“Head over heels for you? Well, I sort of felt like it probably wouldn’t have gone over well. So I bided my time. And it was worth the wait,” he says, clasping one of your hands to his chest. “There’s absolutely no one like you, princess. You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

You shake your head, although on the inside you feel like angels are singing. “What an end to our war,” you say, snaking your arms around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“War is such a strong word,” Jeonghan complains. “It was barely a scuffle.”

“You filled my room with pigeons.”

“And that was low-hanging fruit for me.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Entirely,” he agrees. “Which is why I have no plans to return to that ball anytime soon.” He gives you a mischievous smile and once again looks at your lips.

“I can’t miss my best friend’s entire birthday party,” you remind him, playing with a lock of his hair shyly.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “That is a predicament. Might I suggest a compromise?”

“Indubitably,” you say, playing along with his posh tone.

He scoffs. “We go back in an hour. We stay to watch her open her gifts. And then we meet back here.”

“To do what?” you ask him, giving him your own dangerous grin.

“What an excellent question, princess,” he says, leaning in and kissing you deeply and slowly before pulling away just slightly and brushing a stray hair from your face. “I guess we’ll have to play it by ear,” he finally tells you in a low voice. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” you sigh, and then you smirk at him. “Pretty boy,” you add as an afterthought.

His eyes darken. “I’m going to make you regret that,” he threatens. And as he kisses you into oblivion once again, you seriously doubt it.

#seventeen #svt #svt fic #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan x you

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bucca2 · 8 months

Text

angel of small death (könig x reader)

the new recruit gets on könig's nerves.

3rd person, König's pov, she/her pronouns for reader, rivals to lovers, romance, slow burn, König does not trust pretty women who act interested in him, reader is determined to jump this man's bones

1k words

tw: none really, just swearing and König gets a boner at the end

besties I don't even know what this is. I was listening to angel of small death and the codeine scene by hozier and went "yeah we all love when König is creepy and stalkery and insistent towards the object of his obsession affections, but what if his love interest was the one pursuing him". enjoy this lil tidbit before shrike ch3! I'll probably write more about these two, it's a fun dynamic.

König knows how to read people.

It was a survival instinct. Reading into every micro-expression, every intonation in a voice, every shift of the shoulders. As a child, it served him well predicting what torment his bullies planned to inflict on him. As a soldier, he knew how to read his coworkers and establish that he was not to be fucked with. He had a reputation, and he was proud of it. Perhaps it was a little isolating, being the giant boogeyman of the base, but loneliness was not new to him. He knew how to deal with loneliness.

He doesn’t know how to deal with her.

The new recruit flutters onto base entirely unlike a soldier of her caliber. Flutters is really the only way to describe her, regardless of the way she moves physically. She’s the definition of a social butterfly—whether her candor is genuine, or a mask to hide a deep well of insecurity and anxiety is anybody’s guess. But there’s a grace to the way she manages to endear herself to nearly everyone, regardless of the friend groups and casual cliques the soldiers have formed.

Except König.

Oh, bite him. What was he supposed to think when she full body slammed into him coming around the corner, and then looked up at him with that mischievous glimmer in her eye?

“Whoa, you are one huge motherfucker!” she says, the profanity slipping out of her without hesitation. If she were any other woman, perhaps some nice little civilian lady, her wide smile and twinkling eyes would have turned him to mush. But instead, it puts him on his guard. The boys who bullied him as a child hurt him with their fists. The girls cloaked their insults with honey, with cloying little chirps about his size before crushing what little self-confidence his height afforded him. Just some awkward lanky giant who takes up too much space.

He glares down at her, eyes boring into her from behind the hood. “Watch where you’re going, recruit.” He stalks off down the hallway, but not before he hears her tut and exclaim “what crawled up his ass?” to the coworker she was walking with.

He doesn’t want to know anything about her. He’s not interested, he tells himself, in learning about who she is. But he learns anyway, from hearing snippets of conversation around the base.

She’s on the young side for their line of work, but she’s good. She’s a dead-on shot with a gun, and a whiz with throwing knives. Her specialty, of course, is sniping. König bends the metal fork he’s eating with in his fist when he hears this particular tidbit. Of course, she has the job he wanted when he first joined special forces. Of course she would be outstanding in the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do.

He tries to avoid her—it irritates him, how goddamn pleasant she is. Friendly, outgoing, warm. All adjectives that nobody would apply to him. He was hoping his cold initial reception would keep her away, but she seems almost determined to pop up wherever he finds himself. If he’s eating with the others, she’s nearby, perched on a table and making everyone near her laugh. If he’s at target practice, she’s there, shooting bullets through the same hole punched in the target almost every time. (He has to admit, that does impress him. He knows enough to recognize a master at work.) If he’s getting coffee to stave off his sleepiness, she’s at the coffee maker, engaged in conversation that annoys him with its peppiness.

He somehow makes it a whole week without having something resembling a proper conversation with her, and he was liking it just fine that way. Alas, there’s a mission briefing, and now she’s walking up to him beaming, hand outstretched.

“Hey, big guy! We haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we?” König looks down at her hand, then back to her face.

“König.” He watches with a nasty bit of smugness as her smile falters for a moment and she drops her hand.

“König, huh? German for king.” It happens so fast, he can barely register what’s happening. She steps closer to him, her voice lowering a whole octave. “Impressive callsign for an impressive man.”

The room suddenly shrinks, and the low chatter of the others filing into the room and exchanging pleasantries fades away. She’s close, so close to him that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’s sure she would feel his breath. She runs a single fingernail across his torso, right over his pecs, and an involuntary shudder runs through him.

“The name’s Monarch.” He watches, frozen like a marble statue, as she looks up at him through her lashes. It’s undeniably sensual, but there’s the faintest touch of venom in her teasing tone. Her eyes are still as bright as always, but there’s a sharpness to them. He’s only seen this look on her in one situation: the split second between her letting out her breath and her pulling the trigger on a sniper rifle at the range. It’s calm. Collected. The deadly gaze of a confident predator before she blows a target’s head off. He wonders if she’s imagining his head exploding right now.

For the first time in a long time, he feels vulnerable, laid bare in this perplexing and irritating woman’s gaze. Monarch. He’d snort if he wasn’t trapped like a mosquito in amber. Of course she’d have a callsign like that. He’d thought her a butterfly this whole time: fluttery and pretty, but ultimately harmless to him personally.

Now, he feels like he’s staring down a checkmate.

“I look forward to working with you,” she purrs.

In an instant, the moment is gone. Whatever bubble she had encapsulated him in pops, and the mess of overlapping conversations and shuffling feet surges into his senses, like someone pressing the fast forward button. He blinks, and she’s already moved away, bouncy and energetic as she greets another coworker. He’s never been so confused in his entire life.

He sits down before anyone can notice his throbbing hard erection.

if you want a visual on what I was imagining when Monarch touches his pecs, it's exactly what Black Cat does in this video (time stamped)

youtube

yes, I did at some point have the thought "this would make a really good plot with Ghost" but I think Ghost's thing is that he's stoic and keeps people at a distance because he doesn't want to get close to someone and put them at risk. with König he doesn't trust people who are sweet and kind to people all the time because he has trusted people who were kind to him before, and they took advantage of him. alas, this König did not have a Thorn in his life. but Monarch is a thorn in his side!

also. monarch. butterfly. monarch as in king. my brain is so huge (I have impressed myself by coming up with the most surface level metaphors)

I'm not overly pleased with how short this is, but I was trying to capture the attitude of these two characters, so it's kind of like establishing a certain mood. I have PLANS for Monarch though. she's a freaky little lady.

as usual, please send me your feedback, brainrot, literally anything you have to say about these two I want to hear!! I mean this so sincerely. they live in my head rent-free. (also if you want to be tagged drop a reply)

one last thing before I go: I love troubled birds so much. you can't convince me that the one in the moodboard (moodboards are so hard to make, wtf? I have renewed respect for authors who make moodboards as their fic images) and this one are so Königcore

#bucca writes #fic: angel of small death #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #Youtube

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laviethepooh · 1 year

Text

summary. working with your rival alhaitham is one thing, but getting sick while working on a project is another.

ft. alhaitham x gn!reader (ft. your best friend kaveh)

cw. modern!au, rivals to lovers

wc. 2.4k

notes. grey >>>>> gray but of course the ugly version is the american way of doing things. anyway kaveh and i are besties, you can ask hoyoverse about it <33 also alhaitham might be very ooc i wouldn’t know, i have to do a bunch of quests to do the archon quest-

“and for our last pair, we’ll have y/n and alhaitham,” the teacher announced, fixing his glasses.

you shot your head in his direction in disbelief. he didn’t seem too fazed about it which made you confused. of course, having two of the smartest students in the class working together would produce incredible results, but you couldn’t imagine working with him by choice. you were best friends with his roommate kaveh and all the two of you would talk about is how insufferable he was. alhaitham always did things perfectly and it did nothing more than anger you, especially if he ended up doing better than you.

at the end of class, you approached your new partner.

“well, i guess we should plan a day to work. would it work to do it at your place or something? they turned off the heating at my place.” you said, scratching the back of your head.

you were partially asking because it was true, the heating was out and since it was winter, it was way too cold to focus, and partially asking because you knew kaveh would be there as well. you hoped that kaveh would make things less awkward because the tension would be inevitable.

without even looking at you, he responded, “sure. just make sure you don’t get distracted by kaveh. we’ll meet at 3 tomorrow then.”

and without letting you respond, he walked out of the class, leaving you dumbfounded. you supposed you’d just have to go with his plans since you doubted he would even listen to you if you suggested something else.

you prepared some of your project that day in preparation for working with alhaitham. you had felt a little dizzy when you woke up and throughout the day, but assumed nothing of it. when it was almost 3, you sent a text to kaveh letting him know that you would be coming and when you walked up to the door, you were glad that kaveh was the one that opened it for you.

“where’s alhaitham,” you asked as you went inside, not seeing your gray-haired partner.

kaveh shrugged and gave you a sly grin. “i made him get groceries so we could hang out for a bit.”

you broke out into a smile. “thank god. just thinking about having to work with him makes me so stressed.”

he rolled his eyes. “that’s literally what i’m saying. anyway, we should put on a show or something-”

the two of you turned to the door when you heard the jingle of keys and the lock clicking.

“oh my god,” kaveh whispered to you, “why is he here so early?”

you looked back at him with wide eyes, “how am i supposed to know?”

the door opened to an alhaitham with bags of groceries.

“oh,” he said, monotonously, “you’re here.”

he gave the several bags of groceries to kaveh who almost fell due the weight of all of them. your partner then ushered you into the kitchen where you could see several papers stacked on top of each other. despite the number of papers and items there were, it seemed to be an extremely neat table. like the true gentleman he was, he offered you a seat and you placed all of your own research onto the table.

“kaveh!” he barked out to the poor kaveh who was putting the groceries away. “go buy dinner or something!”

you sent kaveh an sos signal through your eyes and he matched it. but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice but to leave the two of you alone since he knew alhaitham would get mad if he didn’t have the perfect working environment.

now that it was just the two of you in the apartment, you got to work on the project. the preparations went smoothly and alhaitham seemed impressed that you had already come somewhat prepared. similarly, you were glad to see that he had held up his part of the project.

however, as the day continued, you noticed your head started to feel a bit heavy. you kept drinking water, hoping that it was simply dehydration, but then you started to feel much colder than you did in the morning and were starting to feel chills.

“hey.” you poked your partner. “did the air conditioner come on or something? why is it so cold?”

he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “no? it’s winter, why would we turn on the air conditioner? did you not bring a jacket?”

you shook your head in response and alhaitham got up from his chair and into his room. when he came out, he was carrying the school sweatshirt and held it out to you. you stared at it, wondering why he was showing it to you. was this supposed to be some sort of motivation for the project?

“put it on. you said you were cold.”

oh.

you took the hoodie, muttering a small thanks and put it on. you didn’t feel much better, but you definitely felt a bit warmer with it on and could smell his cologne. you continued to work while wearing his hoodie, but you could slowly feel that your condition was worsening. were you seriously sick? but the presentation needed to be finished…

“y/n?”

though your head was cloudy, you could hear your partner call your voice out. his voice was indicating he was annoyed. you rested your head in your arms, mumbling something about a 5 minute break. you heard him scoff.

5 minutes must have passed, because you could feel someone trying to shake you awake.

“y/n?”

you mumbled something again, but it was probably incoherent. your head was throbbing and pins and needles were attacking your whole body. you felt a cold hand press against your forehead.

“you’re burning up. are you feeling alright? you need some rest.” you could hear alhaitham speak, but none of it was comprehensible.

you felt your chair get pushed back and alhaitham lift you up. your whole body felt heavy and you could barely get your arms to wrap around his neck for stability. he tried to put you down, but you resisted, clinging onto him. eventually, your drowsiness won you over and you let go and your head fell onto soft pillows.

“oh my god, why would you put them on your bed???”

someone’s screeching voice woke you up. you felt terrible. your headache was worse than before and chills were running up and down your whole body.

“can you be quiet? although with that loud voice of yours, i’m sure y/n’s already awake by now.”

“i’ll pretend you didn’t say that if you give me some of the soup you made.”

“it’s for y/n.”

“yeah, i think you made more than enough for just one person. let me have some!”

“i said be quiet!”

you sat up, but your whole body felt like it was made out of lead. walking over to the kitchen felt much harder than it should have, but you needed to tell kaveh and alhaitham to shut up. you also needed a glass of water or something.

“y/n!” kaveh raced over to you. “did that stupid alhaitham overwork you?”

his voice was ringing in your head and you held up a hand to signify that you wanted to be quieter and he mumbled a “my bad.”

“no, i must have just been sick, i dunno,” you murmured as you staggered to the kitchen.

alhaitham handed you a glass of water and you downed the whole thing. you felt a bit more hydrated, but that wasn’t anything compared to how the rest of your body was feeling. you wanted to cry. you still needed to work on the project, even if you weren’t behind schedule and you weren’t in the comfort of your own home either.

“hey kaveh,” alhaitham ordered, “go get some medicine for y/n.”

kaveh grumbled something incoherent and slammed the door before peeking his head out to apologize to you (but not alhaitham) and then it was just you and alhaitham left in the apartment.

the two of you stood in silence for a moment before alhaitham handed you a hot bowl of soup and spoke up.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize that you were ill. i would have postponed the meeting if i had known.”

you shook your head and immediately regretted it as your head throbbed again. “i didn’t realize i was sick either. it’s not your fault. and thanks for taking care of me.”

“no, i think it is my fault. i had overworked you.”

“no, it’s not your fault, i have a bad immune system.”

alhaitham let out an amused sigh. “you’re really never gonna let me win, are you?”

you chuckled hoarsely, “i guess i can’t help it.”

you sat down on the couch, knees pressed against your chest, your hands clutching the bowl tightly. you were still wearing his sweatshirt, you realized.

“i’m more sorry though. i must be disappointing you since you already have so much on your hands and yet you have to take care of me as well. hell, you put me on your bed instead of the couch and made me soup. i’m making all of this turn into shit. i was supposed to help you with this but instead i let you down.”

your partner was silent for a moment. so it was true then.

“you know, i was elated when i heard that you were my partner.”

what?

“in fact, i had asked the teacher to put us together for this project and i was honestly surprised when he agreed. i’m sure you know already, but putting the two smartest students in the class wouldn’t be balanced. y/n, you can probably tell, but i wouldn’t put anyone in my bed and make them soup if they were sick. even if they were a close friend, i would have asked them to go home.”

what was he talking about? your drowsiness was starting to return.

“you can’t be falling asleep on me right now. i’m about to confess to you.”

what??? your attention was fully on alhaitham again and this time you were fighting against your need to sleep.

“seems like that got your attention” alhaitham laughed, “y/n, you could never let me down no matter what you did. isn’t that what it means to like someone?”

he walked over to you and pressed his hands against the side of your face. “did you hear me properly? i said i like you.”

“more than kaveh?”

“tch. obviously. i like anyone more than kaveh.”

“why? kaveh’s so funny!”

“don’t talk about other people like that in front of me. say nice things about me instead.”

maybe it was because you felt groggy, but your filter was practically nonexistent. “hmm. i guess you’re really hardworking. i didn’t realize it but you’re nice, too. your things smell good. and you’re good looking, i suppose.”

your eyes were starting to close on their own but you were sure alhaitham was smirking right now. he took the untouched bowl of soup from your hands and you could hear him set it down on a table.

“if you wanna be able to work on the project, you’ll have to make sure you recover properly first.”

you wanted to say something else to him, even a thank you since it didn’t seem like you had properly shown your gratitude. however, your exhaustion won you over once again and you went back into dreamland.

when you woke up again, you were staring up at alhaitham’s bedroom ceiling again. you looked over onto the side, instinctively looking for your phone but instead saw alhaitham’s head resting beside you. you nearly jumped out of the bed but realized that he had pulled up a chair next to the bed and must have fallen asleep while looking after you.

you were so slow to realize how nice he was. you were always under the impression that he was some insensitive guy who spent his whole day studying nonstop but it seemed that you were wrong.

as you sat in the bed, staring off into space, you remembered his confession. as your face started heating up, you cursed yourself internally. so many unexpected things had happened today but the most strange one was the fact that your biggest rival liked you? the words that you (stupidly) said about him before were certainly true, and you weren’t upset that he liked you. did you like him back?

even though you knew how busy he was, he had taken so much of his own time by taking care of you instead of just taking you back to your home. you had the feeling that if you were to be with him, he’d take immensely good care of you.

but then you remembered kaveh. should you ask him about what you should do? no, you knew for a fact that he wouldn’t approve of it at all.

you and your overthinking mind. you needed to make a decision following your first thoughts. it was unexpected, but you felt like you wanted to just go on a date with him just once. it felt so weird to be thinking of someone you rivaled for so long in a romantic interest but it didn’t feel wrong. you were always so certain about everything that you did whether it was which school you wanted to go to or who you wanted to work with. all of a sudden, your rationality had gone out the window.

“alhaitham,” you whispered, shaking his shoulder, “wake up!”

perhaps it was because you were in almost the complete dark or if it had anything to do with the new lens that you were seeing him from, but he suddenly looked much more handsome. he looked like some sort of fairy or angel now. this made absolutely no sense whatsoever. but wow, the way he was just looking up at you right now made you blush.

“do you need something?”

you blinked. you had almost forgotten why you woke him up.

“do you really like me?”

although it was dark, you could see him furrow his eyebrows. “did you think i was lying? i do. and i have for a while.”

“then,” you hesitated for a moment unsure if you were making the right decision, “can you go on a date with me?”

#lavie.txt #alhaitham #genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #kaveh #alhaitham be like “I WINNNN”#also i can't imagine what kaveh would say once he learned that y/n asked him out #he would be screaming crying throwing up on the ground begging y/n to take it back rn #also not y/n literally asking alhaitham if he likes y/n more than kaveh #the way my kavetham/haiveh heart was FIGHTING ME #also obviously haitham accepts it like he'd be stupid not to #but i was like i don't think i should drag this on any longer #rivals to lovers

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borathae · 2 years

Text

↳ Index [Day 13 - Pole Dance & Pegging]

Pairing: sub!Jimin x Mistress!Reader

Kinks: rivals to lovers, pole dancing, leather, pegging, choking, anal fingering, handjob, hair pulling, spanking, bondage, degradation & praise, dirty talk, lotsa kissing, the ending is cute

Wordcount: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday to the sexy bastard that is Park Jimin 💗 this will also be the last time i’ll apologize for plot haahha i can’t write pwp, we stan backstory for the tension. but i guess you guys know me by now. Enjoy besties 💗

You have been eyeing him ever since practice started. His body is sweaty, his long hair tied into a messy bun. He is wearing his gear already to warm it up for tonight. Black leather pants and matching gloves. How he is able to move on the pole with those gloves is beyond you, but Jimin has always had a taste for the dramatics.

Way too much dramatics in your opinion, especially recently after your boss told you that from now on, Jimin will be performing on the big stage right in the middle of the club while you should take his place by the wine bar. You are still furious about the entire ordeal, now eyeing him with icy eyes and your arms crossed in front of your chest.

Jimin finishes practice five minutes later, locking eyes with you through the mirror.

“Oh hey there, how long have you been standing there?” he says, wiping his sweaty forehead with a towel.

“Not long”, you grumble, following him with his eyes as he jumps off the stage. He struts to you, doing so with his hips swinging from side to side.

“What do you think?” he asks, “isn’t the performance good?”

“Yeah I guess”, you shrug your shoulders, acting nonchalant about it when in reality you thought him to be very good. He just knows how to work a pole in his favour. His muscles are lean and tense just perfectly each time he uses them to pull himself up. The gloves, although you still find them way too over the top, give him a sort of alluring aura and the leather pants are so goddamn tight that you can see every single muscle even now when he is merely standing in front of you.

Jimin studies your face, pursing his lips in distaste. He knows very well that you are only pretending not to be impressed because you want to take revenge on him for taking your stage.

“I guess it’s the best performance this stage has ever seen”, he says and after bumping shoulders with you, leaves the club.

“What the hell?” you gasp, looking at the now empty doorway with annoyance bubbling inside you, “did he really just say that?”

You probably would have chased after him to call him a snob if your boss didn’t call for you to help her with setting up the rooms upstairs.

You have been working in this establishment for almost two years now. Upstairs, well-paying customers can find a night of fun and pleasure with a stranger of their choice. Gender is obviously not important, you have both male and female friends working here and ever since February, Lee is working as the hotel's first ever non-binary angel, enjoying themselves greatly each night.

You weren’t one of the love hotel angels, but worked in the club downstairs as a dancer and the occasional bartender.

Jimin joined your team about a year ago and up until recently, performed on the pole by the wine bar while you shone on the main stage in the middle of the club. Your roles however switched four weeks ago with the explanation that it was time to give another dancing angel a chance to shine. You understood your boss, but were still terribly pissed about having to give it up to Jimin.

You meet Jimin again an hour and ten before opening. Your boss, blind to your shared distaste, told you and him to get the place ready and to make sure that the poles are well prepared. Oh if only she knew what gates of hell she opened with that order.

Jimin is still out of his pants when you enter the club. His dark hair is styled with mousse and gel and a smokey eye look really brings out the mesmerising colour of his grey contacts. He is in the middle of fixing his gloves, looking over his shoulder when he hears your steps.

He scans you with his eyes. You are also wearing leather pants, torso exposed but with a wonderfully done leather harness adorning the right parts. Black nipple sticker cover you up, guiding Jimin’s eyes to your tits for just one second too long.

“What is your act tonight?” he asks, breaking his eyes away from your tits to instead ogle the huge dildo strapped to you and the bottle of lube in your hand.

“Em asked me to play Dominatrix for some business guys from Vietnam. She said they wanna see me jerking off my strap”, you explain, shrugging your shoulders.

“I see”, he says, turning away again to continue warming up. He grabs the pole and pulls himself up, stretching his legs by going into full splits in midair while his head tangles down. Like this your eyes lock and while you should probably look away and make sure the club is ready for tonight, you can’t.

“The thing you said today”, you begin, “what the hell was that about?”

Jimin finishes the movement gracefully, feet landing back on the ground without making any kind of sound. He keeps his sculpted back turned to you, looking at you through the mirror just opposite of the stage.

“I don’t know what you’re on about", he says nonchalantly.

“When you said that your performance is the best this stage has ever seen.”

“Ah that”, Jimin smirks and shrugs his shoulders, “the truth, I guess.”

“What the hell? That stage was mine before you stole it”, you hiss, feeling annoyance bubble in your chest.

“Yours?” Jimin whips around, “excuse me, that stage was never yours to begin with. You just had it for a while and now I do, because I’m better than you.”

“This is not the reason why Em gave you the stage and you know that”, you hiss, stomping to him.

Yes this always happens. Yes, this is the reason why your boss should not leave you and Jimin alone in a room. Because ever since he snitched your spot, you are always fighting.

“Oh get over yourself, I had to dance by the wine bar for eight months and I didn’t complain”, Jimin throws back, standing his ground even now when you are stomping up on stage to him.

“Yeah but I earned that stage. I dance by the toilets for thirteen months to get it.”

“Maybe you should dance there again, your shitty attitude would be fitting for that place.”

“Wow.”

You stare at Jimin. Jimin stares at you. The room is silent. The air heavy in tension.

You step closer to him, making him flee until his back hits the pole. He gasps at the coldness of it, but doesn’t break eye contact. Not ever.

“Take that back”, you growl, lips so close to his face that he can feel your minty breath swirl over his skin.

“Why should I take it back?” Jimin asks, eyes flitting to your lips. Dark lipstick brings out the shape of them, locking his gaze right onto them.

“The things I want to do you, you can’t even imagine”, you rasp, inching closer until you can feel his body heat against your skin, “oh if only”, you whisper, staring at his lips for the sole reason that you wonder if he wants to kiss you or not.

“Yeah if only”, he rasps, He gazes at your mouth with so much obsession that you wonder if he is actually going to lean in.

“I’d show you who the boss is if only I could”, you spit with distaste, placing one of your hands on the pole and with it giving him no chance to escape. Your strap is brushing against his toned stomach, making his skin prickle.

“Yeah?” he presses out, “who says you can’t?”

“Huh?”

Jimin moves until his lips are actually brushing against yours.

“Who says you can’t put me in my place? Mhm?” he rasps, forcing your eyes to flutter closed from the feeling of his lips.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you answer him, tilting your head to the side and with it, claiming even more of his lips in something that could only be described as a kiss without actually being a kiss.

Jimin moans softly, touching your waist. You growl, thrusting your hips into him to really grind your strap against his sculpted tummy.

“Do you even know how to use that strap, mhm?” he taunts.

“What do you wanna tell me?” you growl, dropping your hand from the pole just to grab a bundle of his hair instead.

“You should test it out, it’d be embarrassing if you couldn’t even move it right.”

“I can move it right, trust me”, you say, moaning softly when Jimin takes your lower lip between his teeth. He releases it a second later, gasping when within a second he is on your thigh while your hand is wrapped around his throat.

“What the hell?” he presses out, hissing when you press down on his veins to the point he goes dizzy.

“I can fuck you stupid, Park Jimin. Trust me”, you spit, grinding your knee against his balls and cock, “I heard that helps with getting your shitty little mouth under control”, you add, tensing your muscles just to make it even more intense for him, “one good fuck and you turn quiet like a good little whore.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’ll be quiet”, he spits back, dragging his nails down your neck so hard that your skin burns.

You don’t mind, making his knees wobble with just a squeeze of your hand and a tense of your thigh. You step closer, allowing your parted lips brush against his’.

“Oh trust me, you will.”

“Even if I will, what’s in it for you? You can’t stand me, why fuck me?” talking is hard when you are rubbing against his sensitive cock. Especially when all that is between is the thin material of his briefs. Jimin swears that he could pass out in desperation.

“I make no difference. I fuck whoever I want to. And especially bratty little boys like you”, you say, grinding your leg against his ass. It presses against his hole. Right where it feels the best.

He gasps, doing a terrible job at preventing it from happening. You smirk in triumph, tilting his head back with the help of your hand.

“There we go. Right against my body, getting off on my knee”, you rasp, “you’re already so much more likable.”

“Well you’re still a-”, he gasps, nails digging into your arms. Jesus fucking christ, this feels so good, oh how he wants to close his eyes, “-a, a cunt.”

"Doesn’t matter what you think of me, I’ll fuck you nonetheless”, you answer him, basking in the rapid pounding of his heartbeat against your fingertips, “just say the magic word.”

“What magic word?” he croaks, fighting gravity. Your knee is too good, with any other person he would have already stripped naked and fucked their strap stupid, but not with you. You won’t get the satisfaction of getting him to beg for you. If you want it then you should beg. He has all night. Well, an hour before the club opens at least.

You kiss him roughly then and his mind goes blank, fingers desperately trying to find their home on your body. His back arches from being pressed so tightly against the pole, his ass and cock ache in need from just your knee and his lips are pulsating as you continue sucking and biting them. Your fingers on his neck keep him from pulling back, nails bruising his skin in the shape of crescent moons.

Jimin drags his fingers up and down your exposed back, pulling you closer. You hate it. You hate how good he kisses. You twist his hair in the same rude manner he scratched your back, moaning into the kiss. You have to kiss him deeper, show him that you kiss way better than him.

Jimin growls, teeth clashing with yours as he forces his tongue inside your mouth. It seems that he basically wants to merge with you, judging by how deep his tongue goes. It forces a growl out of you and for your knee to squeeze even more of him.

“Fuck”, he gasps, arching his back eventhough his pride hates him for it.

“See?” you let the kiss break, “you want me.”

“Just shut up and fuck me already, fuck”, he hisses, arching into your touch with too much vigour.

You grip his chin, holding him hostage with your dark eyes racing between his equally dark eyes.

“Where do you wanna get fucked? The floor? Against the mirror? Against the pole?” you ask him

“Uh”, he swallows heavily, eyes trying to flit at the pole.

“So the pole it is”, you smirk, “good, that’s my favourite. Turn around and spread your legs.”

“What?”

“Turn around, for fucks sake”, you order, smirking proudly when he follows without an ounce of hesitation.

“Now bend down, keep your hands on the pole.”

And so he bends down, gripping the pole tightly. His leather gloves make a soft sound from the movement, stretching right around his hands

“Good boy”, you say, spanking his ass as a reward.

He hisses and moans, legs spreading even further and ass chasing your hand. He lifts his head. Shit. The mirror is right in front of him. Jimin locks eyes with you and gulps upon seeing the dark smirk tugging at your lipstick covered lips. It is all smudged from kissing, now covering his own lips as well.

“So you noticed”, you say and rip his briefs off in one clean go, “good.”

Jimin moans, arching his back. His eyes are glued to your reflections, flitting down to his cock for just a moment. Hard and throbbing, it hangs right between his meaty thighs, screaming for attention he knows very well won’t come for quite some time. The hands running up and down his ass and the massive strap between your own legs tell him that. And he is fucking high in excitement.

“Look at you”, you rasp, squeezing his sculpted buttocks between your fingers, “such a pretty, little slut.”

“W-wait what are you doing?” he gasps with widened eyes as he has to watch you abandon his ass just to begin trying his hands to the pole with his ruined briefs.

“You’ll need it, believe me. I fuck hard”, you explain, tightening the knot, “I hope you’re even ready for that.”

“Yeah, didn’t expect anything else from you”, he says, nodding his head vividly.

“Good”, you say, dancing your hands down his sculpted arms until you have his pretty waist between your fingers, “now before we really start, ever heard of the traffic light system?”

“Yeah. Red, yellow, green. We’re good, I know what to do. Also if I hum happy birthday you gotta stop.”

“Of course, I’ll stop. Good job, I’m almost proud of you”, you say, making him scoff and roll his eyes, “now let’s get started”, you say, connecting your hands with his sculpted ass in a harsh spank.

“Fuck! Ah!” he exclaims, writhing from the burn and leaking all over the floor.

You chuckle darkly, watching his swollen cock drip, “you are so wet. Adorable. I always knew that you’re a slut for rough handling. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew.”

He blushes and shivers at your words, avoiding eye contact.

You spank his ass.

“Look at me”, you growl, forcing him to lift his eyes.

He mewls, biting down on his lower lip while his hips squirm in your hold.

“Better. Now keep them on me as I fill you up”, you order, reaching for the lube bottle to slather your fingers with it.

Jimin’s breathing speeds up in excitement, his fingers tighten around the pole. He is aching for that stretch. He even cleaned out tonight, planning to fuck a customer later. It’s been so long since someone last fucked his ass and he’s burning up for that feeling. Especially when you are the one doing it. Jimin’s been fucking into you ever since he started working at this love hotel. He never told you, but you are the biggest fucking crush he's ever had and to have to strip him naked and peg him feels like a fanboy's dream come true.

You press your slickened fingers against his hole, locking eyes with him. And then you push, watching in delight as his eyelids flutter and his cock throbs angrily.

He sucks in air through his teeth, feeling every new inch of you slip inside. It is almost too much and yet not enough.

“There we go, take me, that’s it”, you praise, finally bottoming out. Now you have two of your fingers buried deep inside his warmth, getting squeezed oh so nicely. You curl them instantly, making slow movements right out of your wrist.

Jimin’s knees buckle, eyes almost closing. His gaze becomes droopier, his brows furrow in bliss.

“A-ah”, he moans in his sweet voice, puffy lips opening in small gasps for air.

“Slipped in so easily. You have such a greedy little hole”, you taunt, eyes locked on how much his cock is throbbing.

“Feels good”, he croaks, arching his back desperately, “one more, please.”

“One more? Don’t you wanna ease into it?”

“I’m a slut, need more”, he pleads, “please Mistress.”

The nickname feels like ecstasy to you, making your entire body feel hot in pleasure. That’s right, in this moment you are his Mistress and Jimin is nothing more than your pretty little boytoy. Oh the surge of power feels addicting.

You bury your pointer finger in his hole, forcing a trembling moan out of him. You fuck them in and out of him slowly, making sure to really curl them each time you pass his prostate.

Jimin moans deliciously, arms tensing from holding himself up and back arching at the same time. His thighs tremble each time you touch his prostate, his cock throbs and drips pleasure seconds later.

“Fuck seriously, need more”, he croaks just minutes later, looking at you with half-lidded, heavy eyes.

“Well damn, you’re eager to get stuffed aren’t you?”

He nods his head, pressing his ass back.

"Just wanna get fucked, please."

“Fine. Damn, you slut”, you say, pulling your fingers free to instead cover your strap in lube.

Jimin watches you through the mirror, chest heaving up and down quickly. He stops breathing when he feels the heaviness of your strap against his hole, finger tightening around the pole in anticipation of the intense stretch.

You buck your hips forward, feeding him your cockhead. It is almost laughable just how easily he takes you, how little he struggles.

“Holy fuck”, Jimin whispers, dropping his head, “holy fuck.”

“That’s it, swallow me up”, you rasp, rolling your hips into him until even your last inches are inside him, now sitting inside his tight little ass and stretching him out oh so well.

“Oh god", he squeaks, nose scrunching up, "oh, Mistress holy fuu.."

"What is it? You don’t like it?" you ask, rocking back and forth slowly while your fingers massage his trembling hips.

"So d-deep", he confesses, looking at you with glassy eyes.

“Painful?”

He shakes his head, “so deep”, he repeats before arching his back in a pretty slope.

"You'll get used to it", you state dryly now that you know he wasn’t uncomfortable, "ass out."

He was quite frankly overwhelmed by pleasure as you spoke the words, concentrating on the feeling of his hole getting so stretched open. This is all he wanted, needed, craved.

"Ass. Out", you growl, thrusting your dick into him in one hard, warning thrust.

"Ah! Yeah, sorry", he pants, sticking his ass out instantly.

"Good boy, that’s good. Now stay like this", you say, pressing your chest into his back, to whisper against his neck "I want to make sure you stay all nice and open for me", you rasp, twisting a bundle of his dark locks.

Jimin is eager to follow, moaning with his eyes falling closed and his ass chasing your strap in needy wiggles. You watch him through the mirror, giving him slow yet deep rolls of your hips. His ass doesn’t squeeze that much anymore, now that you are fucking him open so well. His cock is leaking again, looking so goddamn desperate for attention.

You reach to his front and close your fingers around him, jerking him off eagerly. Jimin whimpers, eyelids fluttering open for the sole purpose of letting you watch them roll back.

“Don’t stop, please Mistress”, he croaks, sobbing softly as his entire body burns up from the sensations.

"Such a good slut", you rasp, angling your cock inside of him to really hit his prostate, "I can feel how it loosens you up. You're a needy slut for getting your cock played with, aren’t you?"

Jimin blushes, throbbing in your fingers and squeezing around the pole.

"You are", you chuckle, "I could feel how wet your cute little dick just got."

He closes his eyes and whines. This is so embarrassing. You are calling his cock cute. This is so fucking embarrassing and it’s riling him up like nothing else.

“What is it? Aww, don’t tell me that I still fluster you”, you coo, twisting your hand around his heated tip.

“Oh! O-oh god, Mistress!”

You roll your slickened up finger over his leaking slit, eyes lowering darkly as you watch the pleasure contort his face into the prettiest expression.

“What is it slut?” you ask, thrusts becoming harder now that you have him pulsating around you, “feel good?”

“Yeah so g-good”, he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasps the pole tighter. This is so fucking hot, he is getting fucked, tied to a pole and with his clothes ripped to shreds an hour before the first guests arrive. You were supposed to prepare the club together, make sure everything was okay for the night and yet here you were, soiling the main stage with your nasty sex. He feels so fucking weak. How the hell should he perform tonight when just one touch of the pole will trigger such memories for him? How the hell should he keep himself upright when you fuck him into such a weak state?

“Harder”, he begs because right now all he can truly worry about is whether or not the pleasure will ever end. Those other questions are questions for future him in an hour. Right now he needs to get fucked. Hard and rough.

“Harder?” you sound amused, “oh Jimin, you amuse me”, you say and broaden your stance, “fine I guess I have to show you what I can do.”

Your hand yanks his head back by his hair, the other tilting his hips into an almost unnatural position. Not that this position is unnatural for someone like Jimin. On the contrary, he is chasing the stretch, moaning loudly when your big strap slides even deeper into his greedy hole.

“That’s it. Chase me like the greedy, little slut you are”, your words make him spiral but not as much as the spank which follows does.

“Mistress”, he whimpers, voice pitched. He raises his head, locking his eyes with you.

“Yes Jimin?” you pant, voice heavy in arousal.

“F-feels good”, he whines, before rolling his eyes back in ecstasy.

“Yeah? How good? Go on tell me how good my cock makes you feel”, you growl, burying all of you inside him while twisting your hand around his wet cockhead.

You bask in the way his eyes open in surprise and how his lips part in a shocked moan.

“Tell me”, you growl, repeating what you had done before, “tell me how good that feels.”

“So go-good”, he sobs, making his gloves squeak as he tries to hold himself up.

“I knew it”, you smirk, “you love getting fucked. You’re such a greedy boy.”

“Spank me again please”, he keens, wiggling his ass.

Slap! No hesitation. None.

“Ah yes!” he exclaims, throwing his head back as best as the current position allows him to, “more, please! More!”

With your stomach twisting in pleasure, you spank him again, watching in delight as this makes his sculpted ass jiggle.

Jimin sobs and mewls, writhing desperately and chasing you for another spank.

Spank!

He squeaks and laughs, cheeks wet from his tears and cock leaking constant streams of pleasure.

Spank!

There he is. Your greatest rival. Cock hard, ass stretched out and spanked and soft hair between your fingers while his own ruined briefs tie him to his pole. No, to your pole. For months it was your pole until he stole it.

Spank!

The next one is placed especially roughly, forcing his hips to thrust against nothing and for his body to almost fall down. Not that he can, with his wrist so tightly bound to the pole and his strong arms holding himself up. It does result however in your cock shifting inside him, so you are now able to finally watch how his hole looks as you fuck it open. All loosened up and wet. So goddam pretty.

Spank!

“Please don’t stop! More!” Jimin wails, trembling with each spank and leaking with each thrust.

Spank!

So here you are. Fucking your greatest rival against your pole and fucking loving every second of it.

“Fuck Jimin, this is so good”, you growl, spanking his ass and pulling his head back roughly, “you get fucked so good…”

“Ah, ah”, Jimin moans, convulsing when you spank his ass one last time before reaching to the front again to jerk off his swollen cock, “oh my g-god”, he sobs, knees wobbling and stomach tensing unbearably, “you, you…ah you…”

“What is it? Don’t like it?” you taunt, knowing very well that he is shaking so much because you’ve got him close.

“Close”, he presses out, spilling tears, “please close.”

"Yeah? You’re close? What should I do about that?"

"Don't, don’t, d-don't stop", Jimin stutters, "please oh god, p-please I'm cumming."

“Then fucking cum will you?” you order him, bringing him over the edge with one ruthless thrust right against his prostate.

Jimin wails loudly, barely holding himself up as his entire lower body convulses in his high. Holy fuck your strap is so huge in his small, clenching hole. Your hands feels like heaven and hell around his squirting cock. Your fingers in his hair burn so much from all the tugging they are doing. Jimin swears that for a second he actually passes out from the pleasure, only coming back to you because you slow down your movements and begin kissing up and down his spine.

This just happened.

He whimpers, shivering like crazy. You wrap your arms around him, soothing him by caressing his tummy.

“Good job”, you say, “that was so much cum, you’re such a messy boy.”

“Yeah uh”, he clears his terribly raspy throat, “yeah, fuck. Holy fuck”, he presses out, growing even more limp.

“Are you good? I’ll pull out now, yeah?”

Jimin nods his head, allowing you to work while he is floating on his afterglow. He sighs, squirting out the lube with one eager clench of his well-used hole. You trace it with your fingers, basking in just how soft you fucked it.

“So well fucked. I have to admit, that look suits you so well”, you praise, massaging his sensitive hole while loosening the knot of your impromptu bondage rope.

His arms drop instantly, knees giving up on him as he falls to the ground. You catch him before he can hurt himself somewhere, allowing his head to fall against your chest. He whimpers, wrapping his arm around your waist as he snuggles you for comfort.

“Are you really good?” you ask him, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“No, I’m just…” he exhales shakily, “…holy fuck, that’s how you fuck?”

You chuckle, “yeah, last time I checked that’s how I fuck.”

“What the fuck? How should I perform?” he gasps, looking at you with widened, glassy eyes.

“That’s your thing to figure out. You were the one who wanted me to go harder.”

“Well shit”, he chuckles, “I’m done for, so goddamn done”, he mumbles, making you laugh.

It is three hours into your shift and after Jimin finally finished his performance (which was a little wobbly at first before he really got into it) when you interact with him again. You have just arrived by the wine bar to ask Em for a glass of water now that the Vietnamese businessmen finally left, when you feel Jimin’s hands on your hips, tempting you to turn around.

“Lee just told me that the purple room’s empty til five, wanna go upstairs and continue?” he asks over the loud music, getting his answer by being pulled into a sloppy kiss as you push him away from the bar closer to the door. Maybe you didn’t ever actually hate each other. Maybe all you really hated was the fact that you weren’t fucking each other like animals all day every day.

#jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #jimin oneshot #jimin x reader #jimin x you #sub!jimin #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts oneshot #bts x reader #bts x you #sub!bts #bangtan smut #bangtan fanfic #bangtan x you #fanfic: kinktober22

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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

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So this request goes for human m/female reader morpheus a family gathering with the endless is happening and all hell breaks loose when desire threatens the girl to leave morpheous. He also say cruel thingss to her like how could you believe your better than calliope? He had children with her. She feels he heart breaking because she dreamed of one day being his wife and giving him a family she saw how losing his son affected him. Also she believed he would make a good father and he’s suffered so much at the hands of humans. She was already insecure but after desire said all this things to her by faking they where getting along she saw how much of an outsider she was after they left during the dinner. Desire even after taunts her and tell her to leave morpheous or else scared she does Because she fears for her family and has a mental breakdown.

She leaves morpheous even thoguht she never wanted to. But she felt she had no choice her depression gets worse..

Death , destiny get involved because this affects the dreaming . They also. Get involved because they like her.

Morpheous investigates and finds out what desire did he goes livid with rage yet again he’s has tried to sabotage my happiness. Almost kills him if it not where for death saying that his significant other needs him. Desire receives a toung lashing from death she is scary when she’s mad.

Morpheous goes to his beloved and they reconcile after he’s reassured her that he loves her and that he would do anything to have a family with her and they can start now if she’s wants. They have a really intense romantic night (feel free to add smut if your comfortable)

Desire is still recovering and still scared of what morpheous will do later….

BESTIE!!!! You and your brilliant mind! 😍 I am in love with this prompt and hope you enjoy the way it comes out! Thank you for the request!!!! 🥰

Your troubles all began when you were invited to one of the Endless family dinners in Destiny's garden. Everything seemed to be going great at first. Delirium and Death were doting over you, telling you how excited they were to have you finally join them. Destiny was polite, as was Despair and Dream was proud to have you beside him. It was his rival sibling that had caused the trouble, this you were prepared for. The problem was they were kind to you, overly so.

\While you sat and ate the food Destiny served Desire casually made remarks, worded in a friendly manner but ultimately meant to demean you, something you wouldn't realize until after the fact. They brought up Dreams past lovers, all beauties beyond compare, all individuals he had loved wholly. Again, they were friendly and kind... appearing to just be looking to make conversation and make you feel welcomed. It didn't bother you, you and Dream had already discussed his past relationships at length before he even entertained the idea of letting you attend the family dinner. But then they brought up Calliope, the only one of his past lovers he had married and had a child with, and their friendly demeanor shifted into something spiteful and cruel.

You had met Calliope once, had considered her to be a friend of sorts, but the jealousy you'd felt then was quick to resurface. Calliope was kind and beautiful and she had once had everything you now hoped for. You wanted nothing more than to marry Dream, to start a family and to live beside him for as long as the two of you existed. And Desire knew it, knew it and used it to hurt you... implying you'd never be what she was to him. That you'd never have what they did.

Dream had, of course, shut down their taunts quickly, but the feeling lingered and the dinner had thusly soured. After all was over, Dream spoke with Death while you explored the courtyard Destiny had prepared for the event. This was when Desire approached you, all the friendliness they'd once shown you was gone and in simple words they told you to leave Dream or else. You had little power to fight against them, and knew of the lengths Desire would go to in order to get what they wanted and so, after returning to The Dreaming you quietly packed your things and informed Morpheus of your decision to leave.

You'd given him little answers, and had not stayed long enough for him to beg you to stay. But in doing so, you fell into the deepest and darkest bout of depression and pain that you'd ever felt. No matter how much you reminded yourself that this was the best way to ensure your families safety from Desires whims, and perhaps what would be best for Dream in the long run you could not pull yourself from the depths that now threatened to drown you. Weeks passed and you only grew worse and with you The Dreaming too darkened.

Morpheus was unable to do anything but sit in his throne and stare at the emptiness of his palace. The Dreaming was downing in a never ending sea of rain. Nightmares plagued nearly everyone's dreams and piles of unfinished work surrounded everyone that resided there. It had gotten so bad that eventually Death came to him with the truth of what had happened between you two, a truth she'd learned from Destiny. Death hadn't been prepared for Dream to storm off to his gallery and into Desire's realm. She had followed him and only just managed to stop him from killing their sibling all together. With a hand on his chest she vowed she would handle Desire, while he go to you. Wild eyes and shadows twisting around him Dream offered his sibling one final warning... one that truly made Desire afraid. "I am finished with your games, sibling. If you even think of meddling in my affairs again not even our sister will be able to stop me from coming for you."

When Dream found you, curled into your bed and so clearly afraid and filled with such deep pain and sorrow he went to your side immediately. "Dream? You shouldn't be here... you can't be here."

"It is alright, my love. My sibling shall not threaten you or those you care for ever again." He said softly and he wiped away your tears. "Forgive me for not recognizing their interference sooner."

You melted into him in an instant. "I'm sorry for letting them manipulate me. I was just so worried of what they'd do."

Dream was finally able to relax, for the first time in weeks he felt whole once again. "I was never angry with you. You merely sought to keep yourself and your family safe."

"You are my family too," you told him. "I know we won't ever be like what you and Calliope were, and I know you likely don't want to have a family in the traditional sense but... I'm okay with that. All I need is you."

He chuckled softly. "No, we will not be what Calliope and I were. You and I are far closer than she and I were, the love I bear you is different stronger." Dream tucked your hair behind your ears and held your face in his cold hands tenderly. "As for family. There is nothing I want more in this existence than to have children with you, to see you love them and share your heart with them as you do with me."

With a quiet laugh you looked into his eyes, searching for any indication that he did not mean what he said. "Really?"

"Of course," he assured you. "We can start now, if that is your wish."

"Start now?" You giggled. "I did not expect you to be so eager."

"I will always be eager to be with you." He pressed a long kiss to your lips, hands pulling you impossibly close to him as you melted beneath his touch. Dream only pulled away when you were breathless, moving his lips down the long column of your throat, carefully pulling your arms free of your sleeves and peppering kisses along your collarbones. "I will never grow tired of hearing you moan beneath me, of seeing you tremble when I touch you. You, my love, are perfect."

He knew exactly what to say, where to kiss and touch to reduce you to a moaning and whimpering mess. And so you and your Dream Lord spent the following hours and days lost in one another. The skies cleared in The Dreaming upon your return and they filled with the brightest rays of sunlight and starlight when the two of you discovered you were with child. The life and family you had wanted for so long was at last within your reach.

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justaboutsnapped · 3 months

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Okay, I'll bite. What's the 'brocedes' thing?

Oh BOY. ok. They're called brocedes because bro (self explanatory) + cedes (they were teammates at Mercedes fighting for the championship) and they are just the most agonising sports yaoi to ever exist... no one can summarise it better than this post can: https://www.tumblr.com/blorbocedes/695765804309004288

while you read it keep in mind that all of this is fucking REAL. all of it can be backed up by sources. they DID go from childhood best friends & karting teammates who went on vacation together to f1 besties living in the same building to bitter teammates (what they've wanted since day one) and rivals who played the most insane mind games. they destroyed each other because they knew each other that well. ig they loved winning more than they loved each other.

there are sooo many details omitted in the rundown that I linked that I constantly lose my mind over too like... yes their relationship was obviously falling apart but they still had incredibly tender/sweet moments in the middle of their warring like??? i wish i'd understand.

They butted heads (or cars i suppose) numerous times over the years but there's one absolutely infamous crash (every reddit bro recounting crashes or whatnot will talk about this one) in Spain 2016, where they took each other out at the very beginning of the race, thus truly cementing the "divorce":

anyways Nico retired almost immediately after winning the championship in 2016 (something practically unheard of) but their story didn't end there. there's nico running from lewis' champagne spray on instinct even though they're no longer friends. there's nico publicly mourning the loss of their friendship, versus lewis going out of his way to find the most convoluted phrasing to avoid mentioning the other by name (he was fooling no one)... there's crofty (well-known pundit) calling brocedes "everything but a lover" on live television, TO NICO'S FACE. there's lewis reminiscing about how racing with Nico in italy was some of the best days of his life (and he put little Nico into his autobiographical picture book. god.) there's nico just knowing that Lewis held his breath on his pole lap in Hungary 2023 before Lewis even said so because of course he'd know him better than anyone else. I can go on and on here because they have years upon years of lore but i shan't.

oh and one of my favourite things: F1's official channel as this wonderful little compilation called "Top 10 Cool Down Room Moments in F1" (the cool down room is for the top 3 finishers of each race) and brocedes appears multiple times. Watch the 2008 clip at 1:40 with them embracing after Nico's first podium finish vs. the 2015 clip at 6:05 where their relationships as teammates were already deterioriating. The difference is heartbreaking.

And finally have some pictures of them over the years:

genuinely devastating comparison edit I made. I hate them so much.

this ad is from the beginning of their stint as Mercedes teammates and it always kills me. they didn't know what was coming. nico, in fact, was confident that they'd stay friends:

The end. hope you enjoyed this sort of lengthy and incoherent answer to your question. I'm going to now throw myself out the window.

#chinese ppl if u see the watermark... feel free to add me on weibo #cryoverkiltmilk #answered asks

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sugarcherriess · 2 years

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For the 1k headcanon requests (i hope I'm understanding how this works)

Kevin-tbz, soulmate bestfriends to lovers

Sunwoo-tbz, soulmate older brother's bestfriend

Q-tbz, rivals to lovers

(yes I'm slightly in a soulmate phase rn)

Since you didn’t specify a genre I’m gonna make them all fluff bc of the cute tropes 🥹🥹

All three are under the cut!

Soulmate Best Friends to Lovers with Kevin Moon:

I won’t even try to act like the first that that came to my brain after reading Kevin and soulmates in the same sentence wasn’t that one hc about soulmates getting the same birthmark in the same place on their bodies

Now imagine you and Kev being best friends since you were in diapers

It’s been a blissful few years with both of you being ambitious when it comes to love

You’ve dated people on and off, never really finding the one since yk, you both never had the soulmate mark

Kevin on the other hand prefers to keep it low and wait.

Which according to you is incredibly boring

However, one date of yours is a real bust

Like the kind of bust that makes you go straight to Kevins house and cry about love not being real

“I’m going to be 90 and still not have a partner,”

“You should be more worried about your inevitable toothless mouth at 90 thanks to all the icecream you’re eating,”

You stick out your tongue at him and continue to eat your icecream

“Turn around i have to change,” he orders you so that he can change into his pajamas.

The impromptu sleepover was your idea

“And if i dont? What do you have to hide, loser,” you jab at him

And he rolls his eyes but continues taking off his shirt

You keep your eyes on the tub of icecream for the most part

Only accidentally looking over at him once through your tear stricken eyes

And that’s when you see it

Kevin’s fucking jacked

No! Not that!

Kevin has the exact same birthmark on his back as you.

In the exact same place. In the exact same shape.

“Kev…” “hm?” “We’re soulmates,” “of course we are, i can recognise you from the sound of your piss stream–“ “no i mean. We’re /soulmates/ soulmates”

Kevin pauses at that

Then he turns and you explain to him what you just figured out. How you both spent almost half your expected lifetime without seeing your marks and connecting the dots is beyond you

Surely both marks being behind your backs was a huge factor

However it leaves you both stuck to your places

Until you talk it through and realise

You’ve never really been textbook best friends ever.

This new knowledge opens up a whole new pandora box of evident behaviours that made you seem beyond just best friends to everyone

“Guess our friends weren’t lying that we act more like couples than actual couples,,”

Your preestablished chemistry makes this easier to digest. But you dont jump too early into a relationship

You promise eachother to take it slow and see whether or not you can work as a couple

And of course you do

Kissing each other? Going on dates? Adoring each other’s every idea– stupid or not stupid, all of it came easy to you

Gradually you two became a thing

“So are we supposed to act like this is something new” – literally your entire friend group when you two meet up with them hand in hand, finally an exclusive couple

Soulmate Older Brother’s Best Friend with Sunwoo:

Older brother’s bestie Sunwoo?

Sunwoo who adores you and thinks you’re the cutest person in the world?

Sunwoo who’s so so soooo overprotective over you that he even surpasses your brother?

Sunwoo who wants you to join them in every activity and personally comes to your room to check up on you and hang out when he comes over?

Yes to all of the above

You’re absolutely infatuated with this man

Like i mean it

He’s so caring and warm and endearing

And he’s so funny

He listens to you and cares about you

If you ever go out somewhere, Sunwoo would be more high alert than your brother

He would text you every hour to check in

Would ask you whether you’ve had food and hydrated

And would lovingly blackmail you into feeding and hydrating if you haven’t

Would stay up with you on days that you had work late in the night

He would also help you do your homework if you need help!

Like if you’re bored at any hours of the day, you can call him up and he’ll be at your doorstep to take you out for a drive or to lay in and watch a dumb movie

Sometimes it feels like he’s more with you than he is with your big brother

So it’s not unnatural that one day your brother finds Sunwoo in your room and drags him away

“He’s MY best friend, stop hogging him!!????”

But you wont let go

Or so your brother thinks

“Ummmm”

You two don’t know how to explain what the fuck is going on when your brother looks back to tell you to let Sunwoo go.

Would you look at that, a red string of fate connects both your pinkies together!!!!!

And no matter how much your older brother pulls, it would not break!!!

You brother is taking it relatively well than you would’ve assumed

“Sigh, you gotta willingly come with me man. I won’t be able forcefully take pull you away,” he rolls his eyes

You cant even make eye contact with Sunwoo because of how shy you’ve gotten at this newfound intimacy with someone you’ve admired for so long.

“Yeah okay I’ll meet you in a sec,” Sunwoo assures your brother to make him leave

And as soon as he does, Sunwoo’s rushing his way back to you, warm hands grabbing your face as his lips land on yours in a passionate smooch

“I’ll see you later,” he promises and then leaves after his best friend

The later comes only ten minutes after that as he can not help but feel empty when he’s away from you much to the dismay of your brother 😔💔

Rivals to Lovers with Ji Changmin/Q:

Everyone always talks abt dance rivals Q x reader now lets talk about ART MAJORS Q x reader

You’ve been stuck in a perpetual rivalry since college began because highschool might’ve not mattered but this does and you need to be the best is the philosophy you both live by

And you both have to submit a final sculpture by the end of the year

This is your project that will dictate who gets to ride the college’s ass for the rest of your degree with regards to the opportunities on a global scale as well as other benefits

And you need to be the one on top

But then so does Changmin

Its a shame really because you could’ve been such great friends and your collective power of absolute cunt serving would leave others in the dust had it not been for you being forced into a competition with eachother

And its petty, the way you both bicker in every class and in every practical

If you say one thing he says another

If he agrees on one idea you present a completely different one

You two refuse to let the other have the last word and the rest of the study body and the profs are sick of it

So sick that the administration considers it necessary to fix this issue themselves so that this doesn’t negatively effect the establishment’s image

So they plan a trip!

A trip to an art museum where you have to choose a trip partner and use this trip to gather inspiration and brainstorm ideas with eachother

Oh did I mention that this project is in pairs?

And did i mention you two are paired together

The trip begins as usual

Bickering about not leaving enough space on the bus for the other

Bickering about being too noisy

Bickering about being too… *reads scribble on hand* there???

“Can you stop breathing so loud near me?”

“Only if you stop breathing at all,”

Cue eyes rolling from the rest of the student body

However, begrudgingly, you two become civil whilst inside the museum

Both of you are quiet at first

But then you start figuring out that you have so many things in common

Like the kind of art form you’re most passionate about

Your favourite sculptors

Your favourite stroke techniques

The works yk?

Its a gradual process but you two go from not even accepting each others presence for one minute to spending hours holed up in the art room sketching up ideals and laying out plans for your project

During the course of that project you two get more and more understanding

To the point when one of you is always bringing coffee for the other and the other is always offering to pay for food

When its the day of the final display, your and Changmin’s work gets the most praise

And then its time to part

And your hearts ache 🥹🥹🥹🥹

Its a sad sad goodbye

And finally, after several gruesome hours of fighting your egos, you both hit each other up

“I realised we have so much potential as individuals and it would be fascinating to see how much we can reinforce that potential if we work together,”

“Ji Changmin are you proposing to work on the final project together?”

“Yes and.. I also thought we could go get coffee… as a date,”

And there begins the turning point of your venomous glares gettign replaced by heart eyes for each other

The mouths that used to strike each other like spears now locked together in a battle of tonsil hockey

He’s def the type of bf to walk with his hands in the back pocket of your jeans 😤

The End 💘

#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Adonis Speaks #the boyz scenarios #changmin fluff #sunwoo fluff #the boyz fluff #kevin fluff #kevin moon fluff #q fluff #sunwoo scenarios #Changmin scenarios #kevin scenarios #kevin moon scenarios

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emiko-fan-2podcasterin · 9 months

Text

Ok so funny thing, me and my bestie were just searching for a new show to watch and we stumbled upon „The Files of Young Kindaichi - 2022“ with Shunsuke Michieda on Disney plus…

AND let me tell you, if you watch the first few episodes (the first case) and tell me that this isn’t basically Shinichi solving cases with Ran and a slightly more competent Megure I won’t believe you

So me and my friend did some investigating regarding the series and it seems like the original was a manga first published 1992 with the same story, including the high school detective with childhood friend turned lover, a arrogant detective rival AND a magician gentleman thief

Conan was first published 1996 and if it wasn’t for the whole Shinichi becoming Conan plot I would say that the series could almost be a copy or at least was very strongly influenced by Kindachi but alas both of them are also influenced by at least two other detective novels (Sherlock & Akechi) so if I would go far enough I would probably end up with Dupin or even something earlier than that lol

But I don’t know maybe they both got the same idea at the same time but Gosho published later and added a twist that made Detective Conan obviously much more popular

As it is I encourage every detective Conan fan to watch the series because it’s really great and deserves a lot of attention

#detective conan #conan edogawa #shinichi kudo #kindaichi shounen no jikenbo #kindaichi case files #the files of young kindaichi

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yeahthatwouldbedark · 10 months

Text

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse.

Chapter 6

22.9k words

December 15th

Her hands sting as she applies soothing cream on her palm on which there lies a network of channels of dry, inflamed skin. December is anything but kind. But is the weather to blame for forgetting to care for her body and appearance? Yet, it seems she is not alone in her suffering because the moment Rin starts rubbing his hand together after she has squirted some cream onto the back of Rin’s hand, he winces and cusses out loud. There is no one to hear them anyway. She doubts anyone would stumble upon them if they were to run around naked.

Y/n almost wonders why it was that they chose to sit down here of all places; on the grass when the sidewalk is right up the hill and a few kilometers to the south there is a convenience store where they could slurp some spicy ramen. I suppose they wished for the privacy of utter solitude, ruptured occasionally only by the cars rushing by, few and far between. They need the sporadic interruption to bring them down to earth when their conversations have soared too far above. There goes another car, the passengers utterly oblivious to their existence.

“So…” He starts, grimacing as he spreads the cream between his cold fingers. “You’ve made up your mind then.”

At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. But there’s only one thing she could be contemplating, that they would have caught wind of from Ayame.

Y/n shrugs and thrusts the tube inside her backpack among her books and pens.

“Pretty much.” She confirms. Beside her, Suna glances at her before looking forward to avoid being caught. “Why?”

Rin sighs just as a gust of cold wind blows their way. Both of them shiver and look at each other as if to confirm they are not alone in the agony stemming from their unfathomable stupidity.

Successfully suppressing a smile, he says, “Not gonna tell you what to do but…

His trailing off has her staring intently as he expects her to simply guess the remainder of his sentence.

“But what?” Y/n tilts her head and places her fist near his mouth. “Speak into the mic, Suna-sama.”

Sighing, Rin rests his forearms on his knees. “You could move into an apartment in the building where I live.”

“Why?” She asks, lowering her fist on her lap.

“To keep an eye on you?” Upon meeting her gaze, he adds, “Someone has to.”

Y/n rolls her eyes and is about to respond with a light-hearted jab at his irresponsible nature being far worse than hers, when his ringtone beats her to it as he fishes it out of the pocket of his black padded coat (they’re matching by the way) and grimaces at the screen. Breath coming out in puffs of steam, he brings the device to his ear.

“I’ve been busy.” He says.

In the meantime, Y/n pulls out blades of grass and starts dividing them into strips as thin as she can make them. She often does this when the silence is too loud, a silence that asphyxiates instead of alleviating the unease of the person that dwells in it. One by one, bit by bit, the blades of grass are as thin as individual strands of hair, something in which she finds comfort. Now the grass is something she can relate to.

Next to her, Rin tenses and presses his knuckles against his thigh, cracking them as if to provide some relief for the discomfiting conversation he’s been thrust into. At least, Y/n deduces it is discomfiting by the frown that has his face contorted in an expression of barely suppressed frustration. He could explode at any moment, Y/n thinks, and might go as far as to catapult the poor phone further down the hill.

“Yeah.” He speaks again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

When she glances at him, Y/n meets his eyes. A small smile rises triumphantly on his lips. But it is gone as soon as it appears, leaving her less than two seconds to enjoy it, to respond to it with a tilt of her own lips.

“No.” He responds with a deadpan face, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, nearing a shrill cry, and Rin pulls the phone away from his ear as if to lessen the blow. “Because I don’t wan- okay fine, fine. Don’t yell. Your blood pressure’s gonna skyrocket. Bye. Yes, I will. Now, bye. See you.”

Rin makes no effort to conceal his discontent with how he sighs, grunts, shoves the phone in his pocket and viciously zips it up to the point where he has to check he hasn’t accidentally ruined the zipper. As soon as he calms down, Y/n abandons the blades of grass, leaving them at the mercy of the wind, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and lays her head upon her knees. She’s glad for the padded coat, as it serves as a cushion. Were it not for Rin seething with malcontent she would allow her consciousness to be swept off its feet, carried away by the wind. The cold be damned.

“Your grandma?” Y/n asks, knowing only his grandma could force him to do things he normally would never care to do.

He nods. “She wants to parade me to her circle of friends in hopes of getting me to settle down with one of their nieces.”

At this, Y/n makes a sound resembling the lovechild of a snort and a snicker.

“Good luck to her.”

Only a few moments pass after which Rin turns to her with an expression bordering on… pleading? He reaches for her and sinks his fingers into her frizzy mane (the cold isn’t doing her any favors). The sensation of ice-cold fingers gently pressing into her scalp has her almost wanting to lean into his touch and trying to escape the soothing contact in equal measure.

When his words reach her ear, they sound just as pleading and annoyed as his bearing appears. “Can you do me a favor?”

Y/n’s eyebrows join in confusion.

“What kind?” She inquires.

Before every uncomfortable revelation, comes the comical pause.

“Come with me and pretend we’re dating so I can get my grandma and those hags off my back.”

Seeing as he has, for years, pretended to be her “boyfriend” during gatherings, his shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. Yet, she sits there, stunned and rooted to the spot. Even she can understand that what he’s asking of her is vastly different from pulling pranks or joking around. His grandma is not one of the douchebags at random parties or the waiters they lie to in order to get free couples’ desert. If he takes this thing a step further, it would be as if they are truly together. It wouldn’t matter that they knew the truth, because the person who raised him would be living in a separate reality.

She racks her brains for a satisfying response. All the while, Rin’s eyes roam her face in search of a definite answer.

“I think you’d have better chances convincing her you’re dating someone else.” Is what she settles for.

Exhausted, Rin presses on, “Because the people I’m fucking definitely wouldn’t start deluding themselves.”

For some reason, Y/n finds his exasperation funny.

“No, I just think they’re better actors.” She says, pausing for effect and watching as his curious gaze sweeps over her, “Seeing how they have to fake their orgasms nightly.”

Just as she predicted he would, Rin scoffs and laughs it off, letting go of her. On the other hand, Y/n is overcome by the desire to indulge him, to make good on her promise to him and herself; no more outside looking in. This is so far out of her comfort zone that nausea builds up in her throat at the mere thought of him being seen with someone like her. Because what if an acquaintance of hers spotted them roaming the streets? What would they say of Rin? Would they embarrass her in public, thus humiliating him? Suddenly, the cruelty of the cold seems unbearable. Around her legs, her arms tighten.

“I don’t mind coming with you if you don’t.”

Her answer lightens the mood. A tilt of his lips is more than enough to light up his entire face. Contentment bleeds through his glittering irises. Y/n wishes for nothing more than to chase the sparkles in his eyes like fireflies, and she is given the chance to do just that when his fingers find shelter in her hair once more, pulling her ever so close.

Face less than three inches from hers, he whispers teasingly, “My favorite person.”

If she had any inkling of the ferity of his thoughts, she might be able to understand that the atmosphere is that of sexual tension. But she’s neither high, nor drunk, so this state of sobriety renders her incapable of playfulness of that degree. This and the fact that she doesn’t believe he would flirt with her with the intent to seduce her. It’s just to tease her, she convinces herself.

That’s why, when another gust of wind depletes the last remnants of warmth, Y/n finds herself rolling her eyes.

“Your favorite person is about to freeze to death.” She mutters, burying her face further into her knees.

His grip on the roots of her hair tightens for an instant before he lets go. “Better take you home then.”

And all of a sudden, she’s being hauled to her feet by two strong arms, and the hood of her padded jacket is thrown over her head. Feeling stupid for having forgotten to cover her head, she instantly buttons up the front, securing the hood so the wind can’t knock it back. Of course, Rin gives her small teasing smile, joining her in their journey up the hill.

“Yeah, before Ayame and Haru come back.” She mutters, hoping Rin won’t hear.

“I’m taking you to mine, baby.”

Her head snaps up at him. He merely takes her hand in his and begins walking faster to work up their muscles and generate warmth. Lord knows why he even brought her here. Rin himself is at a loss for how fucking stupid he can be to be honest. If she gets sick, he’s bringing her to his dorm and feeding her shrimp pizza to make up for it. Opportunistic and proud.

“We gotta rehearse all the possible scenarios my grandma could hit us with.” He can tell they’re close to the top by the sound of a car whooshing by. She tries to keep up but slips more than once, and each time he helps her back on her feet. “Let’s hope we don’t slip up in front of her.”

December 20th

It should be noted that… Rin doesn’t like going home. By home I mean the place where he was raised by his grandma. All she does is pester him, smother him, and tell him he should settle down now that he is an adult. Her views on what constitutes virtue, a noble way of life, and a decent human being differ from his. In the end, they quarrel. He goes to his childhood bedroom as she begs him to listen to her because she only wants what’s best for him. Rin always refuses.

Yet, there is only so much running he can do before he once again succumbs to his grandmother’s wishes and returns to the hearth. Every time, he has been alone, listening to the other hags badmouth him to his face with a smile as his grandma watches on, eyes cast down. This time, however, he has an ally, a ride-or-die whose presence will surely make them hold their tongues. After all, he’s now “taken”. They can no longer force him to date their granddaughters.

During the train ride, Rin is aware of her flitting, anxious gaze that settles on a random part of him before once again relocating. Her behavior reminds him of the mannerisms of a skittish animal in a small cage, fighting against the slim metal bars, forever distrustful of the human observing it, fearing that the next moment will bring a fate close to death but far crueler. And Y/n is nothing if not distrustful of everyone around her. The only things she doesn’t seem to regard with dread are natural phenomena. Cloistered inside her room beneath at least four layers of blankets, there is no storm so rancorous as to shake the foundations of her peace. Even now, she sits in front of him, her gaze at last settling on the hail laying waste to crops as the train flashes past them. The sky darkens, and the sweat on her forehead gradually evaporates. The storms ravage the fields, and her breathing slows to a rhythm as serene as Christmas lights turning on and off at a drowsy pace. Without Rin noticing, his chest mimics hers.

They’re hauling their luggage out of the train when Rin decides to make a promise wholly unusual of him.

“One of these days I’ll take you dancing in a snowstorm.”

Fixing her scarf so it covers her pink nose, Y/n says, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“I’ll make you dance until you fall.”

He takes hold of her suitcase before she has a chance to protest and leads them both away from the tracks and to where taxi drivers have parked in search of potential passengers. The trip is long enough to allow them some time to take in the sight of the buildings, the frozen buckets filled with water that has frozen entirely, people scurrying to find shelter in cafes and convenience stores… until the sky runs out of rain so that snow can pelt the streets again. Nothing impresses Rin (he grew up here anyway). What eats away at him is the possibility that Y/n might not like his childhood home, however slight it may be. To cope with these thoughts, he takes to scrolling on his phone before his eyes shift to where she sits with her head angled toward the glass, gloved fingertips trapped between her lips. A picture wouldn’t hurt, right? Not if she’s in the dark about it.

His childhood home is by no means small. In fact, his grandmother was so successful as a sex worker back in the day that she was able to purchase a home that could comfortably house four people. As a child, Rin had always found it odd that there were so many rooms when relatives rarely visited and never stayed the night. The two of them were, for lack of better circumstances, alone in the world. Now he understood, as best as he could, that there had always burned an inextinguishable yearning for a family within his grandmother. His mother and the rest had always looked the other way and let it burn alone. Rin was the only one who stood before it, soaking up its warmth.

So why is his voice nearly trembling as he wraps his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders? Why is he shivering inside a home so warm?

“How have you been?” He asks her, not having the courage to pull away from someone who is overjoyed to see him after months of being absent from home. So, he lets himself float in this uncertainty, glancing at Y/n. Their eyes meet. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

His grandmother pulls away first. Her smile lines deepen as she cradles his face in her callused palms.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” She tells him and he could swear she sounds out of breath, “And that you’ve brought your girlfriend with you.”

To be clear, the entire world and their mothers know that Rin is not a shy person. Truth be told he’s perplexingly blunt and unapologetic about plenty of things. However, having a girlfriend and Y/n being that supposed girlfriend is nothing short of uncharted territory, especially when being labeled as such by someone other than the two of them. This is part of the reason why he is momentarily stunned upon hearing those words mentioned in the same sentence.

Shaking it off with a slight smile, Rin places his palm on his grandma’s shoulder.

“Grandma, this is L/n Y/n.” He introduces, watching the glint of contentment come back to life in the old woman’s eyes, “Y/n, grandma.”

Y/n gives a 90-degree bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This time, his grandmother’s teeth can be seen as she finds it impossible to suppress a grin. Y/n takes the time to study her features. She can’t help but compare them to Rin’s. Kobayashi Tadame and Suna Rintaro, she determines look nothing alike. His features are angular whereas hers are round, be it their eyes or their cheekbones. His eyes are green while hers are brown like tree bark. His lips are full with a slight sharpness to the cupid bow and hers are small and pouty. He has to lean down to hug her for she is shorter even than Y/n. Where he is slightly unruly and direct, she is all ironed shirts and propriety. Overall, there isn’t much likeness to be found between Rin and his grandmother.

“The pleasure is all mine. You look lovely, dear.” The grandmother turns to Rin as if to help him remember what he could never forget, “She is lovely.”

The compliment is received with a whispered gratitude on Y/n’s end. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Come on, the living room is warm. I got it all ready for you.”

Without further ado, his grandmother starts ushering them forward, the suitcases rattling from behind as they speed walk down the corridor. On the walls hang pictures of his grandmother and him throughout the years; the first time he ate cotton candy after his mother passed away, that one time he made a snowman out of dough, his first volleyball match, him and his teammates the night before they all set off to college, and so on. Y/n takes it in like wine, already drunk on the evidence of his experiences. One could say she perceives the world through the memorabilia of other people’s lives.

She is pulled back to the present when Rin points out the kotatsu in the living room, all but running toward it to sneak under it like a toddler being left off the parental leash at a playground. To Y/n’s surprise, grandma gently guides her to where Rin is currently lying on his back, scrolling through his phone. Unbeknownst to her or his grandma, he’s hyperaware of every bit of interaction between the two and is willingly excluding himself from the narrative. If he intervenes, he fears it will only be for the worse.

“My grandson has come home with the girl he loves.” His grandmother says, now making her way to the kitchen, “I want you to be warm and comfortable.”

Once the elderly woman has disappeared behind the curtain that separates the two rooms, Y/n occupies the space in the kotatsu next to Rin who puts his phone down and speaks in a low voice.

“I guarantee she’s made shrimp pizza from scratch.”

Curious, she turns to look at him, “Why?”

Rin shrugs. “Because I told her that’s your favorite. Look.”

As if on cue, grandma pushes aside the curtain and enters the living room carrying two plates of steaming slices of godliness.

“She’s hell-bent on making you stay.” He elbows her on the arm. “You can’t leave me now that you’re being spoiled rotten by my granny.”

“Watch me.”

“Uhuh. Gonna give you a head start.”

After placing both plates on the table along with the two cans of coke, grandma relishes the two of them as they dig in.

“Here, are you two warm?” The kind woman asks, “Do you need me to bring you some more tea?”

The two of them shake their heads.

If you wish to know, I could tell you what is running through her mind at present. How could she be thinking about anything other than the fact that her grandson has finally found someone to care for in the way she wishes she had been cared for in her youth? Both the boy and the girl are deserving of these slivers of joy that companionship can grant them, far and few between though they may be. She can see it… the slivers coming to life as they trade slices, shoving them into their mouths, licking their fingers one second, and snickering about it the next. The moment turns turbulent when a knock comes at the door.

Their mirth dies down as the rapping of the knuckles at the door becomes more insistent. Rin looks at his grandma, trying to glean a response from his grandma. In turn, she avoids his gaze as if meeting it would brand the truth on her eyelids.

“That’ll be Mrs. Nakamura and Mrs. Fujimoto.” She mutters instead, wiping her hands on the midnight blue apron. “They insisted to know when you were coming. I will go let them in.”

She’s barely out of the living room when Y/n hears Rin groan exasperatedly.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath.

Before she can ask him if these guests are the ones who insult him every time he comes home, she gets her answer as Rin takes to just punching random apps on his phone the moment the two women peek inside. Like most old women middle-aged women do when presented with fresh meat whose insecurities they can identify and exploit, these women are not even two introductions in, when they do what they do best.

“She’s so petite.” Mrs. Fujimoto, a woman of stout build, chortles as she takes a seat next to Y/n. “Are you sure you can handle him?”

Frowning at the woman, Y/n shifts closer to Rin.

“Handle him?” She asks, conscious that her thigh is pressing against his.

“Oh, you know,” Laughs Mrs. Nakamura, waving her confusion off as something negligible. “When he gets angry at you, can you hit him back?”

No, I can’t. That is the first thing that pops into her head, her involuntary response. Ashamed that she would think to respond with that, she looks everywhere but Rin, whose gaze is trained on her side profile. It is as if he’s waiting for her to speak, to defend him, to make good on her promise. Yet her lips are sealed and her throat is clogged as if with blocks of cement. Now aware of the situation, Rin takes matters into his own hands.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Mrs. Nakamura’s eyes narrow with feigned mirth.

“Oh, come on,” She “jests”, “You’re young and you’ve always been an impulsive boy. It’s only normal that you would get angry from time to time.”

As if the insinuation that Rin is abusive wasn’t cruel enough, Mrs. Fujimoto picks up where her friend left off.

“My granddaughter is still heartbroken, you little rascal.” She says with just as much forced amusement, laughing as she reaches out to “playfully” smack Rin on the arm.

Finding her touch repulsive, he instinctively retracts his arm and hides it under the kotatsu, where he tries to erase her touch with the scrape of his nails. I shouldn’t have trimmed them, he thinks.

“What does that have anything to do with this?” He groans, “I never hit her.”

Mrs. Fujimoto doesn’t take kindly to being defied, “Do not-

“Rin doesn’t get angry at me.”

The words have passed the threshold of her lips before Y/n can think to stop them. She can feel Rin ceasing to rub his arm raw beneath the thick blanket, his gaze trailing up to her face once more. For the first time, she’s glad for the stubbornness of her thoughts.

“He asks how I’m doing even when I want to be alone, hugs me even if I can’t always do the same.” The more she speaks, the bolder she feels, “Only people who don’t understand him would assume he’s a violent person.”

A tense sort of silence settles in the living room. Each second is viscous, stretchy, refusing to fall down or clatter by all at once. The five of them are submerged in a substance akin to amber, preventing them from forging ahead, preserving the audacity of her words in their original state. Yet for her words to fossilize, they must first die in their ears.

“How rude.” Scoffs Mrs. Nakamura, her face turned up in distaste.

Before Y/n can say anything to make things escalate, Rin gently takes hold of her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs, angel.” He says, helping her to her feet.

So, they leave the two women to their incessant, ill-intended murmuring, as the desperate calls of Rin’s grandmother follow them up to his bedroom. He can only sigh, ashamed that Y/n had to witness all that, had to become part of the schemes of bored middle-aged women so dissatisfied with the life they have made for themselves (or the lack of it) that the most interesting topic they can bring up is the sex life of a soon-to-be nineteen-year-old. Truly, he wishes he could dig a grave and lie there naked in the snow, eaten raw by the winter storm.

The key is turned. Stars spill into the hallway from the aperture in the door before it opens wide and everything inside is awash in starlight. Inside they go and the door clicks shut behind them, dulling the sound of conversation in the living room downstairs. Mouth open in awe, Y/n gazes up at the ceiling, engraving the sight of fluorescent galaxies in her brain⸺ magenta, aquamarine, bottle green, silver, sapphire, neon pink, and baby blue. She swears she can feel the breath of the universe on her cheeks, the fog, and the clarity of it surrounding her. Her eyes swim in it.

She thinks about how Rin must have stayed awake as a child to look at them. Ensorcelled by them. He must have been so adorable.

“Did you or your grandma paint this?” She says, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“I did. First year in high school.” Answers Rin, who fishes his phone out of the pocket of his padded coat and places discards it on the bed. “Before there were only stars up there. The kind you see in cartoons. The moon was in the center.” Only when his finger comes into view, pointing up at the center of the ceiling, does Y/n notice him standing next to her. “Right there.”

As difficult as it is to tear her gaze from the work of art, she does so in favor of rendering her words as sincerely as possible.

“It’s ethereal.” She tells him.

In turn, Rin regards her with a look of bewilderment and amusement.

“That look.” He begins, hand tenderly resting on her shoulder as he leans down to her eye level, “It’s just like the first time I saw you.”

She can’t know in great detail how it felt for him to catch sight of her for the very first time. She’d been sitting on the front steps of her aunt’s house, scratching her ankle from time to time after a mosquito had bitten her. Summer shit. And he was looking from his cousin’s balcony, thinking that she looked high enough to invite a stranger into her home and stare at them until they confessed to having committed war crimes. To this day he doesn’t know how he was able to perceive her as anything but a Roblox character with him having just woken up from an afternoon nap. But he’d known then, that her eyes were piercing, scrutinizing, and so soft. Upon meeting her he’d decided that her lips must feel as soft as her eyes looked.

Even now, as she returns his gaze and cracks a small smile, he is glad to be proven right once again.

“Leaving my mark on the world I see.” She jokes, moving toward the bed.

He follows right after, taking his shirt off. “And you weren’t even high.”

“Achievement unlocked.” She pulls the sweater over her head, giggling.

After changing into their pajamas which for Y/n involved more than simply putting their clothes on, meaning that skincare was mandatory and an absolute non-negotiable, they both sneak beneath the sheets. Instantly, Rin is the first to get close enough that Y/n can count the fleck of stardust in his eyes. Rin can tell… he can tell she wants to hold his face in her hands, more so because her hands twitch where she rests them on the pillowed space between them. Consequently, he decides to be the one to, once again, put himself forward like a sacrificial offering to an entity of unpredictable disposition.

“I think…” He whispers, resting his forehead against hers, “I think I would’ve been much happier had I brought you here sooner.”

A beat later she whispers back, her voice rife with nervousness, “Why?”

Her mint breath fans his lips and it makes him smile.

“We would have been able to do this every weekend if we’d lived in the same neighborhood.” Feeling more audacious than usual, he angles his face so that she can feel him too, “Even if your parents didn’t let you.”

Bold of you to assume they would notice I was gone. “You would’ve let me steal into your bedroom?”

Rin hums in affirmation, “And my bed.”

The way that line is delivered, teasingly and humorously, would have made anyone laugh. But Suna Rintaro is in no way joking. So, it is at once relieving and disappointing when he feels her breath on his parted lips and her precious giggle in his ears once more.

“You know?”

Her voice has his eyes fluttering open. Rin doesn’t have to try his hardest to look into her eyes. That soft, intrusive gaze is all that is required to transfix him.

The boy manages to get two words out, “Know what?”

“Your eyes sparkle.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Like there’s this type of glitter in your irises. It makes your eyes look even prettier.”

This isn’t the first time Rin is complimented about his eyes and it won’t be the last. But he wants to hear it more. Wants her to look into him and gather all the glitters she sees in his eyes so that he can be as much in awe of them as she is. He wants that glitter scattered on her eyelids. He wants it painted on her lips. To help her understand, he takes her hand and rests the thumb on the corner of his eye. As if pulled by some gravitational force greater than that of Earth, his eyelids droop until he can see nothing and feel everything. The coldness of her skin. The light scrape of her nails as she runs her fingers across the lid and then his lower lashes. Her breathing as it slows down so it matches his.

The following day, December 21st, they do nothing of importance except for helping Grandma around the house (things are still a bit awkward after the mishap of the night before but she always smiles at them) and run errands here and there. Other than that, the two of them spend their day lying on his bed wearing pajamas, scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetic pictures, listening to Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, and watching movies on his laptop, namely the Avatar movies. It’s not like they haven’t watched the first Avatar movie before but it’s just one of those movies you don’t tire of revisiting time and time again.

Outside, it is dark when Rin drops an enlightening thought.

“Imagine if humans could do that too.” He says, pointing at Jake and Neytiri connecting through their hair, “Orgasms everywhere.”

Y/n nods, “Especially on all fours.”

Rin doesn’t let that shit go until they both fall asleep, his chest pressed against her back. Being her friend, he can’t help but want to be near her always, stuck to her skin like hardened wax. Isn’t it convenient that it’s December? Now he can sling his arm across her middle as they drift off, which she doesn’t seem to mind given that her fingertips lazily dance across his knuckles. Then they rest.

It's December 22nd and they’re headed to Miya Osamu’s restaurant just 30 minutes on foot. Both of them are in their padded coats (since the other kinds just won’t cut it if the snow painting the sidewalks white is to be used as a criterion for judgment), thick scarves, and gloves so thick that neither of them can feel their fingers. Both of them are also lost because Rin claims to never have been to this part of the town.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Y/n asks for the seventh time (I’ve counted).

Rin groans and tries to figure out the bullshit on the screenshot of google maps he took prior to leaving the house.

“Cut me some slack.” The picture refuses to be zoomed in as he is wearing gloves. The snow isn’t helping either. “This is my first time visiting his place.”

Y/n mirrors his groan. “Well, now I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

“This isn’t a doctor’s appointment.” He peels off his right glove and wipes the screen on the inside of his pocket. “He isn’t expecting us to be there by 6 PM sharp.”

“But what if he’s upset because we ruined his schedule?”

Rin raises an eyebrow at her. “He isn’t like you.”

Scoffing, Y/n adjusts the scarf so that not even a quarter of an inch is exposed to the cold.

“I expect nothing less from an Aquarius headass.” She mumbles.

Confident that he finally got it right, Rin puts his glove back on and then grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her so they’re both facing the road.

“It’s right across the park after that condo building.” His mouth is right at her ear, “Do all of you Cancers mumble what you want to say or is it just you?”

“Shut up, what would you know about astrology?”

“Just your entire birth chart.” He shrugs. “Cancer sun, Virgo rising, Aquarius moon, Cancer venus, Virgo mercury, Cancer mars. That cancer stellium in 11th house isn’t doing you any favors.”

Y/n skids to a halt. “Stellium? What? How and when did you learn all this?”

“Heard Atsumu’s girlfriend talking about astrology while they were eating the ice cream I bought. So, I asked her to explain the fuck she was talking about in exchange for eating my food.” To piss her off, Rin links their arms as he whispers the following, “That’s how I learned why you’re the way you are.”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to kick him in the shin but he skillfully avoids her boot. “Shut up with your Aquarius sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon, Capricorn mercury, Pisces venus, Aquarius mars ass.”

By the time they reach their destination, snow lays thick on their shoulders (they should’ve just taken a taxi or something, but Rin wanted to show her around while he could.). They dust the frost off their padded coats before they step inside the brightly lit restaurant so that it doesn’t thaw on the fabric, resulting in them reeking of wet dogs. Once inside, the warmth of the sizeable fireplace at the center hits them like a heatwave in July. Their nostrils fill with the smell of delightful food.

One of the waitresses leads them both to their reserved table, which stands by the window, neither too close nor too far from the entrance yet close to the fireplace. Osamu promised to book them the best seat there was and he delivered.

After shrugging off their coats and unwrapping their scarves, the two of them try to make boats out of tissue paper until Osamu joins them at the table. They take turns doing so, both failing equally miserably. The paper just won’t hold. It tears at the edges and then the fissures reach the heart of it. It frustrates them to the point that they just tear it in half.

At that moment, a voice can be heard that unshackles them from this annoyance.

“You look fried, Rin.”

His height is the first thing Y/n notices about the boy. He is almost as tall as Rin, with bleached hair dyed grey and an undercut that would look very Karen on someone whose head isn’t shaped like his. Unlike Rin’s, his arms are not inked with designs of any kind, at least none that she can see with how little upward he has rolled the sleeves of his black uniform. Most importantly… his eyes are equal parts tired and soft as he stares at Rin.

“Good evening to your greasy ass too.” Shoots Rin and the other boy pulls him into a hug.

And then… it’s her turn to greet and be greeted. It is her turn to be scrutinized and have her appearance and mannerisms dissected by this stranger, one of Rin’s closest friends and former teammate.

“Is this her?” He asks, bowing.

His voice is even; as if any and all personal judgment has been ironed out.

“L/n Y/n. Pleased to meet you.” She bows and then, as she and Rin sit back down and Osamu occupies the seat opposite them, she gestures at their surroundings. “I like your restaurant.”

He seems glad to hear that. Who wouldn’t be, really?

“What do you like most about it?” Osamu asks, crossing his arms as he leans forward.

Y/n swipes her finger on the table. “Great hygiene and the whole place smells great.”

Osamu thanks her and they get to talking about random things. They’re in a world of their own and she’s locked out with no way of understanding its rules and inside jokes. Seeing as it is useless to understand anything at the speed that the conversation is flowing, Y/n takes to studying her surroundings; the light goldenrod yellow walls, the snow piling up on the sill outside, and the pictures on the wall. The subject of one of them is the Inarizaki High volleyball team.

“Guess he’s always looked like Barry the bee.” She mutters. “Look at that smug asshole smile.”

Y/n doesn’t exactly try to hide the fact that she’s talking about his brother but she hadn’t thought his twin would actually catch her calling him Barry the bee, seeing as how he’d been so immersed in his conversation with Rin. So, it’s a bit of an amusing predicament when he turns to her, tilting his head. Well… amusing for them because for her she’s sifting through the million anxiety-born scenarios in order to choose the least devastating. What if he's upset? She had meant for it to be a joke gone unnoticed but what if?

“How do you know my dick of a twin?” Asks Osamu.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n straightens up but it’s Rin who speaks first.

“I lost a bet to him once,” He throws his arm around her shoulders and rests his head on hers for a second, “And he used my phone for an entire day.”

Staring blankly at Rin, the boy speaks in a low voice, “Don’t tell me he called her.”

“Rin knows I don’t like surprise phone calls,” Y/n says, glancing at Rin’s hand, fingers tracing lazy circles on her collarbone. “His name popping up on my phone screen at 9 PM was a clear indication that something was up.”

“Basically, he video-called her to mess with me. The entire time I thought he was just downloading porn to piss me off.”

“Instead, he kept pestering me until I stopped declining his calls.”

The state of the boy sitting opposite them is a curious blend of shame and being entirely unfazed. In every timeline, being born as Atsumu’s twin came with built-in emotional stamina, patience, and preparation for the unexpected. A full-time job really. Yet at last, Osamu lets out a sigh of exasperation, sweeping a hand over his face.

“So fucking embarrassing.” He drones, then casts her a glance, “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

“Honestly, I thought he would at first.” She nods, the weight of anxious thoughts now shaken off her shoulders. “But he was just asking for tips on how to talk to this extremely shy girl and telling me embarrassing stories about Rin.”

“Apologies for not boiling him like the egg that he is while I had the chance.”

Y/n shakes her head. “No, he was really nice when I visited.”

Osamu regards her with what can only be identified as doubt.

“Really?” The word ends more like a statement than a question.

“Even ordered food for us all. Besides,” Her fingers drift to Rin’s, the soft flesh of the tips pressing against his. “If it hadn’t been for Atsumu calling then I would never have learned that he dared Rin to wear his cumrag shirt or answer with truth.”

A grimace passes over Osamu’s face at the memory of that party and the events that preceded it. Rin removes his arm from around her shoulders and brings it to her lap, fingers laced with hers.

“Go big or go home,” he says proudly.

Osamu doesn’t miss a beat, “Should’ve gone home.”

“And be grilled about my whorish ways by my grandma? No, thanks. Cumrag it is.”

While Rin has taken to idly caressing her thumb with his, Osamu takes a few moments to study the boy’s demeanor; how he seems most in his element around her, shoulders brushing, a hint of mischief glazed over his yellow-green eyes to mask the longing.

“Well,” Osamu starts, recapturing their attention, “At least now she has no reason to cross-examine you.”

They’re walking side by side, hands in their pockets and scarves around their neck, when his voice comes out in puffs of steam, all the more visible as they leave one of the many lampposts behind.

“Why are people obsessed with the idea of setting people up with other people?”

The question has Y/n coming to a halt, only for a moment, then catches up to him before Rin can notice. She doesn’t know he already has.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Maybe influence. Power.” A car speeds by, then silence settles once more. Until she adds, “The satisfaction at seeing someone you love fall in love as well.”

Maybe it’s that they’re spent from all the talking they did back at the restaurant, engaging with Osamu in the most ludicrous debates over trivial matters from the past and the present. It could also be that the quiet of this area feels too innocent to pollute with nonsensical talk. Maybe they’re afraid words could poison whatever they cherish. No matter the reasons, the fact remains that they walk side by side, arms brushing, snow crunching under their footwear, and the biting wind mocking their attempts to warm their own breaths underneath the scarves.

Yet the words striving to be heard challenge the silence, and win.

“There’s something elusive about it,” Y/n says, just loud enough to be heard.

Rin turns his head to look at her. “About what?”

She expertly dodges his gaze, staring ahead into the traffic lights as they switch to green.

“The fascination with love.” Y/n breathes.

Well… he didn’t expect that from her. And he didn’t expect or appreciate himself feeling green with envy at the thought of him not being even a small part of the image at the front of her mind right now. Because, to his knowledge, there is only one person she’s had romantic feelings for, and that person is vile vermin that she never speaks of. He’s in the past. Rin is here, beside her. Still, he feels the need to vomit the words that have the contents of his stomach turning to poison.

“Didn’t you have feelings for that guy in high school?”

They cross the road.

“My personal sentiments seem… impersonal to me now.” She confesses, shutting her eyes for a second. “It wasn’t me. I must have imagined it for sure.”

“Imagined it?”

“Yeah, you know,” Y/n removes her hands from her pockets to paint some abstract concept in the air, “Hallucinations.”

She can’t see his lips curve upwards in that distinct smile of mischief he always uses to playfully taunt her with, but the round curvature of his cheekbones, as they peek above the scarf, tells her that he, at the very least, finds the conversation slightly amusing. The truth is… she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened.

“Y/n I’m like 98 percent sure you aren’t doping up on psychedelics and shit.”

“And…” She wavers, eyes flitting between him and the pavement beneath their feet, “The other 2 percent?”

“That’s where this convo is headed.”

Well… that’s it, isn’t it? Every bit of her is like injecting drugs straight into your vein. An ephemeral, translucent, gossamer-like being, woven from ghosts and wraiths, she never feels real. Her words are odd. Each utterance is made obsolete by the sole fact that it is her lungs breathing life into them. Even Rin thinks so, doesn’t he? He cannot believe that she of all people would speak of love. Remember, this is all in her head.

“Yeah, it’s getting weird,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead.

For his part, Rin doesn’t think it’s odd that she’s speaking of love. Surprising? Without a doubt. But there is no way she could ever speak of love and sound like anything other than the flesh in which it resides. And he can feel it in the deepest layers of his skin, goosebumps beneath the padded coat, in his chest as it is weighed down by the regret at his choice of words, and in the way he has to swallow that same regret.

“Did he fuck around?” This is what he asks instead.

It’s almost comical how she almost breaks her neck to look him in the eye. He doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she. Slowly, she nods.

“Was he any good?”

This time looking down, she nods again.

Sighing, Rin mutters, “He’s just like me for real.”

Y/n side-eyes him until neither of them can suppress the mirth. Eventually, the laughter dies down and they settle back into the quiet as they wait for the light to turn green.

“My bedroom and his were… they were separated by a wall.” Y/n can feel his gaze boring into her, “So, I could hear them going at it. Free lessons really.”

Rin’s eyes go wide. Then, gradually, they soften upon witnessing the emptiness in hers, how the blankness of her expression is betrayed only by the involuntary fluttering of her eyelashes as if she can bear neither the present nor the past. Having a mind of their own, his hands reach for hers. Slowly, he shelters them in his pocket.

But Rin, being too inquisitive and possessing little tact at the moment, inquires the following:

“Between him and I, who do you think is the best?”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to untangle herself from Rin but his fingers become a gauntlet around hers. She can only groan and submit.

“Well,” She begins, “It’s not like I know what it’s like to be fucked by either of you to be able to compare.”

That can be fixed, is his knee-jerk impulsive thought. If he were anyone else, Rin would lower his head in shame at the filth that infests his every imagined scenario involving her and him, especially at a time such as this, when she’s stripping layer after layer of vulnerability. But he’s the same boy he was at the age of 15; clueless as to how to connect with people in a way that isn’t carnal, careless, and crude in the way friends ought not to be. He has to justify the epithets he’s given, doesn’t he?

Wasn’t he being irrationally jealous some minutes ago? What was it that triggered his sexual urges out of nowhere? The boy can only look at her with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips start to move once again.

“But you’re not like him.” Her voice is soft. “You’re the sort of person who is pleasant to be around. It’s subtle. Understated. Like, if I were to compare… I’d say you’re like this intoxicating scent that you eventually get used to. Like when you enter the room, you know it’s safe to be there, to close your eyes, or to just exist.” She pauses and inhales deeply before continuing, “What he has is overwhelming charisma. He is the leader of his friend group. People flock to him, listen to him, believe in him… trust him. His every word is received wholeheartedly.”

She doesn’t need to keep going, firing arrow after arrow, but she does. Rin listens.

“He inspires devotion.” Each word is a letter of resignation.

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, he swallows his pride.

“This entire time you’ve been talking like he still is all those things,” Rin points out.

“Because I’m certain it’s true still.”

It’s the immediacy of her response that shuts him up. Rin has never dreamed of being someone else as much as he does right now. It’s like her portrait of him has been washed out by the corrosive agent that is her description of a man that Rin doesn’t know yet loathes.

“Your charm is just as powerful.” She continues, fingers tightening around Rin’s. “True, people don’t bully certain people just because you harbor some sort of dislike for them. But they can rest assured that you won’t lead them astray. You put others at ease without realizing it. Like, if you asked me to play truth or dare, I’d probably say yes because I know you wouldn’t cross the line.”

Rin can’t help the lazy smile that takes over.

“Probably?” He teases.

“Who knows? Might make me make out with the toilet seat.” She answers honestly and Rin laughs because he knows it’s true. “Point is, you don’t weaponize your presence to hurt.”

Y/n gives him a small smile and then checks both sides of the street.

“You’re a good person when you’re not breaking hearts.” She jokes, intending for him to hear.

He laughs but it’s the kind of laugh that only serves to distract oneself from their most urgent thoughts and desires. Right now, Rin doesn’t care about the rumors, malicious remarks, or the hearts broken over the years. His only concern lay with how to best help her understand his gratitude towards her. How does he let her know she’s the first to have an understanding of him that exceeds his sexual escapades or smoking? How does he make her understand he feels the most cared for when in her presence?

“Y/n?”

Rin’s voice has always had that drowsy quality to it, like waking up from a nap on a Sunday evening, and it still is. Even if he swiftly pulls her toward the other side of the road without elaborating any further.

She can’t help looking up at him as he lowers his scarf.

“Yeah?” The scarf muffles the word.

His free hand finds itself on her cheek, slowly pulling down the worn fabric to reveal rosy cheeks. A bit lower and her upper lip peeks above the piece of cloth. As he contemplates whether to succumb to this gnawing need, his focus flits between her curious gaze and her lips. In the end, he decides to play it safe, convincing himself that this is a step forward.

The boy presses his lips against her cheek. It burns… having her so close, having his lips touching a part of her. It’s not the first time. He’s pecked her cheeks time and time again, be it under the effect of alcohol or drugs, sober, or hungover (when he wants no one to as much as breathe within a square kilometer as him). He’s held back for so long. So why does it hurt so bad trying to keep his lips from straying?

“For defending me.” He clarifies, still struggling not to kiss her very breaths, “I owe you one.”

What Rin doesn’t know is that her cheek burns too.

December 27th

There is nothing quite like academic validation. Because when it’s all said and done, the numbers will be there to remind you that this is how much you’re worth, whether you deserve to eat and enjoy that movie, whether you deserve to step out into the balcony and just breathe in the chilly 3:00 AM air and the view of the bustling city. All of it is determined by how well you do in your classes, and how pleasing your opinions are to people whose words matter infinitely more than yours.

So why not be worthy of those numbers and wear them like a badge of honor? Why not toil away when others are putting their plates away? Why see yourself as remotely human, as if you have any right? How could Y/n give a second thought to the rumbling of her stomach when the buzzing doom in her head kept vibrating in all the wrong crevices of her mind?

“Hey.”

Being the narrator, I hear it. Not Y/n, though. Speaking to her right now is no different from trying to converse with an animated corpse in a tomb; the soil and the casket tune everything out.

Just as Chiharu is about to change her mind, her friend’s stomach decides to summon fire from the pit. Of course, Y/n still doesn’t notice she needs sustenance. Now Chiharu knows what to do in order to get the girl’s attention without having her draw further into her shell; dinner. It’s about 9 PM but it will be a welcome change of pace for both. Chiharu buys herself some more time to think and Y/n gets to eat something she didn’t “waste” time making.

Setting the plate beside the laptop, Chiharu tries again.

“Hey,” she says.

This grabs Y/n’s attention, who almost recoils at the sight of the sandwich, Caesar salad, and the girl hovering above her.

Removing her headphones, she responds, “Sup.”

In a room as devoid of lighting as Y/n’s bedroom, the only way for Chiharu to see is to squint. But she’s not about to do all that. Instead, she switches on the light.

“I know you don’t like wasting time so I’ll just cut to the chase.” She takes a deep breath, “Come to the New Year’s Eve party.”

Fingers tensing on the keyboard, Y/n answers, “Don’t know if I can make it.”

“We don’t have classes ‘till January and I know you took extra shifts before winter break started to make up for the hours.”

“Yeah, but-

“Ayame feels really bad, you know?”

And Y/n feels like painting her sight black and flattening the sounds that Chiharu is producing. The thought of someone feeling any manner of discomfort, anything remotely negative because of her absence, is foreign, a cryptid. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. Therefore, she is as much afraid as she is intrigued. Looking back at the screen, she absentmindedly types “a” after “a”.

“She can’t look you in the eye without feeling like bursting into tears.”

Well, that sounds familiar. It isn’t like Chiharu to guilt trip others into bending over backward to fulfill her wishes. However, the girl has known Kuroo for a long time. They’ve been at each other’s throats, tussling since they were toddlers barely on their feet, and adopted traits of each other over the years they have spent making fun of those same traits. Kuroo is a phenomenal guilt-tripper. Full stop. The worst part is that in most cases his way is the way that works best, even if he has to seek Y/n’s input beforehand.

“Is it guilt-tripping I detect?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Chiharu smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe? Look,” She says, shaking her head, “I just think it would be a nice change of pace. Beneficial for everyone, not just me or Ayame or that obnoxious hellcat.”

Y/n’s fingers come to a halt, the cursor still pulsating on the screen.

“Who else is coming?” She inquires.

“Tooru gave a vague answer so I don’t know if he’s planning to join us.” Chiharu answers and Y/n hopes that the girl isn’t able to detect the small relief washing over her, “But Rin is and so is Kenma. Kenma, if you remember him, has been asking about you by the way. Haven’t you gotten his texts?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mutters, “You know I have. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Bingo!” Chiharu exclaims, “If you come with us, you’ll be halfway there. Once you see each other I’m sure conversation between you two will flow like period blood.”

That’s enough for one night, Y/n decides as she turns to properly face the verbal massacre on her screen. Chiharu’s similitude of choice was simply too out-of-pocket even for her.

“I’ll come if you promise never to use that comparison again,” she says.

“Great!” She can feel Chiharu raising a triumphant fist. “Finally, I did something right. Okay, so I’ll leave you be now. Night- night!”

Shutting the door behind her, Chiharu lets out a sigh of contentment. This might just be her greatest achievement of the year.

“Chiharu,” She whisper-yells to herself, a smile on her face, “You dumb fucking bitch. You made it.”

On the other side of the door, Y/n carefully picks up the sandwich. She brings it to her lips and the first bite tastes like food that is neither exquisite nor too bland, merely meant to stave off the hunger while not tasting horribly too much like hay. The second bite is a log in her throat, hard to swallow. The third tastes like ‘loss’.

“Mama, your belly is so pretty,” she says.

They’re sitting on the sofa in their old apartment, the fabric of the cover soft to the touch, like the fuzz of the peaches that her auntie has just sliced nicely and placed on a plate for them to enjoy. It’s summer but the evening is caressed by a beautiful breeze. The day is hot enough to remind everyone it’s still the hottest season of the year but not so much so that they have to wipe off their sweat every two minutes.

Her mom is near her, gently rubbing her belly and smiling down at it. Y/n thinks her mom is very beautiful. Her light brown eyes are always so much prettier when she smiles and sunlight adores her hair. How Y/n wishes she could be like her.

“It’s true, baby.” Her auntie lifts her up and sits Y/n down on her lap, “Mama is so pretty.”

Her mom laughs and kisses Y/n on the cheek. The little girl can’t help but giggle. Then her stomach rumbles; a noise that can’t go unheard in a house as quiet as theirs, especially with the TV turned off. Her mom and auntie look at one another before shrieking with laughter.

“Is my little girl hungry?” Her mom asks.

Y/n nods and quietly says, “Yes, mama.”

“Okay, sit here, baby. Auntie will make you a sandwich.”

Just as her aunt is about to lift Y/n off her lap, her mom gets up, one hand supporting her back and the other on her belly still drawing soothing circles.

“No, stay there.” She says, making her way to the kitchen. “You must be tired of cooking and cleaning since dawn.”

Her aunt sighs. “It’s nothing. You’re the one that’s pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make my little girl a sandwich, does it?”

While her mom prepares her sandwich, which will undoubtedly make her eat less at dinner, her auntie takes to tickle the life out of her. Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to wriggle out of the woman’s hold, giggling all the while. Then, finally managing to do so, she throws her arms around her auntie’s neck and asks for a piggyback around the living room. So, the woman does and Y/n feels safe and content at the speed at which her auntie is marching and with her head buried in the crook of the woman’s neck. She could just doze off.

“It’s readyyyyy!” Her mom calls as she walks out of the kitchen.

Instantly, Y/n asks to be let down (which her aunt doe) and dashes across the living room to where her mom is, wrapping her arms around her legs. She feels her mom’s hand rest atop her head as they both head toward the dining table. Y/n climbs on the chair, eager to taste the sandwich.

It has everything in it that she likes; ham, arugula, pesto sauce, peanut butter, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts. Her mouth is assaulted by the flavors all at once. Every bite is a bit of worldly joy reserved for her alone, even the crumbs. She listens to her mom and auntie talk about the dinner planned for tonight, one in celebration of her dad’s promotion at work. An invitation has been sent to her dad’s superior, who is also his friend.

There is too much happiness in her heart because everyone is happy and she’s just had her favorite meal. I guess the universe decided she’d had too much of it. A few months later, they were on their way to a different prefecture. And the fault, they had decided, was hers. No longer was the sandwich made for her. Her mom didn’t kiss her cheek, whether she was blissful or blue.

But years down the line she’d make this sandwich for her friends at her auntie’s house during summer break. For one month, she’d take a bite out of joy with them, have her fill then starve again.

Even now, with that awareness in mind, Y/n devours it all.

December 31st, New Year’s Eve

Her eyes cannot stand the light that bleeds from the lampposts so she squints, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s apartment. Chiharu and Ayame walk ahead of her, careful not to leave her too far behind. The elevator is filled with their giggles and the mirror is a movie. Y/n watches on with a smile as they tug on each other’s arms and reapply their lipstick. Then they’re out and walking towards Kuroo’s apartment (a penthouse really).

The door swings open and there stands the host in all his rabid glory. He pulls Ayame in for a kiss then wrestles Chiharu for a hug. At Godspeed, his eyes land on Y/n. A maniacal smile that would incense anyone that isn’t his friend grows on his face at the sight of her.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, crushing her in his embrace, “Where have you been loca? It’s been ages!”

Patting him on the back, she immediately starts to tease him.

“Do I discern the absence of a comb, Jacob?”

Kuroo kicks the door closed. “I am ever so poor, Y/n!”

“Positively destitute.” She shoots, rolling her eyes.

He laughs and leads the way to the living room.

“Without you around to bully me lovingly?” He whines theatrically, “Of course, I’ve been destitute! Forlorn even!”

He hugs her a bit tighter before finally letting her go.

“Kenma’s in his room.” He tells her. “The sly bastard promised he would join the party. I should have known his words were but sweet deceit.”

Y/n laughs softly at his words. She’s always loved Kuroo’s theatrics. He never means for his jokes or dramatic displays to be malicious. Though, he does lack the tact to say the right things on a day-to-day basis. Nevertheless, he always apologizes, practically begging on his knees for forgiveness. Kuroo is someone everyone needs in their life. Y/n realizes she wants to make him feel like a friend that she wants in her life. It’s time she stopped treating him like a stranger.

So, she keeps the conversation going. They talk about their health, studies, movies they’ve watched, and books they’ve read. They gossip about everything and everyone, laughing at each other’s jokes until Ayame joyfully pulls him away to dance. Y/n waves at them before heading toward Kenma’s ‘hideout’.

Rapping her fingers against the door, she waits for the sound of his voice. After the second time, she hears him yell ‘I’ll be there in a bit, Kuroo!’. She hasn’t been here in a while. The atmosphere is one she’s not used to and usually, it wouldn’t be something to shy away from. But it’s Kenma and everything about him used to be familiar, like every time they talked their planes of existence found a common solution.

Grabbing the door handle, she tries to silence all the chastising voices in her head. In his chair, Kenma remains unmoving, clicking away with his mouse. This leads her to believe that he’s still unaware that it’s her standing in his room, not Kuroo. Did they forget to tell him? Could it be that he’s purposefully acting like she’s not even here? Is she overstepping by entering? Has she ruined everything?

Then, something seems to snap in him. Maybe it’s the silence that follows the pattern of her footsteps as she halts in the center of the room. It might be the hope that she hasn’t flaked on her promise to show up for her friends. It could be the hope that his friend is finally back. Kenma spins in his chair and his eyes widen at the sight of her. Before she can even raise her hand in a greeting he springs from his seat and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Missed you.” He breathes.

Her chest feels heavy as if loaded with stones and there’s a noose around her neck as she says, “I missed you too.”

Somewhere between her being scared of being turned away and him lunging for her, the fear of rejection had turned into confusion. But it’s okay because as she and Kenma sit at one of his desks, what came seems like a foggy memory. The first thing he asks about is whether she’s okay, whatever that means. Y/n responds with a shrug and a ‘better’, recalling the past few weeks; her fight with Oikawa, her departure from his apartment, and the visit to Rin’s childhood home. She asks him the same question, which he answers with a slight smile and a ‘better now’. After that they talk about random things; the plant they ‘adopted’, how Kuroo keeps blasting phonk music through the speakers at 7 in the morning, how Chiharu talked to Kenma about wanting to make things right, and so on.

“How are things going with your company?” Y/n inquires while munching on a tangerine.

“Smoothly for now.” Kenma takes another tangerine from the bowl and peels it. “We’ve been developing this game but we can’t seem to get the designs right.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure.”

He clicks on the file the designer emailed him. She scans the entire document, tilting her head in thought.

“A bit repetitive.” Y/n concludes, popping another slice in her mouth, and Kenma nods. “Tell me more about the lore within the game. I know you kept what we discussed at the beginning but Rin told me you’ve expanded on it.”

He tells her all about it, fishing the old sketches and diagrams out of the drawer. They go through it one more time before he tells her about the additions to the lore. She, in turn, offers advice on how to apply these changes to the characters’ dialogues and designs. If things remain as disjointed as they are at the moment then it will only be detrimental down the line. She jots down everything for him to keep in mind and discuss with the designer when at their next meeting.

Just as the dust of their efforts begins to settle, Kenma hits her with a most befuddling question.

“What would you do if your best friend confessed to you?”

Y/n frowns. “Best friend? Confession?”

“Yeah, like…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his nervous gaze flits between his feet and the screen. “How would you react if they disclosed their feelings for you?”

“As in… romantic feelings?” Y/n asks and Kenma nods shyly. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Kenma turns to her, eyes roaming her face. “But you’ve had feelings for someone before.”

“He was never my friend. Never wanted to be.” She shrugs. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which Kenma can’t decide whether to look his friend in the eye or zone out. Ultimately, he decides to tell her the truth of it.

“The guy I like is in a relationship with someone else.”

Confessing is like cutting of the straps of a bag loaded with stones and letting it fall to the ground. His shoulders feel light and his lungs can finally fill with air. It’s not like coming out is a big deal in their friend group. Chiharu is asexual and Y/n, Rin, and Oikawa are bisexual. Only Kuroo and Ayame seem to be straight (Kuroo not so much lol).

Y/n’s frown deepens. “Why would you fall for someone who looks like he has hellcats style his hair on the daily?”

Kenma holds back a gasp. He hadn’t imagined she’d figure him out so easily.

“How did you know it was him?” He groans in embarrassment, dragging his hands down his face.

“Kenma, you and I barely go out.” Y/n points out. “I don’t think people in relationships, other than Kuroo, are a common sight for you.”

Defeated, he mouths. “Brutal.”

After gorging on tangerines some more, Kenma decides to make good on his promise to Kuroo and the party. The hellcat wastes no time in dragging the unwilling gamer to the dance floor. If the taller boy takes notice of how his friend at once flinches at and melts under his touch, he doesn’t give it away. Instead, he spins the boy around and gather’s the boy’s hair in a ponytail. Before Kenma can make his escape, Kuroo throws his arm around his waist and pulls him toward a group of guys dancing their worries away, 100% under the influence.

In the kitchen, Y/n finds Chiharu shoving a rolled slice of pizza in her mouth with zero concern for the choking hazard she has created and Ayame encouraging her in true cheerleader fashion. The latter waves Y/n over and hands her a slice of the shrimp pizza she’s been keeping an eye on since it was delivered. For the next 20 minutes or so, the three of them chatter by shouting over the music and can only manage to grasp about half of what the other is saying.

“Tooru-kun is coming, isn’t he?” Ayame asks at one point, having had to repeat the question for the third time.

Y/n notices how Chiharu slows down, only taking a small bite of the pepperoni after the daredevil atrocity she swallowed before.

“He said he’d think it over.” She says, blowing a wisp of neon green and black hair away from her face. “He’s been really busy with practice lately. Which is fine, I guess. As long as he’s not drinking.”

Ayame’s face twists with concern, “Is he getting any help?”

“Don’t think so.” Chiharu sighs. “He’s so stubborn, claiming it’s just a passing phase. That he can quit whenever he wants but just chooses not to.”

Y/n looks away from the two. This conversation couldn’t be further from what she wanted it to be. It only serves as a reminder of how insensitive she was with regard to his alcohol dependency the last time she saw him, how she’d cornered him because of how cornered she’d felt herself.

“What about you?” She asks Chiharu and when she turns to look at them the girl looks almost surprised to hear her ask.

“I’m tired, to be honest,” Chiharu answers with a sigh, the beginning of a smile detectable in her voice. “I just want to fly to Iceland and sleep for a year. So many fucking assignments piling up that I can’t see over them.” She shakes her head. “I almost asked for your help.”

Y/n holds back a scoff. “As if I would have been of any help.”

“No, but you would have been there to listen to me ranting while I look for the brush I’m holding.”

“I would have let you look for hours until you finally realized.”

Ayame and Chiharu laugh at that, already drunk off their wits. Y/n briefly wonders whether the jolly and spirited girl would remain as such if Kenma’s feelings for her boyfriend. Their friend group would certainly crumble. Nothing would be the same. There was no reason for her to be in the know since Kenma had no intention of confessing to Kuroo anyway.

Suddenly, Chiharu nudges her with her elbow. “Rin was looking for you before he decided that hotboxing in Kuroo’s bedroom was a good idea.”

Y/n looks at the crowd in the living room, past which lay the stairs to the second floor where Kenma’s and Kuroo’s respective bedrooms are.

“Is he still there?” she asks.

Ayame nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Y/n nods and finishes the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Tell him to get his ass over here!” Chiharu yells over the music as Y/n heads out of the kitchen. “There’s pizza!”

None of them are coming down to eat and Chiharu knows that.

Y/n navigates around the sweaty bodies and takes the stairs. Once she’s in front of Kuroo’s bedroom, she knocks, then knocks again. Before she entirely surrenders, the door is thrown open and the face of Suna Rintaro looms over hers. The smile is slow to grow but once it does, there is nothing quite as inviting. Though even if he were frowning that wouldn’t change how he tugs her into the room, turning the key so that nobody dares disturb their peace. In but a few seconds, she finds herself in his embrace as his arms wind around her shoulders. Fabric softener and the earthy tones of his perfume curl inside her lungs and, in turn, her insides curl with a feeling that isn’t altogether unfamiliar. The same is happening on his end.

I hope you can understand my frustration when I tell you that they each believe themselves to be utterly alone in this flurry of sensations. But it gets bearable, both for them, me, and you, once they plop down on the bed beside each other, ruffling Kuroo’s silky bedsheets as they get comfortable.

Y/n turns her head to the right to look at him only to find him already gazing.

“I was expecting to find you passed out,” She confesses.

Rin crosses his arms beneath his head. “Felt like lying to people for fun tonight.”

“Finishing the year strong.”

“Now that you’re here looking like this? Yes.”

As if his words weren’t enough to fluster and confound her, he turns and, supporting his weight on his elbow, brings his other palm to her face. Rin has always been observant. Always scrutinizing. Always picking up on what others can’t be bothered to spare a second look at. It’s no surprise that he’s able to tell she didn’t do the makeup herself, save for one thing.

“Did Ayame do your makeup?” His thumb rests on her cheek, careful not to press too hard on the artwork.

Y/n’s eyes try to search his but they’re someplace else. “Not all of it.”

“Figured. Your eyes have your touch.” Rin’s eyes shoot up to meet hers. Picking up on the bubbling self-consciousness, he adds. “In a good way.”

He wishes he could kiss her eyelids, the glitter painting his lips with the same brilliance that it has bestowed upon her eyes. Rin thinks that she looks much like what he imagines the universe to feel; the galaxies scattered above and below, within and around it, feed something lonely, and a black eye that beholds and consumes them. Her gaze feels like the joy of adolescence come to life, only better, more thrilling, and intimate. He wishes he could kiss them because he desperately wants to. Because he can’t look into them for too long without losing himself completely.

“I was kinda afraid to enter.”

Rin’s eyebrows shoot up. Then they furrow. His hand, on the other hand, stays still.

“Why would you be afraid?” He asks.

She shrugs. “Thought you might be with someone.”

His chuckle, though inaudible to everyone else, bounces inside her skull. Not even the music coursing through the veins of the entire building (Kuroo has paid good money for the neighbors to tolerate this level of acoustic pollution) can drown it out. Y/n can feel his chest vibrate. It’s as if each gulp of air has him drawing closer.

“That’s not a reason, angel.” He finally says.

“What would constitute a reason then?”

“You’re the only one that doesn’t need one.”

Her reluctance comes out in the elongated but fading. “Why?”

Well, what should he say to that? What would be considered a response that wouldn’t have her shutting down right before his eyes; face turned away, lids shut tight, feed padding across the floor as he watches her leave? How can he prevent that from happening while telling the truth? Because you’re the only part of me I can’t reject. Suna Rintaro is observant but words often fail him when it matters most. The stronger he feels about something, the more excruciating it is for him to express it. If I had to describe it, it would be; the truth of his soul is the flesh beneath all the misperceptions and alter egos. He never bares it, never lets it bleed.

“If you hadn’t shown up,” He leans down to whisper in her ear, I’d have spray-painted 2012 Tumblr poetry on your bedroom door.”

Y/n groans and pushes him away, face scrunching in disgust at the stupid tilt of his lips. “That’s torturous, Rin. I’d rather you choked me.”

If she weren’t too busy cringing at the flashbacks of 2012 Tumblr poetry, she would see his eyes darken by small degrees until the final sparkle in them is replaced by a glint of mischief and lust. Never before has he felt the urge to tease someone so primally. It’s either he gets to touch her in some way or his dick hardens in his jeans and he has to look for some stranger to spend the night with.

His breath catches in his throat as it occurs to him that this might be it. If this worked, it could end up with them kissing. Worst case scenario, he could play it off as teasing.

“Like this?”

Bringing his fingers to her neck, he watches her questioning eyes flit from his hand to his eyes. The pad of his thumb relaxes on her vein, feeling it pulsate. Slowly, his gaze travels upwards to her lips. They part with a sigh just as he applies a bit of pressure on both sides of her neck. He alternates between slow caresses, teasing, little scratches, and using ‘force’, a combination that builds up anticipation even amidst puzzlement. It’s a rhythm he doesn’t care to create with anyone else truth be told, as it is too intimate. But she is aware of none of this.

Then her hand clasps around his wrist, putting a stop to his ministrations. For a moment, he thinks she’ll tell him he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why do you touch me like the people you sleep with?” She asks instead.

There it is… obliviousness. He can take confusion. He can understand not being used to having your friends kink-choke you. What he won’t stand for is mentioning others while he’s literally dying to get a taste of her mouth.

“You don’t know how I touch them.” He states.

Her grip relaxes around his wrists but his touch doesn’t abandon her neck. The skin tingles from his earlier attentions, sending intervals of want straight to her lower regions.

“Maybe not while you fuck them.” Y/n adds, “But I’ve seen you flirt.”

“Is that so?” Rin raises a brow. “Tell me how I touch them then.”

The encouragement isn’t all that convincing. So, she hesitates at first. But the expectant hum coming from him urges her to try and describe to him how his sexual encounters are filtered through the perception of the one person that mattered.

“You rest your hand on their thighs. Rub your thumb in circles.” She begins, “Like this.”

Before she can even lift her hand off the covers, Rin’s fingers have already left her neck in favor of her thigh, making sure to slide smoothly across her torso. If only she wasn’t wearing tights, he thinks, I could feel the warmth of her skin seep into mine so much faster.

“Go on.” He says, rubbing circles on her covered thigh, just where her black corduroy skirt ends.

“Then, when you pull them toward the dance floor, your hand goes around their middle.” Her breath hitches as his actions follow each gasping word, “Sometimes your fingers press into their sides.”

Getting above her, Rin uses his knee to part her thighs. Her skirt rides up a little as he does so, though not nearly as much as he wishes it did. Therefore, he takes matters into his own hands and lifts her thighs off the bed enough for his fingers to slide the skirt further up a few more inches. His nails then dig into her supple flesh only to abandon the area for her waist, settling there as he leans ever so close. Barely 3 inches stand between their lips now.

“And when you kiss them…” Y/n trails off, unable to decide whether to stare at his lips or into his eyes.

Rin hums, nodding. “When I kiss them?”

“You wrap your hand around their neck, lifting up their chin.”

Having been desperate for an opening, Rin doesn’t hesitate to make his way up to her throat, ‘forcefully’ cupping her jaw, eliciting a small gasp from her. One hand on her waist, the other on her face, he goes in for the kill, his own lips parting in response to hers. Fuck’s sake he can’t wait to have her at last, to feel her all around him, be intoxicated by her touch, drowning in her sighs and whimpers as he takes from and gives to her again and again and again. With the way her hands come up his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if he’s about to turn into thin air. As if he’d so much as think about replacing the feeling of her around him for the mindless snogging with someone random.

Rin has always imagined he could take it slow with her when the time came. But the present is unfolding quite differently. Two seconds in and he can’t handle the way their lips are simply touching, as if his mouth isn’t dying to devour hers, as if his teeth aren’t suddenly sharper in want of her lips. So, he initiates a deeper kiss by being the first to introduce his tongue, sliding it into her mouth and waiting for her to reciprocate. Y/n does so soon enough, getting to feel it toying with hers just for a second or two before it draws back to get a taste of her lips. After flicking her lower lip, he starts to nip at it, tugging and releasing as she moans in response. Then he adds tongue again, this time bringing the hand resting on her waist up to her chest, fondling her breasts as she leans forward for more.

The moment he stops the kiss to smile down at her with his eyes closed in bliss is the moment Y/n unwittingly spoils the mood.

“Then you disappear.”

Rin peers down at her in confusion but doesn’t draw farther from her.

“Do I disappear when I’m with you?”

“No.” But it comes out more as a question.

“I see no crowd here.” His jaw flexes. “For all our friends know, I’m currently fucking the shit out of you right now.”

He wishes his dick didn’t twitch at his own words and so does she. But more than horny, Rin is frustrated and, somehow, hurt. That’s why he can’t help but draw back, kneeling between her thighs as he contemplates asking an extremely risky question.

“Why do you think I don’t disappear with you?” He asks instead.

She looks to the side before he cups her jaw to redirect her gaze to him.

“Because,” She says, swallowing, “You don’t see me that way.”

There it is, Rin groans internally, that stubborn need to assume everything about me. If only she could stop thinking I don’t desire her, just because she believes no one else ever has. If she were to ask me straight-up, I would tell her. But how can I convince her that I want to kiss her, fuck her, and be with her, if she hasn’t understood it by now? I literally had my tongue inside her mouth two seconds ago. Even now, I’m kneeling between her legs with a boner I can’t tame.

“You don’t understand how I see you.” He mutters, relinquishing her.

Her chest burns as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, seemingly in thought as he stares at the door.

“Are you leaving?” Why is her voice suddenly so small, she wonders.

“The party? No.” Rin answers, getting off the bed and heading for the door. “Just this room.”

Rin knows he feels the most cared for in her presence. What he doesn’t know is the feeling of being that one item at the store that is no one’s first, second, or final pick because it’s at the very front. The item is some random person’s final resort when there is no one they can turn to. Then discarded without a second thought. He doesn’t know that speaking his mind would put an end to this agonizing wait for his feelings to be perceived in their purest form. He doesn’t realize that he wouldn’t be disposed of by someone who knows what it’s like to be treated as such. And because none of this occurs to him, he shuts the door behind him and joins the mindless mayhem in the living room, feeling none of the joy and excitement, and all of the disdain and exasperation for himself and the way things turned out.

Y/n’s chest still burns, even as she rubs her palms raw over her thighs to make her brain think it’s her hand that hurts.

Tooru is one lousy bastard to come here unfashionably late, knowing well and clear that he’s about to slink away from the party just 30 minutes after his arrival. Even that’s being generous. This is neither the time nor the place for him to be all smiley and shit. All he wants to do right now is pop a can open and drain his poison of choice. It’s the final night of the year after all. Aren’t they all supposed to get irrevocably wasted and make decisions they would loathe to make while sober? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car with a sigh.

He doesn’t catch the anxious murmurs at first as he locks the car doors. But as he takes to the steps a voice, small and whispery, seeps into his ears. If it were anyone else, he might have hurried over and asked if they needed any help. But it’s her voice and the thought of her turning him away once again is daunting, to say the least. Reluctant, however, he makes for the benches among the trees lining the perimeter of the apartment building. Here, Tooru notices, the wind beats the earth much more gently.

“Fuck, I messed up.”

His eyebrows come together in confusion. Because there she’s standing, crouching with her palms planted on her face as if she wishes she could skin it alive, one strip of skin at a time. Tooru has no time to take in her outfit⸺ the knee-length gray wool coat, the black corduroy skirt from before, the iron-grey turtleneck, and the black shoes⸺ because her tirade goes on, becoming more hurried by the second.

“Hey.” He says, making his way to her. At the sound of his voice, she flinches and immediately stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Tooru tries to sneak a peek at her face, but she pushes him away.

“Leave me alone.” She mutters, waiting for him to leave.

But Tooru is nothing if not stubborn.

Taking hold of her elbow gently, he asks, “Y/n what happened?”

Y/n groans and shakes him off of her.

“You happened.” She bites out and pushes against his chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “Go away.”

“Y/n-

“No!”

The breath catches in his throat, and for a few wintry moments, in which she glares at him with incomparable loathing, Tooru dares neither to inhale nor exhale. He can only stand still, wishing he could reshape the course of time, remodeling history so she didn’t have to hurt. But he only waits for her to carry on.

“Ever since-” She begins, eyes shut tight and words cut short as it physically pains her to speak them and look at him as she does. With a newfound ache, she glares at him again, forefinger digging into his chest. “Ever since you showed up everything is all wrong. It’s all wrong! I was okay. Everything was okay. It was over. I was- I had left you behind! And now you won’t disappear! Why won’t you disappear? Go away.”

It's clear to Tooru that he has absolutely no right to be hurt, and that he deserves every manner of abuse in existence. But he’d be lying if he were to claim that her wanting him out of her life isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him for quite some time. The Tooru from before, the one always in denial and going around laying waste to everything in search of refuge from his fears, would have been ecstatic. Right? Yes… and no. But that is a matter reserved for later.

The concern of the present is her breaking down in front of him, face crumpling like a wet shirt as her eyes fill with tears and she crouches again, covering her ears as if doing so will lessen the gravity of what she believes to be true. Unable to take it anymore, Tooru crouches before her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. But she shakes her head and continues.

“I messed up. It’s my fault. I messed up. Messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m-

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He soothes the girl, rubbing circles on her skin. “It’s fine. Here, sit with me. Let’s regulate your breathing. Breathe with me, won’t you.”

They stay like that for some time, 10 minutes or so, until she finally opens her eyes and slowly removes her hands from her ears.

“Can you speak now?” Tooru asks when he feels it is safe to do so. She doesn’t answer so he tries a different route. “Do you want to?”

She stands and, too ashamed to meet his worried gaze, looks at her shoes. By now, he’s released her wrists and she’s free to run away if she so wishes. Though he can’t promise he won’t follow her as he’s worried sick her state of mind might be too muddled to trust her to look at both sides of the road before crossing.

“Do you not want it to be me who listens?” He tries again. Y/n nods and he glances up at the building. “Let me go get Suna or Kenma.”

Before he can bolt for the entrance, she grabs onto his coat.

“No, I, ngh.” She turns her face to the side, wiping at her nose with her coat sleeve (which would be disgusting if she hadn’t just broken-down minutes before). “I just- I hate that you found me.”

Tooru takes in her facial expressions. The way she averts her eyes, utterly ashamed of what he had witnessed and the way she was holding onto him. He places his hand on hers and her eyes shoot straight to where they touch.

“Do you hate that you want to tell me?” He says, all too aware of the answer.

Again, she looks away, this time nodding slowly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” Tooru faces her fully, acting as if he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and eat dirt. “I’m not leaving unless you’re leaving with me.” He smiles even though she still refuses to look at him. “I would flip the coin again but I’m not certain I’ll be able to accept whatever fate the coin chooses for us. I’d end up sitting here, by your side, until the very end.”

She looks at him now. It’s nothing more than fleeting glances at first. Then their gazes lock and Tooru has to fight the urge to dust the snowflakes off her cheeks and melt the frost, which is steadily settling on her lashes from all the crying, between his gloved fingers.

Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her toward his car and for the first time Y/n doesn’t question his motives. Tooru drives them to a quiet café that has yet to close as it wants to milk whatever customers might be wandering about the city of Tokyo at this hour. She doesn’t seem ready to speak yet so he takes the liberty to place both of their orders. Coffee would be downright catastrophic to her mental state at the moment. It was known for worsening symptoms of anxiety and the last thing she needed was a repeat of what had happened not even half an hour ago. So, he orders tea for both; peppermint for her and chamomile for himself. He pays and joins her at the table near the air conditioner.

After the waiter has served the tea, it takes a long moment for Y/n to look up from the crumpled napkin currently being picked to shreds.

“I messed up.” It comes out like a whimper and her face crumples up again. “I really did. Like I always do.”

Tooru doesn’t know where to begin. Truly, he doesn’t know.

“Why do you say that?” But this question seems like a decent place to start.

Her fingers work faster at picking apart the napkin and she says, “I went there, thinking it would be like nothing had happened.”

“And it isn’t?”

How could it be? Kenma had only stopped texting under the assumption that she needed a break from what had happened, not because he’d thought the damage irreparable. Kuroo missed the way she would argue a point to the finish line (the line being Kuroo either smiling at the depth of information or admitting defeat with a theatrical sigh of exasperation). Chiharu and Ayame were wicked anxious about how things might turn out between them if she decided to go through with the whole moving-out thing. Which was more than likely by this point. Suna would do anything for her, that much was clear to anyone. And Tooru… he would do anything she wanted. He’d be anything she wanted him to be. Even if that meant he’d be gone.

All any of them wished for when it came to Y/n and her relation to the rest was for her to let herself be cared for. But as he watches her try and fight back tears, Tooru says none of this and just hears her out to the end.

“Kenma has been trying to meet with me and this is the first time I’ve seen him since then. And none of them will ever forgive me for that night.” Abandoning the napkin, her hands come up to her ears scratching at the skin behind the shell. “I ruined everything. I want to run away. Never see anyone I know ever again.”

Suna won’t forgive her. She is sure he won’t because she’s repulsive, stupid, and cowardly. If only they knew each other’s hearts and their own the way that I do.

“Iwa-chan said he hopes you see none of us again.”

His voice, a careful and soothing voice, is filtered through the scratching noise that so provides her comfort. But the words are as confusing as this version of Oikawa Tooru, the one that doesn’t seem to mind her presence.

“Although now it’s impossible since we’ve already crossed paths.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “But yes. He feels responsible for your situation even though he knows it’s not his fault. He thinks of you like family, the same way he considers me his brother. So, it’s complicated for him.”

Noticing the crinkle in her brow, he smiles a little and clarifies. “I think he’d love to see you again, to know you’re not going to run away because of mistakes that aren’t his to bear.”

Her hands relax but stay put.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks.

Tooru wastes no time providing ample evidence.

“Kuroo made sure to buy your favorite snacks.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Ayame and Kenma picked your favorite songs. Chiharu convinced you to come. And Suna… I trust I don’t need to explain.” He ignores the grimace that passes over her face at the mention of the boy. “You’re mistaken in thinking you’ve laid waste to everything. They may not know and therefore not understand everything fully, but they wouldn’t let your absence dictate the way they see you.”

But that makes zero sense. She isn’t there, hasn’t been part of their lives for weeks, and hasn’t deigned to ask what has happened in her absence. Even then, that doesn’t explain how Iwaizumi is in any way related to the new life she has made of herself and her convoluted relationships if you could call them that.

Y/n brings her hands to the table, toying with the napkin before shooting a glance at the steaming cup of peppermint tea.

“How could Maki, Mattsun, and Iwa not hate me?” Her gaze snaps to him. “You do.”

His chest tightens. His throat constricts. All of a sudden, the air conditioner is bringing his lungs to a boil and the high-quality fabric of the turtleneck makes him itch. He wants out. But that would mean failing to succeed in being let in by her.

Tooru pulls at the fabric around his neck to let the skin breathe.

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t mean it should be their truth.” He hopes he sounds reassuring but knows he doesn’t. Seeing the distrust in the way she slightly purses her lips and the barely noticeable narrowing of her eyes, Tooru tries to plead his case. “I am trying to make up for what I did. Please, believe me. I’m aware it might prove futile. Still… it’s not the only reason why I’m in this café with you right now.”

Her expression tells him that he has yet to make himself understood or appear trustworthy in her eyes. Tooru leans back in his chair and places his left hand on the table, drumming his fingers to a ghostly beat.

“I’m here because you shouldn’t have to turn your back on everything a second time.” He says in one breath. I don’t ever want to look at your back while you run away again. “Because I don’t want you to think it’s your fault.”

The thing about blame and guilt, Tooru begins to understand as her face scrunches once again and she looks away in shame, is that they’re obsessive lovers. Please, have me. I’m all yours. I won’t ever leave you. Everyone says we’re meant to be. What would people think if you divorced us? Please, don’t let go.

Tooru’s fingers still and he reaches out and takes her left hand in his. Y/n flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats.

The young man doesn’t expect his words to be the cure, however much he wishes that were the case.

“You’re here trying to lie that I’m not to blame.” She uses her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes, now all red and swollen, with traces of mascara on her waterline from the smudging. “But it’s easy for you to say because you’ve always known that if not your mom, then your friends would have your back. And if your friends abandoned you, you’d still have a place to crash-land softly into.”

His thumb traces the outline of her knuckles. Once Tooru has fully processed her words, a thought occurs to him. He decides to be brave.

“From now on, each time you make mistakes let me be the one you crash-land into.” He looks at her with hope and sincerity in his eyes. “Second by second, I’ll try to make it all better.”

Y/n sniffles. “A part of my brain keeps telling me it’s too soon to trust you.”

“And the other part?” He smirks. “What does it whisper?”

“It says that you are kind.”

His breath hitches. Her dark eyes are too honest, too straightforward for him.

“Which one are you going to put your faith in?” He asks, slowly but playfully still.

Y/n tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

While vague, the answer is decidedly honest. Tooru can’t ask for more than that.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says, pulling his chair a bit forward so he can comfortably rest his elbows on the table while still holding her hand.

“Might as well.” She mutters. “Since you already brought me here.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“I had planned on asking you to move in with me. But then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Then I thought about how delusional I was being, how illogical it would be for me to assume you would even consider my offer. I thought ‘Are you that selfish’, ‘Are you that stupid’. Yet, when I told the others, they immediately thought I was being strange but kind.”

Y/n tilts her head as if considering him and everything coming out of his mouth, then looks down. She doesn’t seem surprised, almost as if she’s heard of this before.

“You say that as if you think they’re wrong.” She points out the distrust in his tone. “People have always believed you to be considerate… generous.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just desperate. Selfish too.”

The good thing about the silence that ensues is her hand in his. There is no protest as he caresses the back of it, following the curve of her bones. They’ve always been thin, delicate. Each time he had yanked and pulled at her, the fragility of those bones had filled him with instant regret. Yet, every single time, he’d managed to hold on a bit tighter, anxious to keep her there at any cost. Now, he can’t help but shoot furtive admiring glances at the slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the dainty cheekbones. All too afraid to so much as gaze at them for too long, lest she catches on and perceives his presence as threatening.

But he wants to say so many things, and they’re all locked in his chest like one big sigh begging to be released.

For more than a year, I’ve been thinking about how it must have been for you when you helped Emiko paint those posters for my games, only for her to follow my lead and hurt you in the end.

When you took care of your little brother after he got scraped his knees playing outside, only for him to emulate my behavior toward you. When you got Maki’s number for that one girl only for her to laugh when I said that you ate disgustingly. When you helped that guy with the chemistry problem only for him to purposely smash his ball into your face. And countless other cases such as this.

I was always the enabler. It fills me with rage.

Tooru shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I ever let the world believe I am the kind one of us two.”

He wishes she would speak, say anything, only not subject him to that unforthcoming silence that follows his apology. Her hand, which until then had remained still and soft under his hands, stirs to life once more. Tooru feels her fingers clench and, instinctively, he gently drags his digits across the back of her hand.

Then, she begins.

“But you are kinder than me. You’re nice to people.” Y/n says with a voice that betrays no uncertainty. “You’re just not kind to me.”

Tooru winces, and when his eyes trail up to her face, the breath in his throat turns to stone. The look on her face is one of resignation as much as it is of self-loathing. It makes him want to shatter something, makes him want to drive his car off a cliff and drown at the bottom of the sea.

Careful not to startle her, he eases her fingers and threads them with his as he moves to sit on the chair to her left.

“I am so, so, sorry.” He confesses, “So sorry I let you believe it was your fault.”

He means every word. He wishes he could make her believe them.

Y/n eyes him skeptically. “How can I be sure this isn’t a long-term prank?”

All Tooru can do is chuckle and offer her an apologetic smile.

“I would beg you to have faith in me,” He says, “But that would be blasphemy.”

Before she can digest his words, an idea blooms in his head. His fingers tighten around hers, which catches her attention; dark eyes flitting from where their hands are touching up to his grinning face.

“What if we treat this as a little experiment?” He proposes with a mien that is almost hopeful. “A project. Treat me like a test subject. Dissect my intentions. Lobotomize my conscience. Bring everything to light and do what you think is best.”

Y/n considers his proposition in silence, holding his gaze as she does.

“Projects have a due date.” She points out.

It doesn’t take Tooru long to think of a deadline. What matters is that she’s taking him seriously.

“How does one year sound?”

“Are you sure you can make up for twelve years in just one?”

His faith in himself wavers at her words. “Do you think it will take longer?”

“I want it to take less. I don’t like-

“Wasting time on things doomed to fail. It’s inefficient.” He nods. Then, as if injected with a lethal dose of dopamine, Tooru makes a gesture as if flipping his hair. “I, however, am unfortunately enamored with what you call failures. I can’t help but want to tend to wounds. So,” He says, leaning closer so that their knees are brushing against each other, “Is a year fine with you?”

Nervous, Y/n brings her other hand to her wrist, scratching at the soft skin.

“A year and a day from tonight.” She tells him.

Tooru fake pouts, “Are you so certain I am going to fail? You wound me, pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hurt you. But just in case… you know.” She shoots him a look as if everything she’s saying is supposed to make sense. And, surprisingly, it does. “I don’t want to ruin New Year’s Eve for you. For all I know, that could be the first time you find yourself on the receiving end of rejection.”

Tooru makes as if to swoon. “So, you do think I’m doomed to fail.”

“Well, yes.” Her response is so deadpan it makes him bark out a laugh.

Though, on a more serious note, this is her trying. Just the fact that she’s willing to go through with this says enough about her commitment to what she had previously agreed to do with Rin. But he hates her now. He doesn’t want to experience everything as it happens in the continuum of a moment. All of it is her fault. But if she can have it with someone else, someone that, until a few hours ago, she would much rather steer clear of, then so be it. What she doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t have to choose. She doesn’t know that Rin could never leave her behind.

The two of them take their tea with two packets of sugar. Over the years, they’ve picked up on each other’s taste; Tooru all the more oblivious to his penchant for observing her whenever she was in the room. He takes in the sight of her as he urges her to talk about random things. He breathes in her scent as she wraps the green scarf, all frayed and spotted with lint, around her neck.

“Why won’t you throw this thing away?” He asks when they’re out in front of the café.

“Listen, Oikawa-

He tuts, shaking his index finger. “Not if you keep calling me by my last name, I won’t.”

He sounds playful and his brown eyes sparkle with childlike curiosity. So, she thinks, he’s not being malicious?

“I was supposed to give this to you on your birthday. Well, not supposed to because nobody made me buy it.” She hesitates in divulging the rest to him but ultimately decides to go with it. Her fingers feel the cloth around her neck. “I heard you say you prefer winter over summer because in summer it’s harder to practice, and… I thought you’d like it. And that it would make you hate me less.”

But she hadn’t given it to him and he had continued to believe that for him to be at peace she needed to disappear. Even if she’d chosen differently, Tooru is almost certain he would have found a way to trample on her attempt to befriend him. It would have been no more than wasted effort.

He speaks her name softly, so tenderly that even Tooru himself can barely hear it. But Y/n catches it and looks up at him. She recoils when he takes hold of the scarf and looks away.

“Trust me.” He angles his head so she can see him without having to look up.

Slowly, Tooru unwraps the worn-down fabric and does the same with his thick midnight blue scarf. He then wraps the thick, expensive (believe that it is) cloth around her neck. He can feel her gaze on him as he does the same with her scarf. He can tell she’s more than confused.

“There,” He says, patting the soft material that conceals her lips from view, “Now this feels right.”

Unable to formulate a proper sentence, Y/n simply nods and follows Tooru who immediately heads for his car. The scarf smells too nice for her to argue with him and have him yank it off of her. She breathes him in the entire car ride to the nearest park. His scent settles in her lungs like oxygen and Y/N loathes the moment she’ll have to remove it once she returns home.

Leaning against the railing, they watch the fireworks light up the sky and their reflection in the water mirroring the Big Bang of the New Year.

Age 17, the night of Tooru’s Birthday

“You should sleep here tonight sweetie.”

Truly, Tooru’s mother shouldn’t have said that. She should have left it well enough alone so Y/n could have worked out some plan of how to evade her mother’s blows and, most importantly, prevent others from bearing witness. But now… now that the offer has been made, it’s like a shroud has fallen over every piece of furniture and every speck of thought.

It shows plainly on Tooru’s face; his stare, the way he sucks in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. It would be ridiculous to presume he is anything other than displeased. She’s learned to read him to an extent. Without a doubt, that stance promises that nothing good would come out of staying the night.

“No.” Y/n asserts as politely as she can. She can spy Tooru raising an eyebrow at her words, “I don’t need to. I can just climb from his balcony into mine.”

Yuiko sighs and rubs her soft hands up and down Y/n’s arms. “Sweetie, we already discussed this. That’s extremely dangerous. Just sleep in Tooru’s room tonight. Okay? In the morning we can have breakfast and you can go home after that. Hm, how does that sound?”

“It’s fine.” Y/n insists, placing her hand above the one Tooru’s mom is gently holding her arm with. “I can do it. I’ll be careful not to slip.”

“See, that’s exactly what I fear, sweetie. What if your carefulness isn’t careful enough?” Y/n makes to respond when Yuiko cranes her head in Tooru’s direction, who looks infinitely more cheerful than he was five seconds ago. “Tooru, help me out a little. Convince her that it’s dangerous.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. How she wishes something would pulverize her where she stands, that her ashes would be scattered by a storm. Because there is no way Oikawa Tooru, the same person who told her just hours ago that she’d be lucky enough to die while scaling the building before her mom learns of her mistake, would be able to feign any utterance in favor of her continued existence. “Just sleep in my room tonight.” Those words, coming from him, shock her and it shows candidly on her face. He pushes himself off the wall with a smile and reaches for Y/n’s arm, separating her from Yuiko, who returns his smile with one of relief and gratitude. “It’s dangerous to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

As she steps from the security of the living room into his domain, Y/n is the only one not smiling. He releases her the moment the door clicks shut and heads toward the mini-fridge beside his studying desk without casting even a glance her way. The entire time she stands in the center of his bedroom like a stupid bitch, Tooru drinks from a bottle of water, pulls out two cans of beer, and then turns on the TV.

She takes the opportunity to sneak out into the balcony. She tries to make as little noise as possible yet he catches on anyway.

“In a bit, mom will bring you clothes to sleep in.” He stares her down as if to challenge her. “Do you want her to realize you’ve risked your life despite her begging you not to?”

Refusing to back down, Y/n says, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

Before he can answer, there comes a knock at the door. He gestures with his hand for her to answer it. She opens the door just enough to smile briefly at Yuiko.

“Here you go, sweetie,” The woman hands her a baggy, short-sleeved white shirt and a pair of grayish purple shorts along with panties to match. The last item has Y/n’s eyes flitting from Yuiko to the side to make her understand she can’t undress with her son in the same room. “Oh, I don’t think Tooru will mind. He can just turn the other way as you change. Besides,” Yuiko opens the door a little wider and motions to the wall next to the shelves where his numerous figurines stand, “You can use his bathroom. You can even take a shower if you want. Tooru always keeps spare sponges on hand.”

“Alright.”

That is all Y/n says and Yuiko smiles and wishes the two of them goodnight, leaving Y/n with the obvious choice to change out of her garments in the bathroom. Tooru says nothing but she can still perceive the tension emitting from him; penetrating her skin, crawling under it like maggots, rushing through her blood vessels like a substitute for blood. It has sweat pooling at her brow and along the length of her neck. Yet her goosebumps rise all over her arms like rashes that refuse to go away unless treated with some poultice. It’s a disease, this tension. No more, no less. So, she enters the bathroom in order to alleviate the symptoms, if only for a short while.

The clothes don’t exactly fit her. Tooru’s sister, Sayako-san, was much curvier than Y/n when she was her age. But that’s not the issue here. The problem is that Y/n, like any sane person, never wears a bra when she sleeps, and she doesn’t know what he’ll have to say about it. But, like her aunt always says, the need for comfort should always surpass the need for approval or the fear of prejudice.

Obviously, she exits without taking a shower. That would only make him angrier at her and all she wants to do is sleep and pretend he’s anything but furious.

“Out already?” His voice startles her just a little, “Why didn’t you take a shower?”

Walking towards the foot of the bed, Y/n looks at him (seated on the small blue couch and wearing glasses that would look ugly on her). He pauses whatever he was watching before her emergence and makes his way to her. She can hear the gears turning in his head at an inhuman speed, and dread drops in her stomach like a boulder into the sea; heavier than anything she feels when not in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me using your stuff.” Y/n answers.

Stopping less than a meter from where she’s sitting, Tooru scoffs.

“You’re already using my room. Might as well clean up after yourself. Besides,” He draws nearer and she instinctively stands as if to defend herself from any manner of attack. Before she can move out of his way, he yanks her by the arm so that she’s standing in front of him once again, “You’re used to lusting after everything that’s mine.”

“I don’t want to take anything away from you, though.” Her response is bland yet immediate, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s all she can do to convince herself that she doesn’t need to convince him of anything, to make him understand that she’s not the enemy. “Your mom is just ni-

He clamps his palm over her mouth and grins while leading her to his closet.

“If you want me to treat you better than you deserve even for just one night, you have to stop acting so innocent around me.”

Y/n tears his hand off her face as gently as she can so as not to arouse suspicion that his actions fluster and terrify her.

“You’re wrong.” She says, and he glares down at her. “I’m not-

Tooru shoves two towels in her hands.

“Go shower.” She looks at the back of his head as he sits on the couch, “Hurry. I need to shower too.”

That makes her feel even worse about staying the night; such a burden, a useless log that is tossed from a home that is dismissive of her existence to another that half-wishes she didn’t exist at all. To escape the turmoil, she does as he says; showers using his imported shampoo, shower gel, his extra blue sponge, and spare toothbrush. She’s like 1546385% certain he’s going to chuck it straight into the bin the moment she’s out of his house, perhaps even earlier.

He pushes past her before she’s even completely out of the bathroom.

She scans the bedroom for any place to sit that wouldn’t displease him. If she were to sit on the couch, that would undoubtedly leave room for remarks such as ‘What makes you think you can watch TV with me’ or ‘Why aren’t you asleep’. As for the latter, she doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep. She very much doubts he’s letting her sleep in his bed. Should she sit on the chair beside his desk? Should she stand with her shoulders against the wall? Y/n opts for the last option.

He's towel-drying his hair when he says, “What are you doing?”

Y/n doesn’t bother answering and instead asks a question of her own, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tooru doesn’t tear his eyes away from her face as he approaches her, brushing his damp hair all the while. She can either hold his gaze and irritate him, or she can look literally anyplace else. The outcome will remain the same. Obviously, she opts for the latter.

“Where do you think?” He asks, no emotion detectable in his voice.

“Any spare sheets?” She asks, “Since I’m taking the couch-

“Ever the martyr, aren’t you?”

“But you don’t want-

Tooru no longer bothers to veil his displeasure with frayed niceties. He takes a step in her direction. She stays rooted in place as if his words have cast a spell on her.

“Why?” He sneers, “So that you can tell mom about how mean I’ve been to you? Is that it?” Y/n makes to answer him honestly. He tilts up her chin as if to urge their gazes to lock. “Fucking look at me while I’m speaking to you.”

She does no such thing, choosing instead to speak with her stare piercing his collarbone.

“I’m not a martyr and-

This time he grabs her jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “I said look at me.”

Now, it’s not like she doesn’t try to yank herself free of his hold, and pry his fingers off her face until she’s no longer tormented by the deprecation and doubts swirling in his brown irises. But admittedly, it would be unrealistic for someone of her physique and athletic ineptitude to overpower someone of Oikawa Tooru’s caliber. Not to mention that he seems to meet her efforts with resilience. Determination makes his eyes gleam with something so feral in nature, so unlike his public image, that she ceases her attempts to liberate herself.

“I’m not a martyr and I’m not going to tell your mom.” Trying not to let on how defeated she feels, Y/n holds on to his forearm (a futile gesture of defiance), “I just want to sleep.”

To keep her mind off the fact that the space between their bodies keeps diminishing, she focuses on literally everything else; the almost imperceptible birthmark on the left side of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the wet strands that are beginning to lose some of their wet-glisten, the curve of his parted lips, and the breaths slipping in and out from between them. It doesn’t work out well. His presence becomes even more overwhelming.

“Well then,” He says, putting some distance between the two of them, “I think this is the right time to tell you I am no brute. You can sleep in my bed, especially now that you’re clean. But if you think I’m going to let you sleep so early,” The look he gives her, as he removes his hand from her jaw to pull her toward the sofa, is nothing short of a warning, “You’re severely mistaken.”

What happens after seems unreal to both of them. Tooru is baffled at himself when he pushes one bottle of beer after another her way at the same time that he’s draining his own. He doesn’t know why he trusts her at this very moment, nor why their hushed laughter makes him feel the vastness between their faces so severely. Their bodies reel from the sheer stupidity of the people in YouTube compilation videos making a fool of themselves in public. At one point he has to stop himself from laughing because he’s afraid he’s going to piss his pants right then and there.

He can sense her hesitation when he offers to microwave some pizza, but he doesn’t understand why that could be. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be because of him or the fact that the noise could wake his mom. Putting his finger in front of his lips in a shushing gesture, he assures her that his mother sleeps like a log and that, for good measure, he’s going to stop the microwave before the beeping sound.

It becomes obvious that she’s starving when he sets the plate on the low table and she all but inhales a slice. At first, he’s worried that she’s going to choke you know. But then she looks closes her eyes and smiles as though she’s having the nicest of dreams. Tooru leaves it be.

It's in the early hours of the morning that they have calmed down somewhat, each of them staring off into space as though the trophies or the buzzing TV screen will provide answers that they cannot get from having a sincere conversation.

As usual, Tooru is the first to speak.

“How do you manage to be alone?”

Under normal circumstances, they would be holding their breath. But they are so… lethargic and drunk that such behavior doesn’t even present itself as a possibility.

Depending on the dose of sincerity and the form it was served, her answer could be either poison or medicine. Even in her inebriated state, Y/n takes a few seconds to answer him truthfully.

“Silence is a good amplifier.” She tells him, and his eyebrows comically climb up on his forehead. “I can hear my heart beating, and everything around me and about me comes alive. I remain invisible to anyone but myself.”

Sensing that there is more that she wishes to express, he waits for her to finish.

“In silence, I find the strength not to die.”

Her words send tremors right through Tooru’s core, so much so that the can of beer almost slips from his hands (it doesn’t help that his palms have gotten clammy). So, a good minute passes until he’s ready to elaborate on his understanding of her perception of solitude.

“By your logic, the will to live can only be found in solitude.” He settles for looking at her arms as he asks the following question, “People make you want to die?”

“No,” Her answer isn’t immediate but neither of them pays any heed to the belatedness. “Not all the time.”

Resting his head against the couch, Tooru groans.

“Solitude would kill me.” He confesses and takes a sip, “I want to be around the people I care about and never be parted from them. I want to be surrounded by those that adore me, admire me, and never see the end of their idolization of me.” The silence that ensues puts a strain on the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Still refusing to spare her a glance, he says, “Go on. Say what you have to say.”

This time her response is prompt.

“Sounds a lot like you’re desperate for belonging.”

Tooru’s eyes go wide and he scoffs to emphasize his incredulity at her assumption. His hands are now clammy from the bottle sweating in his hold and itching to search despairingly for some reprieve.

“I do belong. With my friends, my mom, my sister, and my nephew.” His gaze settles on her shoulder as he continues, “Where do you belong?”

Y/n chuckles and Tooru can tell she would rather avoid answering his question.

“Not here.” She answers.

His gaze slowly travels up her neck and cheekbone, finally meeting her eyes in a room where the only source of radiance is the TV screen and the moonlight barging in. What is there to say, he wonders, about her? What is the best thing to say at this very moment? While she sits beside him⸺ cheek propped up on her folded right knee as her left foot rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly, her face tinged a mellow shade of red from the alcohol that just an hour ago used to fill the many bottles that now stand hollow⸺ he doubts he should say anything whatsoever.

But he does so either way.

“Is that how you feel?”

Because not speaking to her feels like a crime against his nature.

She shoots right back. “Isn’t that what you think?”

Now they’re both engaging in a battle of gazes that they are trying to saturate with some manner of temerity. It takes an absurd amount of courage not to flee his own home in search of something insignificant, vulgar, and utterly deplorable just to get the chasteness of the moments spent in her presence to flee from him. It takes several moments of breaths scarcely drawn for him to set his foot down and tell this urge ‘tonight I’m going to stay’.

While he’s mustering the courage to stay where he’s happiest, his hands have a mind of their own; slowly inching in the direction of her left hand until the tips of their fingers are touching just barely. It is stronger than Tooru, the desire to flip their worlds upside down. So, he settles for her hand, his fingers now caressing the hard skin camouflaging the softest of flesh.

Unsure whether to smile or solidify his poker face, Tooru tells her, “Your hands are callused.”

She isn’t far behind. “So are yours.”

Being the narrator has its perks and curses. I get to witness the gradual growth of their affection, which is still too great for their bodies; it spills through the cuts and cracks, bleeding light into a room otherwise washed by the dark. I get to watch him smile as though he’s found the one home that truly feels like one, that ephemeral thing called comfort that slips through the gaps of time, from one heartbeat to the next, that singular thing humans call belonging. I get to see the tremulous dawn of something similar peek above the curve of her lips, as if she’s a little afraid, a little nervous, and a little bit overwhelmed. I get to register his intangible regret and her contented confusion. I get to remember this night as it slips from their minds entirely, the defective record player refusing to let the joy take root… bloom. I get to regret remembering while time flies by, content that it has conquered their misery.

But for now, in the dead of night, he clings to the feeling of familiarity⸺ the scent he adores and forgets time and time again, the rhythmic pattern of her breaths and the rise and fall of her chest⸺ like a child clinging to his birthday balloon. He lets the warmth of her balance the shivers of the 3 AM breeze, because it is, as he slowly begins to understand, the easiest thing to be in her presence. He doesn’t have to pretend, to set his standards for himself so high that he sprains every aspect of his being in the climb to reach it. He can… exist.

He can show her all the memes he has on his phone and she can do the same. He can let her in on jokes his friend group cracks on the daily, revel in her laughter, muffled though it is. He can, in his drunken stupor, twirl strands of her hair around his forefinger, relish the smoothness of it, and let it fall only to repeat it over and over and over again.

She, too, can bask in his beaming smile. The gleam in his brown eyes is genuine, as pure as a candid picture of a raindrop about to plummet into the earth. As if the joy she’s experiencing was not crafted for her, a pang comes where her heart resides, and then another.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Her words invite confusion, but she does not allow him the opportunity to give voice to it. “For being here.”

Tooru knows not how to respond, so he lets his smile speak for him. And when she falls asleep at 3:52 AM, he allows himself the luxury to lie with his back turned to her.

You should know, reader, that the day he learned she’d left home for good wasn’t the first time he’d curled up in bed like a small child afraid of the dark. This isn’t the first time either. If it’s to hold back guilty tears, to suppress apologies that he thinks are either beneath him or above someone as vile as him, he’s more than willing to assume the demeanor of a four-year-old. He’s much too stranded on the mud-like admixture of arrogance and self-loathing to say things like ‘It’s fine’ or ‘Goodnight’. Every bit of his cowardice replenishes his strength to send a drunken prayer; that he might forget he ever felt at home with her.

In the afternoon, when his mom questions him about her whereabouts, she is nowhere to be seen. He thinks he is glad she has gone, so in a way, he got his wish. He believes himself relieved that the evidence of her warmth on his sheets has given way to coolness. But I know how dismayed he is to see her at the playground, sitting on a swing as she converses with Iwaizumi next to her, looking every bit like the girl that he has alienated yet toward whom he keeps gravitating. I know that the discomfort roiling in his chest is nothing but a mixture of fear and shame wound around his lungs like pythons around their prey.

The music is a drowned thing. Utterly insignificant in comparison to the scream jammed tight in his throat. Barbed wires press insistently against his muscles, shredding his skin. Rin needs someone he can share them with, wrap them in his hurt so they can both be secure within the sky-high fence. What better person to do this with than a stranger? They wouldn’t mind if he were to leave, never to show his face again. They certainly wouldn’t care if he was thinking about anything else while pleasuring them.

As he wraps his fingers around the girl’s neck, angling his head for better access to her lips, he forgets to factor in that people aren’t cutouts of one another.

She breaks away slowly, taking in the distressed look on his face as she asks, “You’re not thinking about me, are you?”

Rin scoffs and leans in once more.

“What does it matter?” He says, lips merely an inch away from hers.

“It doesn’t to me.” The girl shrugs, placing her hands on his arms, which has him halting to look where she’s touching him and then back up at her face. “But you’re not enjoying this.”

Shaking her off, Rin seethes, “How the fuck would you know?”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying you’re not present.” She leans in. “No need to be a little bitch.”

In a second, they’re making out again, but this time Rin is strangely stiff, rigid in his movements. This has never happened to him before. She breaks away, putting some space between them.

“See?” She says with a soft laugh, but Rin refuses to open his eyes. The girl pats him on the arm. “Happy New Year.”

Rin doesn’t say it back because she leaves. Although, there’s a very small chance he would have actually mustered the patience or ability to speak. It’s only after the song ends and ‘house of balloons’ starts playing that gathers the courage to tear his own eyelids open. Everything is painted with splotches of color and it takes a few seconds for him to see clearly. As clearly as he can see in a room lit only by an imitation of a mirror ball.

His mission is to search the house for her. Maybe she’s still where he left her?

“Out.” He tells the couple that’s about to hotbox in Kuroo’s room. “Only Kuroo’s close friends can be here.”

They do as he says, apologizing before stepping out of the room with blunts between their fingers. Rin’s search doesn’t stop here. He trawls the crevices of the penthouse and hounds everyone for any possible sliver of information that they might have on Y/n’s whereabouts. To no avail. She’s no longer here. And if he were to bet on something, it would be that she left almost immediately after he left her there alone and would probably rather not lay eyes on him for the time being.

So, Rin returns to Kuroo’s room and sits on the right side of the bed, feeling the place where she had lain before.

“It was meant to be you.” He mutters, his throat wound tight around the words. “This year was supposed to start with you.”

He watches the fireworks pain the night into day, all the while trying to resist the urge to text or call her. He lies to himself saying this is what has to be done if he wishes for them to remain as tightly knit as they’ve been since they met. His lips throb with want for the feeling of hers as he deceives himself into cowardice because doing otherwise would mean risking everything all over again.

Remember when I said they’d never kissed before? Yeah, I lied so they didn’t have to.

Taglist: @kurookinnie This is so late I’m sorry!

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#haikyuu #oikawa tooru #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #Suna Rintarou #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna rintaro angst #yen per second #bully!oikawa x reader

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madschiavelique · 2 years

Text

A Crown Of Ink : chapter 4 - Five of Wands

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3— 4 word count : 5,5k

mentions of : nothing that I know of (if you do find some elements that might be triggering please don't hesistate to tell me so that I can add it)

summary : You've always been an excellent in student in the Academy, getting the best results and always being first in every class. But it all changes as soon as you see your name in the second place, the first being occupied by a certain Viktor.

"Rivals? Yes, rivals, so be it, that is what you will be."

some extra information on this : she/her reader, academic rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, reader is really competitive and wants to be first at everything, Tarot themed fanfiction with guidelines, slow burn

author's note : hi besties, hope you're having a wonderful day/night/moment. kinda disappeared from the writing realm for a while ngl but life happened a LOT sooo i wasn't very present and i'm sorry. but here i give u some content and some kisses <3 (literally did not re-read this hdfqfdsv i'm tired i got uni tomorrow so there might be some orthograph mistakes I'M SO SORRY) (also my native language is not English so you might find some grammar mistakes - sorry about that)

tag list : @wincestisasincest @doctorho

Your week had been as thorny and bristling with problems as a porcupine. Your schedule had been given to you a while before, and you'd considered math an illegal subject on a Monday since your first day. If only math had been your only problem... From the first class you had with Viktor, you knew that the competition would be tough. Every time the teacher asked a question, you could expect that among the hands raised was not only your own, but also his.

And even when the forest of hands buried itself in the ground like falling leaves in autumn when a too complex question was faced, his persisted as a yellow hyacinth like his eyes, ready for the challenge. Not being able to tolerate that the latter overtake you even more, you tried in turn to participate more in class to the great happiness of all the professors who were apparently impatiently waiting for the lessons where you and the skeleton were present. One would answer a question posed by the teacher, the other would be quizzed afterwards, and the hand-raising ping-pong would be timed to whoever raised their hand the fastest. You'd heard that students were starting to keep track of how many times you two were involved, and that the teachers were probably in on it. And for good reason, the teachers obviously liked this Viktor who was bringing more participation, who seemed regular in his assignments and who was pleasant in class. In short, the perfect student.

And the truth is, if you were ever wrong, you suddenly felt as stupid as an inside-handled suitcase. At least you felt a little less stupid about your cards. You had learned many things about them, from the meaning of the colors, to the gender of the person on the cards, to trying to find connections between the elements on them. Sometimes you asked Sélène for advice, she knew much more about this art than you did, although you didn't visit her often because of your school work. You still managed from time to time to cross her in the corridors between two classes. You had been able to talk to her more during your first astronomy class, which in your eyes included basics that you knew only too well. The end of your days were going on as usual. You'd come home, neaten up your day's notes, start making revision sheets, then chat with Sky. She had quickly adjusted to life in Piltover, learning the customs, becoming familiar with the studies and the people. At first, making friends seemed like a complex thing for her to do, you almost feared that she would get hung up on you just by the fact that you were her room-mate and the only person she knew. Fortunately, for both you and her, the options she took on her side were not the same as yours, which allowed her to meet other students and make friends.

"I don't understand why you have such a hard time with Viktor." Sky sighed. You were at your shuttle stop, the mornings were getting cooler and cooler and the early morning sky was lazily letting the blue blanket of night languish, dreading the moment when the sun should truly rise and the quiet of the evening should give way to the life of the day. Today was the first day of the week, and this morning was the famous field trip organized by the teachers to the Museum of the History of Revolutionary Inventions. The professors had insisted that the students invited to this outing should meet in front of the Academy, to avoid anyone with a doubtful sense of direction from getting lost. Viktor, a being equivalent to a human compass always pointing in an impossible direction, would probably have ended up at the exact opposite end of the museum if his sense of direction was faulty enough to get lost in a hallway with no change in direction. "Hmm?" You ask, not fully hearing her question as you both climb into the vehicle. "Why so much animosity towards Viktor?" People were abusing that name a little too much for your taste since it had entered their vocabulary only a week ago. "I don't know..." you didn't really dare to say out loud that you hated him for the simple fact that he was ahead of you in the ranking of students and that number 1 was now him and not you, so you came up with a kind of half-thought lie, "I find him haughty." "haughty?" Sky repeats, surprised, "I've never seen him in that light before."

Of course, no one saw it that way. It was always "Viktor solved Professor Panvos' equation so quickly, he's so impressive", or "Did you see how Viktor corrected the arithmetic teacher the other day? He is so smart" and even "The joke he told the other day was so funny, the whole class laughed for at least two minutes". Viktor here, Viktor there, Viktor the smart one, Viktor the amazing one, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. If math hadn't already made you hate certain letters of the alphabet and put them in exercises, his name would be enough to make you hate those six poor letters. "And that's it?" "What do you mean?" "Is that the only reason you can't stand him?" Maybe it was time you revealed to Sky the fact that the mere number 2 horrified you and that being considered so by your school system might give you enough valid reasons to hate Viktor. And you would have told her, but at the time two things would have disturbed your explanation: first, you were on the morning shuttle bus to the Academy, which meant that other eavesdroppers might linger a little too close to your discussion. And second, one of Sky's new friends had just approached to greet her. What was her name again?

"Hey Orcelyia." Ah, yes there you go, Orcelyia. Very nice, at least from what you knew of her. "Nice little trip to the museum," she smiled, "if only the Academy offered this kind of program more often." You didn't really know how you felt about this visit, whether you would actually learn something interesting from it, or whether you would regret going when you could have studied more. "Isn't this kind of activity a recurring thing?" asks Sky. "A field trip? Doing it more often would be like giving them a nervous breakdown. The counselors are apparently far more interested in maintaining their finances and increasing their profits than sending their students to learn in ways other than reading." Apparently she was taking a business or finance related option. It seems to be a pretty practical option if you want to sell your inventions, but you just never got into it. She did seem to know a lot about the financial side of Piltover, as the rest of the way she had blurted out a lot of information about how Piltover's money came in and out. "I haven't ventured any further into Zaun's treasury functioning, but it looks much less sophisticated than Piltover's." Sophisticated is indeed a term that does not fit Zaun's financial models. The corresponding words would be closer to "random," "barter" or " tricky". Just imagining how finance works in Zaun is extremely complex. One neighborhood will have a totally different tariff from the next, one street will use one currency and the one next to it will use another. It is not the law of the richest, but of the one who has the most to offer.

A small group of students was already gathered in front of the golden gates of the Academy. The shuttle you had just gotten off of was the last one before roll call was made, which would allow enough time for the small town train to arrive. "Where are Jayce and Viktor?" Not really having the reflex to care about the presence of either of them, you started to glance over the small crowd. There was no sign of the tall naive man and the vicious gnome in sight. "Let's hope for them that they won't be late," you said without any real interest. You sometimes wondered about the origins of the meeting between Jayce and Viktor. What could have brought them together? Was it a previous meeting about the Academy? Were they childhood friends? Not possible, Zaun's children don't mix with those from above. So why? How? "Come near, come near, let everyone be properly counted." Calls Heimerdinger. As his high pitched voice begins the call and the students respond, you find yourself watching in the distance, waiting any moment for the one built like a tank and a broomstick to cross the horizon. But the call is finished, and still no sign. It's almost a relief that you don't have to see the man-whose-first-name-starts-with-a-V for the morning. The relief wears off soon enough, though, when, as you climb into one of the last cars in the back that had miraculously - and to your delight - remained empty, you see Jayce out of breath, followed by his colleague in the same state. They go first to the locomotive where Heimerdinger and the second teacher, Mrs. Agrane, are, to indicate their presence. You sigh, the train is made of five cars with four seats each, and as yours is the last one where there are still seats, the two latecomers don't hesitate a single second more before coming towards you. They took their seats, both facing you in the car as the train started its journey. This little city train was usually reserved for tourism, quite practical to entice customers and let them see lots of little shops that could please them and make them come back to buy souvenirs and other trinkets that were sold for way too much money. But hey, it's Piltover, somehow it has to stay golden. You look at them, they're catching their breath, they look like they just ran a marathon. Both pair their eyes with dark circles under them, did they even sleep last night to look like ghosts? Probably not.

"The alarm didn't ring," Jayce warned, raising his hand above him to soften the morning sun that bathed him all in an orange light as if he were blessed. Yes, Jayce had the true look of a deity. He always looked as if he came straight out of a mythological story where he was a hero filled with beauty, glory and strength of mind. It was all the more complex not to see this aspect of him once the group arrived at the museum. Because once inside, the corridor that welcomed you were two parallel lines of sculptures of various figures of Change. Inventors, Scientists, Philosophers, Craftsmen, Creators, all the greatest were gathered. On the right row of statues were all the greats of Piltover sculpted in bronze, on the left, the revolutionaries of Zaun, sculpted in copper. Jayce and his tanned skin, like the statues in the Piltovian line, seemed to blend in perfectly with all these icons of technology, knowledge and revolutionary change. It was as if he had been created, right here, sculpted among all the greats. That he had been shaped, drawn between strokes of pure power, might, and traits of tenderness, kindness, generosity. Sculpted in the most beautiful of bronzes, the one that attracts the sun and keeps it close. Because he would be nothing in the night.

The night belongs to those below, and even if those above can reach the sky, they will never catch the stars. No, here, side by side with Viktor, Jayce could never be king of the night. Not the same porcelain skin, not the moles formed into constellations, not the dragging fatigue, not the intense calm, not the silent wisdom. Strict opposites, brought together by a single objective. Let the opposites attract, and let the balance be. "Well, please gather around, so come follow us." Informed Heimerdinger, followed closely by Ms. Agrane. "I suppose that most of you know the statues of the people staying in this hall. They have been placed here for the simple reason that, as the main creators in this city and the one across the river, they benefit from the entrance, the beginning, the commencement of the museum, since they are the founders." Needless to say, even as the teachers began to ask questions about the founders, the first hands raised were yours and Viktor's. You exchanged a look, him with an amused sneer, your eyes ready to melt statues if your eyes had lasers. Always putting sticks in your wheels. Speaking of sticks, this morning you had drawn the five of wands. The points that came up the most were about conflict and competition and blah blah blah. This morning you hadn't really read carefully what was written in the booklet about this card. Maybe you should have looked into it more.

Professor Heimerdinger's questions had finally turned to the great creators of Zaun, much to the disappointment of some students and for most even to their disgust. "They shouldn't even be in this gallery, rats aren't worth having statues of them." Spat silently a fool a little ahead in the group. Near Viktor and not far from Sky, you couldn't help but notice their reaction to such a statement - one lowered her head, the other tensed and clenched his jaw. Don't make waves, don't stray from the line, don't let anyone know where you're from: that's the rule if you want to fit in at the Academy. Viktor's eyes narrow under his furrowed brows, his hand tightens on the handle of his cane. He is upset, obviously, but it is a bitterness he must swallow silently. Heimerdinger, not having heard or probably ignored the student's intervention, continues his questions: "You probably know the founders of Zaun since this is elementary level, but can any of you name the current Zaun leaders?" Without raising his hand, Viktor speaks up:

"There are six of them, Chross, Finn, Margot, Renni, Smeech and Silco." Wrong, wrong. Well, not all of his answer is wrong of course, but part of his answer is not complete. You're not sure if you should actually speak up and point out this error. In truth you would love to correct it, it would probably give you a dose of pleasure and personal satisfaction enough to keep you proud for the next two days. But you wondered if that very idea was a good one, if responding to correct him would reveal too much about you. Too much knowledge can be fatal, you have to know how to measure it. However, Heimerdinger intervened: "Do either of you have anything to add to Viktor's answer?" The offer was too tempting, too tempting for you to prevent this moment of glory. So you took it. "The account is not good." Your heart suddenly starts to race, as if it's stripping away from the muddy fog inside you and up into your throat. It's strange how you can forget it exists until it manifests itself. Your cheeks begin to heat up as eyes slowly converge on you, including and obviously Viktor's. "What's wrong with it?" The latter asks, visibly troubled. It was almost to wonder if you were not ready to do anything, even to invent lies, if it could allow you to be ahead of him. "There are seven, not six. The last one is Tytos."

The attention turns to Heimerdinger this time, waiting for his answer. His little eyes sparkle with a special, satisfied glow and energy. "Excellent, excellent..." He admits. "Let's continue the tour." That name had escaped your lips like a curse word, like a whisper turned scream, as if the snowflakes had metamorphosed into ash and burned the pale freshness of oblivion. You continued your visit, the parade of statues being now over, you passed to the last statue and you finally turned to enter a different part of the exhibition. After a while, the teachers finally let the students walk around the museum. The appointment to meet and return to the Academy was made for 11:45 in front of the museum entrance. You found yourself in the section about some of the great inventors of Zaun, which was much less populated than the Piltovian section. Obviously, the Piltovians don't look at the lights that persist in their shadows, they ignore them, perhaps they will go out, for even the most ardent coals eventually soften and eventually fade away. Not the flames of Zaun, no, they persist as much as the vermin that roam its streets.

However, flames cannot be kept in place in a museum without the risk of burning the surrounding works. It is said that it is easy to be afraid of water and oceans, because in them live as much life as death - the story is similar for flames. Flames are fierce, devastating and uplifting. They are power, for they bring as much success as they can cause damage. Your eyes wander over the paintings, the portraits, the schematics, the glass panes housing the very first prototypes that the inventors had put into the world. Incredible to think that these same prototypes dating from several decades ago have now evolved in an unequalled way. Impressive to think that with these prototypes were born wars, that we have won and we have lost, that have allowed life, and that have built cemeteries. The dead have built graves more beautiful than the houses of the living. "Since when are there seven Chem-Barons in Zaun?" You turn around, the skeleton is there, coming to beg for answers to his questions.

"As far back as I can remember," you say, returning to your notes taken between two inventions. "I've never heard of them, though," he says as he steps forward a little more, coming to stand next to you to observe the prototype, "what do they work in?" "Why ask me that? Isn't the library big enough for you?" "God knows on which shelf three meters above the ground the books on Zaun's politics should be," he murmurs, lightly tapping his cane on the varnished parquet, "so what do they work in, you who know so much about it." The hint of bitterness is present in his tone, and you revel in it. "He's a smuggler, mostly, some trafficking, but what chem-baron doesn't get into that after all?" "Surprising that I haven't heard of him. " You move on to the next prototype, maybe he'll leave you alone. "What did you say his name was? "Are you going to follow me around like a duckling?" "I think it was ending in Os. What was it again? Carlos, Mynthos..." You sigh, he's like a sticky mud on your shoes, a persistent gum that's not so easily overcome.

"Tytos." You sigh. "Ah, there it is, Tytos. Sounds like the name of a virus." " He has a similar effect on the city. " "Is he that obnoxious?" "Are chem-barons generous?" Finding nothing more to say to your answer, you took advantage of this moment of silence to once again evade and take the option of fleeing. Fleeing? No, rather a dodge, a parry. You weren't running away.

Talking about Tytos did not really enchant you, and even if this subject of conversation was very simple, you could not help feeling a certain uneasiness when his name was pronounced or when his subject was evoked. So you put his presence out of your mind and continued the visit until it was time for the appointment. You found Sky who had spent the whole time with Orcelyia. They got along like real friends, which delighted you. Seeing her blossom like that filled you with joy in a way. Because she had succeeded at something you had failed at, and in it you felt no defeat. Viktor and Jayce climbed back into your carriage to your delight, and Jayce then began to fidget, probably trying to lighten the mood as best he could. "What lovely weather today." Both you and Viktor turned to him, his friend the first to respond. "Did you really just start talking about the weather, Jayce?" "What, it's a taboo subject?" The latter inquired. "You can do better than that." "Okay," he says, pretending to look for a topic of conversation, "what's your favorite color?" "Wow, what a depth in your words, I guess the next question will be something like 'what are your hobbies' or 'what are your favorite foods'?" you say, the conversation sounding very much like a discussion that might be had by school children meeting on the first day of school. "No," he said, crossing his arms. He was going to ask those questions next.

You sigh, leaning against the side of the car and resting your chin on your hand. "Purple." You turn your head slightly, watching Viktor for a moment, meeting his gaze completely neutral but... expectant. "Purple?" Jayce repeats, "Why?" "I don't know. It's beautiful, it's calm, in lavender as well as plum, in cassis as well as grape, in wisteria as well as... whatever, it's the one I prefer." "Interesting, I prefer warm colors, like orange for example. Pumpkins, carrots, clementines." Jayce gushes. "Are you listing the five fruits and vegetables a day right now?" you say. "Go ahead and tell us your favorite color so we can discuss it." Jayce suggests, slightly annoyed. "None of your business." You answer simply, deviating again your glance towards the paved streets of the city. "Conversation is a dying art." Viktor sighs. It doesn't matter if you like the danger of red, the warmth of orange, the joy of yellow, the serenity of green, the wisdom of blue, the calmness of purple, the eroticism of pink, the security of brown, the depth of black, the sadness of grey or the shrill timidity of white.

Viktor is not your friend, he doesn't deserve to know this, no matter how small and insignificant this information is. You could see what Jayce was trying to do - find common ground between you. But how many times should you tell him that you were not trying to get closer to Viktor? The very idea of becoming his friend made your hair stand on end. And the saying that goes 'you have to befriend your enemy to beat him' - or something along the line - doesn't help. Why did he have to come and ruin everything? The train eventually stopped in front of the golden gates of the Academy, and if you didn't know the nature of the building, you could have easily convinced yourself that this golden portal led straight to heaven. Only for you, it was going to be the portal to hell. "Well," announced Heimerdinger, "we'll meet again later after lunch to discuss this visit and the organisation of your first assignment." To the general protests and grumbling generated by these few words and the certain disgust evoked by the simple word `assignment' led Heimerdinger to raise his hands to soften the crowd. "Don't worry, the work won't be very complex, besides, you won't be working alone! But I won't say any more, I'll let you go back to the refectory. We'll discuss all this once we're in class." After wishing the students a great meal, the teachers and students dispersed to go about their business.

You were about to turn back. You'd forgotten to take your packed lunch that morning and were going to head to the bakery to get a sandwich or a salad. But Jayce blocked your way with the wall that is his chest: "Where are you going?" "Is this a trick question?" "It depends on your answer?" "I'm trying to eat my five fruits and vegetables a day so unless I have to give you a super secret password, can you please let me through? "No need, I'm inviting you to the cafeteria!" "How romantic." "Come on, I'm paying and the menu looks pretty good today." You know what's coming, the meal for three where he'll find every possible topic of discussion so he can introduce you to Viktor in a more subtle way and try to calm the somewhat tempestuous climate you two share. However, Jayce is paying, and that's an offer you can't refuse. You sigh, turning back. The meal better be really good.

***

It almost pains you to touch the plate in front of you. It looks like it's come straight out of a Michelin-starred restaurant, or a culinary arts competition. It's almost the kind of dish that could inspire enough to be painted. For the entrée, a slice of crab pie. For the main course, bronzed quail dipped in a creamy orange sauce accompanied by small potatoes with crispy skin and southern herbs. Half a cabécou was served as cheese and to conclude the meal, the dessert consisted of a small sloe tart. Were the students of the Academy regularly so well served? Who had been hired to make every lunchtime meal a real feast? You almost felt guilty for having to actually eat such a plate, but hunger won out over reason, and so you ended up taking the end of your slice of pie into your mouth. "So, what are you up to these days when you're not at school?" "Careful Jayce, you're treading on thin ice." You warn. "Really?" He says, stopping cutting his quail on the spot. "No." You close your mouth and pick up another piece of quail as Jayce looks at you with a look that varies between surprise and fatigue. "So you don't want to talk about anything?" He said before bringing his bite into his mouth as if what he was about to eat was one of the simplest foods you could have at home. "No," you say, taking a sip of water to clear your throat, "tell me how did you two meet?"

Suddenly, those who wanted to stop talking were the two concerned. They exchanged a knowing look. "Anyway, our meeting between me and Jayce turned out to be much less thorny than ours," Viktor informed you, quietly chewing his food. "One more word and I'll throw Sodium Chloride in your eyes." You point. "Are you really threatening me with salt? "It's a very effective weapon." "I'm almost tempted to provoke you further to see how far you can go." "Oh, that won't be necessary," you say, grabbing the bottle of salt. "You wouldn't dare," Viktor smiles. "That's an interesting theory," you point out as you start to unscrew the bottle. " Hop hop hop let's calm down immediately," Jayce interjects, putting his hand on yours to remove the bottle from your fingers and place it next to him on the table. "No, Jayce, come on, let her do it, let's stop talking theory and start practicing." "Okay, you're not helping me at all Vik," Jayce confirms, sighing more as he runs his hand through the side of his hair. "When is your little war going to end?" "War? We're only at the beginning of a meager battle. And for good reason, she failed to surpass me on the pre-test which... doesn't really count as an actual test." It's amazing how his words and voice could give you an impulse to commit reprehensible acts.

You felt like an armour in a statue garden, where the red roses of wrath flourish in ruby anger all over the metal of reason that covers your rage, prepared to fight. When conflict is added to desire, you get rivalry.

"As you say so well, the test doesn't really count, therefore you haven't outdone me in any way." "Is everything just a competition to you?" Viktor remarked, his gaze shifting between intrigue and mockery. "Isn't it to you, too?" You confirm, locking your gaze in his as your fork penetrates the tender of the quail. "You guys are Grade A idiots," cuts in Jayce, who was probably beginning to regret having kept you around for lunch. This meal was beginning to look like the very personification of a migraine. You looked down at your lunch tray. Now that you were nearing the end of your orange quail, your plum tart was looking delicious. It's beautiful, it's quiet, lavender as well as plum... You were almost disgusted with your dessert because of the words he had spoken earlier. But you ate it anyway, because waste is not a primary value in Zaun. "I wonder what Heimerdinger meant earlier, 'Don't worry, the work won't be too complex, and what's more, you won't be working alone!' What is he up to?" Jayce wonders.

"You know him, his little riddles bring us surprises every year." You answer. "That's true," he laughs, turning to Viktor. "Last year he brought some kids we had to work with, the goal was that the kid we were paired with would tell us an invention they had in mind, something doable, and that we would end up doing the project in the time allowed over several weeks. His argument was that 'children are the future of this world'," he imitated in a voice that sounded more like a squeaky door than the teacher's, "'so show them what the world can already offer.' Or something like that." "Jayce, for the common good, I feel compelled to inform you that you must never, under any circumstances whatsoever, imitate Professor Heimerdinger again." This was probably one of the few points on which you agreed with him in this discussion.

***

"As I said earlier this morning, we are going to discuss the organisation of your first assignment." The small amphitheatre was listening, most of them anticipating the session, some of them stunned by their lunch break and wanting only to take a nap. "As I told you, and I hope you paid attention this morning, the work you will do this year will not be done by letting you work alone! So you will be working in pairs between students."

Some people are already starting to get excited, with best friends already deciding to get together to do the project. You don't know if this will really be beneficial. The person you're paired with might slow you down and you'll end up doing the whole thing by yourself to get a good grade. "This work will be based on collaboration, because it is important as an inventor to be able to work with other people. This allows you to be more objective, because the eye of others is important as an external opinion. If nobody ever contradicted us, we would end up saying nothing but nonsense. And since we tend to work with people we get along with at first sight, I'll have to spare you the right of choice. Therefore, I have decided to do the groups myself." Those who were giggling begin to grumble and protest, as if this will sincerely change anything in the professor's opinion. " All right, I'll give you your duets right now. After that I will give you the instructions for the assignment, and finally we will start the class." The call begins. The idea that you would have to work in pairs bothered you, but the fact that you couldn't choose your pair added an extra parameter of constraint. The names go by, some seem more delighted than others, but your name has not yet been mentioned. You hear Orcelyia's, then later Sky's, then Jayce's, but still not yours. Again, your heart is pounding. And what you feared most happened: Your name and Viktor's name were called together. There was silence in the room, much to Heimerdinger's delight, and then after a few seconds the whispering began. You couldn't really hear what was being said, your mind divided, oscillating between denial and anger. You really should have paid more attention to your map reading this morning. "Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts. In the five of wands, five men appear to be fighting each other, using their wands as weapons. However, on closer inspection, their sticks are raised but not hitting or hurting anyone. It is as if there is no real purpose or outcome in this chaotic scene, except to create conflict and discord within the group. Each man is wearing a different outfit, symbolising the diversity of their backgrounds and belief systems, and suggesting that because of their differences they cannot find harmony and common ground with each other. This card indicates that you are in the midst of a battle, tension and competition with others and that this is impacting your ability to move forward with your goals. Rather than being able to work towards a common goal, you are faced with constant opposition. Energy is dispersed but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There is a need for unity. You are hindered by people who do not act as you expect. Free yourself by embracing the present moment. Why did he have to come and ruin everything?

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