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eureka-its-zico · 4 months ago

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Residuals

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: So, I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to do this, but honestly, I’m such a sl*t for Noah Wyle and older men. I also kept running into there being just hardly any fics in general for this amazing show and so…here I am. Attempting to create my version with an OC that does have a last name (it's for the doctor purposes but also I hate that whole y/n, y/l/n stuff, ok? It just throws my ass off and throws me out of a story) and follows along with the episodes of the show. Idk how this will go or be received but I’m here wrecking myself. Much Love

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me and hyping me up when I feel like my shit is trash. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word Count: 3259

Next I

7:00 AM

“No, absolutely not. Ask someone else.”

The break room was the perfect place for Gloria’s early morning ambush. You’d barely pushed in the numbers on the keypad, the door swinging open when your gaze homed in on her position leaning against the small kitchenette. The words blurted out from a place deeply seeded in not being ready for her or the administration's early morning bullshit. You hadn’t even got to enjoy your coffee yet.

You’d turned on your heel and raced back out the door in what could’ve been record time. Your hand tried to steady the sloshing of your coffee as you could feel Gloria hot on your heels.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You’re right - I don’t. However, seeing you this early, Gloria is not a good omen for starting my day.”

There was nowhere in the entire trauma center that you could go to get away from her and, knowing Gloria, she wasn’t going to make it easy for you. Realistically, you understood that Gloria was just another cog in the corporate machine. She rode your ass - and every other medical professional in the system from doctors during residency to technicians and CNAs - because it’s what the big bad CEOs demanded. The hospital functioned on efficiency facilitated by money and if too many bad Yelp reviews arrived it systematically hurt numbers. Bad numbers equaled a bad flow of funds.

Gloria no doubt listened to her bosses during an early morning meeting where they rattled off complaint after complaint that dealt with a showcase of data and numbers. Both, of which, the board constantly claimed, showed the true efficiency of the hospital - not the life-saving measures taken to keep people alive. No doubt its main focus rested on the emergency department downstairs, because, once again, Yelp reviews of massive wait times and poor satisfaction scores outweighed the expertise of attending doctors.

You didn’t envy Gloria’s position of being hated for being said cog in the corporate machine. Her job focused on relaying the demands from the top. Gloria was forever the bad guy to staff whenever they noticed her no-nonsense demeanor coming towards them. It was hard to be sympathetic to her plight when she followed you around like a bloodhound. The woman was relentless.

“The board would like to see if applying additional support down in the emergency department would help alleviate time issues that are keeping patient satisfaction at a tremendous low.”

Absolutely not.

You would rather chew your arm off than be sent down there. Your retreat came to a halt as you turned to face her. There weren't too many places inside the hospital you could go, and you were willing to bet Gloria was willing to follow you anywhere until you conceded. Plus, you came to a full stop in front of the elevator, and no matter how much you’d like to magically teleport yourself inside of it, unfortunately, you were mortal and would just have to wait.

Gloria’s hands were interlocked in front of her middle - eyes drilling miniature holes in you that not that long ago used to make you squirm. That was back when you were just starting your internship - eager back then to make a great first impression. Terrified of being reprimanded for making an unpopular decision or speaking your mind.

“Gloria, I’m in family medicine.”

“Last time I checked you started in the emergency department and helped out in intensive care.”

“Yes, great memory, Gloria. If you also recall, I moved to family medicine where I’ve been for the last couple of years.”

The transfer to family medicine was a hard pill to swallow. You’d grown accustomed to the craziness of the ER. The constant adrenaline rush that required you to always bring your A game. Where the anxiety was at an all-time maxed-out high where a simple mistake cost lives but a quick deduction could save them. Once you’d moved upstairs to help out Dr. Nave’s family practice, it’d been a huge adjustment. Eventually, once your body got used to the monotony of the days, you found you were finally able to sleep. To be semi-normal.

There was no denying, however, that you left something important behind in The Pitt. Something you hoped you could leave there inside its sterile rooms and the overwhelming storm of emotions.

“I’m not asking you to go back down there to answer every trauma call. I’m asking you to take your family medicine knowledge downstairs to help assess triage for minor issues -“

“You mean people who come in for chest colds,” you interrupted.

“ - and help the senior doctors clear out these cases so they can focus on more immediate health care concerns.”

Gloria’s words crushed your small outburst and bore down on your shoulders, keeping you from trying to move away. Her hands were now connected at her elbows, which was her silent way of informing you she didn’t appreciate you trying to talk over her. That no would never be an acceptable answer.

You felt the drag of your teeth against your cheek. The temptation to bite down to relieve your growing irritation was overwhelming but futile. No matter what argument you came up with, you knew Gloria was here to make sure what the board requested was done.

Instead of bloodshed, you eased your frustration out inch by inch through your nose. Your eyes scanned over the shitty egg wash walls while you debated all of your available options, which were a big fat none.

“How long?”

Gloria didn’t need clarification on what you were asking. The way she practically preened like a peacock let you know she knew she’d won.

“As long as the board requires it.”

“I’ll do it just for today,” you interjected, ignoring her raised brow. “Today you can see if pulling me from Nave’s floor makes your charts or numbers move or whatever data it is you all look at. If it does nothing, today is my first and last day going down.”

Gloria considered your counterargument. The sharpness in her eyes brightened; the terms of this new agreement were revised without you knowing the new verbiage. The only thing you were sure of was that you could count on this small verbal agreement being drawn out in document form for you to sign later.

“Alright, Dr. Fullerton. You’ve got a deal. I’m sure the board will agree. Now come on. If we walk down fast enough maybe, you’ll make it in time for shift change.”

She didn’t wait to see if you were going to follow. Why would she when Gloria knew very well you weren’t going to fight it, especially when the main reason for your denial currently wouldn’t be working today.

Anniversaries were never really Robby’s thing.

You would never admit it, but your anxiety was fifteen feet away from grabbing you in a chokehold.

Get a fucking grip.

It had been two years since you left the ER. Two years since Robby and you had called time on seven years together. Seven years of memories filled with all the good and bad, co-parenting Jake, and keeping your relationship secret until it wasn’t. The early years of walking to work together with quick kisses goodbye before you split up just before you turned onto the final street to the hospital. The both of you choose different entrances each time to try and not raise suspicion.

It took Dana four days to figure out the two of you were together.

Dana was perceptive like that. Hell, she’d been the angel on your shoulder whispering hints that Robby just might like you as much as you liked him.

“I told him to ask you out to dinner. He thinks you’ll say no.” “If he did ask, I should say no,” you countered. Your eyes struggle to stay trained on the chart in front of you. “Yeah, but I know you’ll say yes.” “And what makes you so sure about that, Dana?” “Because if you don’t stop giving each other googly eyes from across my nursing station I’m going to throttle you both.”

Robby had only been divorced from his wife for less than a year. You’d overheard snippets of conversations between Robby and Abbot, Dana, or Adamson about custody battles and visitations. The last thing you wanted to do was be a possible added stress to an already stressful situation. At least, that was the bullshit you kept telling yourself to try and stay away.

But Dana was right (she usually was, but you’d never tell her that).

You couldn’t pinpoint a specific time when things started to change between the two of you. The coffee breaks on the roof looking out over the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The jokes that caused smiles to crest over his face, rivaled the glow from the sun's early morning rays. He told you later, in the med closet, how the sound of your laughter was something he looked forward to hearing; the warmth of it was enough to keep helping him make it through his shift. A sound he began to crave in the quiet corners of his home. You could still remember the phone calls and early texts. The caution and heavy breaths that harbored a desire that longed to reach out and consume the other. The two of you were equally afraid to be the one to take that first step over the bounds of professionalism.

The two of you knew the dangers of playing with lingering touches and knowing glances. The way you both acted like you wouldn’t ultimately end up burned. You could still recall the way he’d traced his thumb across your lips. The possessive way his eyes followed the motion made the desire for him to close that space, to claim you, to take you, threatened to make you lose all self-control.

Eventually, you stopped listening to the warning signs of all the what ifs; of being the intern and worrying about how it would make you look. When Robby asked you out on that date you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone the way you did with Robby. He was so attentive; he was thoughtful in the most pragmatic ways - packing extra scrubs in your pack. Teaching you how to fish and the differences between the lures and bait. The way he took the time to explain the objects he carved from wood and how much pressure was necessary to create the grooves and pattern. The way his voice would sound as he read to you; the soothing vibrations of his baritone the safest place you could be with his fingers in your hair.

He carved out a life that made it possible for all three of you to co-exist. His son, Jake, becomes the deepest interwoven part of your life you never realized was missing. On days Robby had him, you planned camping trips up in the mountains to hike and fish. To go on museum trips into Jake’s latest hobbies with the two of you making sure to have his game day off to cheer embarrassingly loud for him in the stands. The shared looks of pain from beside each other on the couch while Jake practiced his clarinet upstairs when he thought he wanted to be in the school band. You got lost in furniture manuals, cooking dinners that ended a few times with questionable outcomes, and attempting to bake tarts and pies that led to a one-time usage of the fire extinguisher. The euphoria of loving someone and being loved so fiercely in return made the years feel weightless, and when Robby finally proposed it made so much sense to say yes.

And COVID happened.

The quarantine and the endless amounts of patients that just kept coming - that felt like, no matter what you did, they couldn’t be saved. Family and friends, you both knew were ravaged by the infection. There were no answers. No medical treatments that you knew for sure would be what would save them. It didn’t discriminate and took lives without mercy. You just came to work every day, exhausted, and fighting to do what you could to heal those you could. You showed up every day for your patients.

Then Adamson passed.

There was no denying Robby blamed himself for what occurred with his mentor. It didn’t matter what you said. What Dana, Abbot, or anyone else said. The guilt weighed down on his conscience, pressed so violently, that eventually, Robby cracked under the strain. His grief was all-encompassing and the added loss that should’ve been experienced together, was left for only you to bear - widening the gap between you until it became a chasm.

The last time you’d seen Robby he’d been leaving to go to work. The latest fight - the endless bitter silences that stretched on - tore at the fabric of your being. Fractured pieces you didn’t know how to pick up on your own no longer felt worth fighting for. So, you decided to remove yourself from the equation.

When Robby came home from work that night you were already gone. Your engagement ring and house key sitting on a note that asked him not to contact you. He’d made it clear enough that there was no place for you in the new person that he was becoming - made it clear that your grief would be processed alone.

And so that was how you ended up transferring to family medicine. How you made sure to steer clear of all the places Robby was known to frequent. You ignored, as politely as you could, texts from Dana. Refused to talk about him in a work capacity or to close friends.

The truth was that you were still in love with Robby after all this time. The idea that someone else could ever make you feel as whole - as complete - didn’t exist. So, yes, you only agreed to come back down to the emergency department, where it all started, because you comfortably knew he wouldn’t be here. Dana, you could deal with her by using a little recon - you just needed to stay two steps ahead of her. Langdon was easier to deal with because his loyalty to Robby was absolute, which made you public enemy number one. For you, that meant he’d stay away from you on principle.

You were in the middle of shoving down the growing dread that was threatening to spill out of you when you came around the north hall triage. It was morning rounds. It was the attending's job to give the early morning pep-talk, debrief about patients who came in last shift, and go over the board. What you found waiting for you was what looked very much like a fresh batch of interns and/or med students taking instructions from a doctor you knew painfully well. One that made you question if it was too late to back out and turn tail and run.

“Oh, shit.” Dana huffed the words under her breath, but Robby caught them. The way each one dripped in a warning he should’ve heeded. “Gloria -”

It didn’t surprise him to hear she was here. He’d been warned by Dana but what Robby hadn’t expected was to see you - you - standing beside her.

You who he thought completely disappeared to the point you’d quit the hospital. You, who he thought of in the most inconvenient of times, who haunted him, and you who he wanted to fucking scream and curse at you but also ask how the fuck you’re doing because Jesus Christ…

He didn’t need this shit today.

At least you had the decency to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby. I’m aware you and most of your emergency department know Dr. Fullerton. She used to work down here previously a few years back.”

“You could say that again,” Langdon muttered.

“I’m sorry why are you bringing a random fucking doctor down into The Pitt?”

The annoyance contrasted with the peaceful professionalism Gloria tried to hold together. But if she was going to bring random doctors down here, God, bring you fucking down here, he was damn sure going to make her work for it. Inch by irritating inch.

“We both know that Dr. Fullerton is not a hospital resident or an attending transfer. As previously stated, she worked down here in this very ED, with you no less. She also holds one of the highest Press Ganey scores in this hospital.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud,” his words ground out like he’d swallowed gravel.

Gloria shot him a warning look as she continued, “-Something I figure she could teach the new students and old physicians here. I’m bringing her down to assist Dr. McKay today in triage.”

“Let me guess - this either has to deal with the hospital's numbers or lack of working bodies down here. Am I right?”

“What a fantastic guess, Robby. It does indeed have to do with the hospitals' numbers and poor patient output. Based on those numbers alone today, if it shows Dr. Fullerton’s presence helps patient satisfaction go up and wait times decrease - even in the slightest - she’ll be staying here. Permanently.”

His jaw ticked violently. He wanted to bristle and tell her where to stick her metrics and numbers. To tell Gloria to get you the fuck out of his Pitt. Somewhere in his brain, his common sense slowly won out. It didn’t matter how much of a fit he threw; Gloria had every intention of making you stay. Down here. With him.

Robby also knew, realistically, that the chances of you driving up productivity were high. You were a damn good doctor. One of the best. Adamson had made sure. Christ, Robby himself made sure. Fuck. The edges of his vision were beginning to tighten in glaring white; he needed to get away before he succumbed to a panic attack.

He should’ve kept looking away, but he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his eyes away from you. It’d been nearly two years since he came home to find you gone. Two years for him to think of the hundreds of thousands of questions that he would demand for you to answer if he ever saw you again. All those months of burying it all down, telling himself he got what he wanted, only for it to be dredged up, and on a day like today, he was already close to his breaking point.

You looked good. Great, even. Just as gorgeous as the first day he’d met you and begrudgingly, for a split second, he wondered how you saw him. If you were equally as fucked as he was.

“Make sure she stays with you up in triage, Dr. McKay. I don’t want to see her in my red zone.”

He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from Gloria or McKay. He didn’t bother to see if you understood he meant every word he said. You had no place down here. Robby needed to start his shift - to start the normalcy of seeing patients - before he completely forgot why he chose to come into work today.

He needed to get away before all his resolve shattered. The easiest way to keep himself whole was to begin his day. To do his rounds and when he passed you, he did his best to pretend you didn’t even exist.

___________

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much love.

#Residuals #ongoing series #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #the pitt max #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x you #doctor robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #saucy angsty babies

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pacifistsworstnightmare · 10 days ago

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PAY IT FORWARD — dad!touya todoroki

there will always be tragedy in loving someone as flammable as todoroki touya, but when the dust settles and what's set ablaze has finally burnt to nothing— you and the proof he loved someone will be there still, despite it all. despite everything.

a/n : know that writing this ruined my fucking life And that i have plans for this. pif verse write it down this is happening. also dee im SORRY and i LOVE you

m.list !

you stay in correspondence with shouto for a few weeks after he first reaches out, hearing little things about touya's recovery. about how he still hasn't woken up properly. about how his body is almost entirely burns now— sore, charred skin at least sewn and not stapled. about how he's lost his arm. how he almost entirely lost his life.

you feel like a dog, waiting at the beck and call of a seventeen year old as he updates you on touya's condition— going to sleep every night with your four year old daughter tucked under your arm on his side of the bed and feeling sick to your stomach as you clutch her close to your chest. because you know where dad is, know that he's finished work now. she doesn't, and you've told yourself you won't tell her unless you know she'll get to see him again.

but today is that day.

shouto had called late last night— not texted like he usually does— and talked you through the adrenaline rush and subsequent crash after finding out touya was alive. finding out he was awake. and that he was alone.

sayu— the girl as bright as the kanji of her namesake, the girl who has soothed more wounds than she'll ever understand— waits for dad even still. wanders around the new apartment with you, since your old one was destroyed when gigantomachia tore through most of shizuoka prefecture, holding tight onto your pant leg as you move to start making her breakfast. always wanting to be close to you.

the real clinging had started after she saw the video feed during the attack on jaku hospital, refusing the idea of daycare, and of staying with your parents. refusing to around anybody but you.

it hurts, watching her go from brave and adventurous with every step she took to so cautious and measured in every movement. you hum as she climbs into her chair at the little table in your kitchen, and you settle in next to her as you set her breakfast down in front of her— your own coffee warming your hands as you wrap them around the mug.

"we're gonna go somewhere today, bug." you start as she goes for the blueberries in her bowl first— a small victory, she normally rejects them for being sour because touya said it one time. you take a sip of coffee, nodding as you swallow before tacking on: "after you've filled up your tummy, of course."

she cocks her head at you, white tufts of hair flopping forward into her face as she does, and you push them back fondly. (it always makes something buried down in your chest claw and howl and beg for him back).

"where?"

"central hospital, near where obaa-san lives." the little frown that forms on her lips is almost instantaneous, and you have to swallow back a laugh.

"i don't want to see 'baa-san." you reach out softly to brush a little mess off her cheek, wiping it off with your thumb as you shake your head at her.

"no, we're not seeing her baby. we're actually gonna go into the hospital and visit someone." you watch the cogs turn over in her brain before she, with a mouthful of strawberry, asks.

"who?"

"it's a surprise, babe." sayu doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but you gesture to her bowl of fruit and yoghurt with your pinky as you hold your mug. "finish your breakfast and then we'll get cleaned up."

"hospital is where sick people are. i don't wanna go there." she's staring down at her bowl as she talks, pushing things around with the spoon held tight in her hand before she looks up at you again. "who's there for us?"

"eat, bug. i promise you'll find out when we get there, okay?"

cerulean irises meet yours, big lashes that make her eyes look larger than life batting at you for a second before she nods and goes back to eating.

"okay mama. my blueberries are too sour." so close.

before leaving you'd checked with shouto more than once— maybe more than necessary— that there was zero chance of endeavour being at the hospital, because there was no way you'd ever let him near your child after what he did to his own. not after everything you've heard and seen, the brutal and tragic aftermath in the form of the man you love.

he assured you that he wouldn't be there, that no one beside him from his family would be there. you'd never anticipated ever meeting anyone in touya's family, and you appreciate it not being put on you all at once.

you still feel awkward walking through the hospital, sayu held on your hip and her head on your collar— occasional whispers and questions you answer with soft kisses and whispers of your own before reaching the front desk. the receptionist looks up at you, tired but kind, and asks what you're here for.

"hi, we're, uh- checking in? as visitors, i think."

someone behind you says your name, purposeful and weighted, and you already know it's shouto before you've even turned around. you're sure he recognised touya in sayu before even processing that it was actually you.

"shouto-kun, hi." you hum softly, letting him guide you a little bit out of the way— grateful to be away from the midst of people traffic in the most popular hospital in musutafu. you let sayu down, fine with her leaning back against your legs in front of you.

"just shouto is fine." he nods at you, then his eyes drop down to your daughter, and she offers a shy, and quiet hello. he's already bobbing down to meet her eye with a soft smile.

"hi. i'm shouto. what's your name?" she stares at him with wide eyes as she brings a hand up to her mouth, something to self-soothe in a new environment with ever-changing variables.

"you look like my dad."

"oh." he makes a small noise that sounds like something inside of him deflated. or maybe broke entirely. "well, your dad's my brother."

"oh." she nods at that, like she fully understands the gravity, before breaking out of her shell a little. "my name is sayu, but mama and dad call me bug. you're not allowed, even if you're friends with my dad." he smiles at her, and as you watch them interact you're sure he sees someone entirely different standing in front of him.

"alright, sayu-chan. it's nice to meet you."

"i like your hair, s'got white like mine!" she's pointing at him, her free hand petting her own head uncoordinatedly.

"it does, yeah." shouto nods again, brushing a hair through the white half of his hair before looking back up at you— something unspoken, like grief (grief just like yours), swimming in his eyes. "she looks just like him."

sayu doesn't give you much of a chance to say anything, your mouth barely opening to answer him before she continues to prattle on.

"my dad's busy working, do you have a job?" shouto laughs, something soft and fond as he looks at your daughter.

"uh- no, not yet. i will when i'm a little bit older."

"should get one, my dad's a superhero! that what he does for a job, s'really cool, huh?"

another sad noise claws it's way out of his throat, and he stares at you for a second before nodding at your daughter with the same kind of pretend smile you offer people who ask how you're doing. your heart aches.

he stands back up to his full height, taller than you— probably taller than touya, much to his disgust— and clears his throat before gesturing to the elevator at the end of the hall.

"uh, you two can follow me— his room's up on another floor."

"right, yeah. lead the way."

shouto guides the pair of you onto the fifth floor of the hospital and leaves you in the hall after giving you the room number— wanting to give you space, to allow another family reunion that he's not entirely apart of yet.

"we're gonna go in this room, 'kay? you know why?" she shakes her head softly, looking up at you as she clings at the fabric of your pant leg.

"no mama."

"'cause dad's in there," you watch her perk up immediately, a thousand questions ready to be spewed from her lips before you shake your head and pet her hair gently. "but we've gotta be quiet 'nd calm 'cause we're still in a hospital."

"is he hurt? or sick? s'probably 'cause he's been working too much, mama." your chest feels tight, and you nod at her words. she's always been so intuitive, so smart, and you're infinitely proud even if it hurts. "you should tell him off."

you laugh, a soft and wet sound, as you brush her hair back out of her face.

"okay bug, i'll tell him off for you." she nods, sufficed at that answer, and you brush her hair out of her face again before continuing on. "and yes, dad's hurt right now— but he'll be okay after the doctors fix him all up, okay? so we're gonna be real gentle, 'nd nice and quiet."

"okay mama."

you feel odd as you knock on the door, pushing it open at the affirmative call from inside— the voice, so familiar but hardly recognisable all the same, makes your breathing stutter— and you stop in your tracks at the sight of him. whatever you'd prepared yourself for, it wasn't this, and your stunned silence doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"wouldja look at that, s'that my girl?" his voice is different, but still his— more hoarse now, like it hurts to speak. touya looks more like himself in that hospital bed than you've ever seen him, even with one arm, with no staples holding skin together, and no more black hair— enough towels had been ruined by his attempts to keep his identity hidden from the world. he looks like new, and he looks like home.

"touya," it's all you can say, really, while you stand there as the door to his hospital room clicks shut behind you— all your brain can supply is touya. touya, touya, touya. because he's here, and he's alive, and he's in front of you again.

"where's my other girl—?"

he cocks his head a little, white tufted hair flopping over against a stiff hospital pillow as he gazes at the little girl hiding herself behind your leg— his little girl, who's hiding from him.

he smiles at her, something kind and soft— nothing that the world gets to see, that smile is reserved for his girls— before shifting his expression to an exaggerated pout.

"why're you bein' so shy, huh? s'it scary in here with all the machines?" you feel sayu's fist curl into the fabric behind your knee as she leans her cheek against your legs, staring at her dad but not making any moves just yet. your heart breaks, shatters into a thousand pieces, and you know touya's does too.

you reach back a little, offering her a wobbly smile as you push her hair out of her face and try your best to sound reassuring.

"it's okay, bug, s'just dad— even with machines 'nd bandages. still just him." she looks up at you, leaning her head into your hand for a second before reaching up to grab for it— coming around to stand next to you rather than behind you, with your hand clutched tight in both of hers.

sayu stares at him for a second, like she can't decide what to say, before settling for:

"your hair's like mine now."

touya scoffs out a laugh, a genuine one, and raises his hand to drag his fingers through the white she's talking about.

"it is, huh? maybe i wanted to match you, 'cause you're so cool." she's smiling now, cheeks growing a little rosy as she bounces just a little on the spot.

"can i sit with you?" he's already patting a spot on the bed, shifting over a little to make room.

"mhm, there's a special spot for an insect right here," you clearly don't do a good job of schooling the apprehension in your expression, because he's already waving your concern away with his hand. "s'okay, she can't do any more damage."

"that's not funny, touya." you huff at that, like a child who's stomping their foot at not getting there way, staring at him with wet eyes and a wobbly frown— letting sayu go anyway, knowing she deserves time with her dad. she's waited this long, it's not fair to hold her back from finally getting a cuddle with him.

he grins over at you, sayu already curling up in the space his forearm would've taken up if it was there.

"is a little bit. c'mere, lemme have both my girls close, yeah?"

"i don't wanna be in the way or anything."

he sighs, long and suffering but playful all the same, before waving you over with his hand. you stare at him still, like if you look away he'll disappear and leave you alone again.

"would you just get over here? 'm finally lookin' at you again, just- indulge me, please?" you laugh softly, choked up a little as you finally do give up and move over to his side— not sayu's side, that's hers— and curl into him as best as you can while half standing and half kneeling on the edge of the hospital bed.

"only because you said please." he lets out a quiet, sad laugh at that, leaning over a little to kiss your head— to kiss the crown, your forehead, to nudge your face up to meet his own and kiss you properly.

"missed you so much, y'know that? shouldn't have left you alone— damn it." he mumbles into the top of your head, the both of you now sniffly and trying to keep that dam intact and not have a full blown meltdown in front of your daughter.

"'m so glad you're okay. i was so scared, you know that? stupid man."

"i know baby, i know— never leave you again, you hear me? never." he kisses your head again, arm wrapped around you and hauling you to properly get on the hospital bed— dragging you up to lay against his chest, giving you the perfect view of your daughter like this. and she's cuddled into his side with wide eyes welled up with tears, and when she sniffles quietly touya's head is already snapping down to look at her.

"you cryin', bug?"

"sayu—"

"dad i missed you." she lets out a small sob, and it's the beginning of the end for her holding any kind of emotion back— the rest of her words a garbled mess of sniffles and tears. "can't go to work that long ever again— not even as a superhero."

"okay baby, you got it. dad's not goin' anywhere." he nudges her gently onto his lap, letting her cry it out as he presses kisses to her head and face— and when she eventually calms down enough to be coherent again, she points at his amputated limb.

"where'd your hand go?"

"ah, fell off at the elbow 'cause i didn't eat my vegetables— s'just what happens."

"FOR REAL?!"

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gtgbabie0 · 7 months ago

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Sevika x Reader

Synopsis: {Sevika has some trouble with her mechanical arm, you offer her help} For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

softSevika,softSevika,softSevika! Enjoy my lovelies <3 💕

The pale light of the moon was drowned out by the neon signs that flicker soft colours of pink and blue which bleed through your small apartment, it was the only source of light guiding Sevika through the room before she finds the light switch, clumsily flicking it on.

It had all gone so horribly wrong so quickly, what was meant to be a simple drop off and pick up turned into a violent mess— fucking useless, she thought bitterly. It’d be the last time she would work with some newbies who couldn’t tell their left from their right.

Her frustrations were bubbling over, that much was clear when she slams the front door shut, immediately wincing at the loud noise and once again she silently curses, this time at herself.

It was well past midnight and you were definitely knocked out like a light, it was endearing how quickly you fell asleep, one moment the pair of you would be talking then the very next you were snoring your head off. The thought of you curled up in your shared bed with your face smushed against the soft pillows makes her smile— the type that softens her hardened features.

It almost made her forget about the dull ache that seized her muscles, almost. She needed a drink.

So with a bottle of whiskey and her toolbox, you had so kindly brought for her spread out on the coffee table she sat down on the couch trying to fix the mess that had become of her mechanical arm— which was so much more harder to do by herself, without you there to unscrew the screws she couldn’t reach or to hand her the right tools… or to caress her cheek with those soft hands of yours, fuck, she had missed you more then she’d like to admit.

Sevika had been at it for hours, fumbling with one stubborn screw that had been lodged stuck. It refused to come loose for love nor money and it was driving her up the damn wall that she throws the stupid screwdriver across the room, watching it bounce across the wooden floorboards with a loud clang and a thud.

She stares down at it with a small scowl, scoffing before reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Sev?— what’re you doing?” Your soft voice, heavy with sleep ripples through the silence, breaking down the spell of anger that seemed ever present.

“Nothing, go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” She mumbles the reply, ducking her head down to look at the floor beneath her, it was almost ridiculous how fast the guilt hit her. She’d woken you up at god knows what time with her banging around.

You shake your head at her dismissal, padding your way over to her with a small frown— your hands tightening the silk robe you had wrapped around your body. Without a word she moves her legs so you can perch yourself on the edge of the coffee table, sitting in front of her.

“You won’t be able to fix it if you’re drunk.” You tell her, a small smirk ghosting over your lips as you watch her put the bottle of whiskey down on the table with a small huff.

“It’s not the alcohol—” Sevika replies gruffly, her heart skipping a few beats at the feeling of your hand against her knee as you rummage through her toolbox. “It needs a specific part.” Gods, you made her feel like a lovesick fool sometimes but damn if she didn’t absolutely adore the feeling.

With a soft hum, you let your fingertips graze along the metal fixings of her prosthetic arm, the joints were all broken and a couple of cogs were missing— it’d be easier to fix if it was detached and by the look on Sevika’s face she knew this… but it was a pain to do.

“I could-” you go to offer her an alternative, eyes skimming across the mechanical arm as your tired mind runs a mile a minute.

“Just help me take it off,” She concedes with a weary sigh, nodding over to the screwdriver which you’re quick to pick up.

She didn’t like having it off, to feel so vulnerable and defenceless. In a strange way, it scared her. Sure she could probably knock a guy or two out with one hand but it was still daunting to feel so stripped in such a way.

You stand up from the coffee table, situating yourself in between her legs as you begin to gently unscrew the bolts, handing them over to her one after another as she puts them safely into a bag. Then with a soft hiss of air, the arm comes loose, the weight falling from Sevika’s shoulder and down on the sofa beside her.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow… get that specific piece.” You promise her with a tender smile, looking down at her from where you stand with her rough hand resting over the curve of your hips from between the opening of your silken robe— caressing up to your waist slowly.

“Mmhm.” She hums in agreement, leaning forwards to bury her face into your soft tummy with a heavy sigh that borders on a groan as you skim your fingertips along her cheek and through her hair ever so slowly that it has her nuzzling into you like a damn cat.

Gods, you knew just how to dismantle her… you were a dangerous woman— her kryptonite.

“C’mere.” She mutters, pulling you down onto her lap without a single second thought. Her strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her as you melt into her body— her fingers brushing along your hip.

“Come to bed Sev— you look like you’re about to pass out.” You whisper, turning your head to get a good look at her with those soft eyes of yours… so tired and sweet.

“I will just let me hold you like this for a minute.” She replies back, bumping her forehead against your own— pressing a kiss to your cheek then burying her face into the crook of your shoulder, a muffled ‘I love you’ spoken into your skin.

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eightmakesonebraincell · 1 month ago

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can i get a name for your drink? yeah, peter parker

genre: delinquent!ateez x bubble tea worker!reader, meet-cute, high school au, fluff, crack

length: 6.6k

c/w: cliche depictions of high school delinquents, mentions of smoking, drugs and clubs, boys trying to act tough, everybody has bad humour, swearing is their mother tongue

synopsis: a bubble tea shop is one of the last places you would expect for a high school delinquent to walk into during the dead of night. yet here you are, forming an unlikely friendship with not one but eight of them. they may be kind of stupid, but they also kind of grow on you.

a/n: a fic with no angst? a fic without a 40k wc?? new writer who dis. just a short and sweet fic @sorryimananti-romantic helped prod me to write

you know that you are probably shaving a couple months off your lifespan each time you work a night shift at the bubble tea shop and subsequently fuck up your entire sleep routine for the next couple of days, but it gives you a bit of extra money, there are hardly any customers, and it is quiet enough that you can squeeze in some studying at the same time.

the shop probably averages about two couples and a few odd individuals here and there per night. why a small business would even decide to stay open during ghost hours in the first place, likely making negative profit, you have no idea. but you digress–you are just here to bum around for money.

so when your average customer number suddenly spikes not just by one, two or three people, but by an entire group of eight, it is safe to say you are more than confused. they are obviously your age because you can recognise the school crest embroidered onto the front pocket of their uniform shirts; it is one of the nearby high schools in the area. except, that is where the similarity ends.

only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.

it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.

the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.

“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.

he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.

unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”

the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”

one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”

“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.

you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.

the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”

“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”

he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”

at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.

“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”

“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.

half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.

you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.

“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”

most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.

you frown.

these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.

said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”

you physically recoil.

“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.

blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.

they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.

“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”

you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.

it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.

“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.

they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”

mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.

it tastes like drugs in sugar form.

and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.

“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”

wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”

“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”

the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.

“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–

hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”

–determination can only get him so far.

this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”

“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.

a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.

“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.

seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”

“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”

they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.

you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.

“can i get that thing i got last week.”

the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.

“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”

you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.

he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”

“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.

“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.

you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”

“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.

“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.

god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.

you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”

the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.

the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.

then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”

he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.

and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.

it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.

“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.

and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.

p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.

you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”

hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.

yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”

your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.

“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.

“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.

fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.

he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”

“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.

san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”

the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”

a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”

“which one’s your favourite?”

you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”

one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.

you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”

“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”

your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.

you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.

you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.

when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.

“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”

they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.

wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”

that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.

“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.

mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”

seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”

he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.

he is definitely your favourite.

you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.

it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.

despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.

and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.

yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.

“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”

yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”

said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.

jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”

“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.

“they normally don’t,” jongho’s mouth ticks up, “which is exactly why you’re learning.”

you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.

it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.

it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.

and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.

“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”

san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”

that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.

“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”

hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.

you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.

as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.

the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.

they make the rules. you simply follow.

the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.

“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.

“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”

you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”

it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.

and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.

they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–

“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.

yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”

you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.

“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”

mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”

you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.

the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.

and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.

well. fuck.

when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.

“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”

you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”

“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”

your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”

“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.

you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.

you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.

“where were you?”

those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.

you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.

“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.

jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”

the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”

“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”

“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”

“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.

you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”

yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.

their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”

“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”

“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”

you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”

“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.

your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?

in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”

from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.

“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”

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#loren writes #ateez fics #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez au #high school ateez

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 months ago

Text

One Night

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> One Night is never just one night.

Disclaimer: 16+ with sexual themes, FwB/enemies to lovers, swearing, platonic!Kate Bishop. Not Proof Read.

One Night.

They say it just takes One Night for everything to change. You just didn’t expect it to be that night.

When Kate walked into the compound kitchen and living area that morning, she had been expecting no-one. Not a single person.

Clint was at home with Laura and the kids, Natasha had wrangled Steve and Sam to help her plan Yelena’s birthday party, Bucky had been sent to talk to the cake shop since the owner seemed to always take a shine to him and practically melted any time he walked through the door. She was in her late eighties, but was quite possibly the most terrifying woman Natasha had ever met. So, Bucky it was.

Kate figured Joaquin would still be in bed since he’d finished up his work pretty late last night. He was still in his office when Kate walked by, having worked two hours of overtime herself.

As for Tony and everyone else, they were taking their long awaited vacations.

And as for you. Well, Kate had never woken up before you. In fact, nobody had. Not even Steve who’d wake up at four-thirty every morning to go for a run. Everyone was pretty sure you didn’t even own pajamas. They’d never seen you in them, for starters. And Kate was 97.6% sure you were a vampire, or some kind of supernatural creature that never seemed to sleep.

But that morning…

That morning she walked into the kitchen and living space to see you, stood by the kitchen island, stirring some creamer into your coffee, dressed in pajamas.

Kate had to take a mental image. Maybe more than one. You were human?!

Your hair was down from the usual braid-into-bun. You were wearing a short length, earthy green robe. With, from what Kate could gather, was a matching set underneath.

You hadn’t spotted her yet, which was also unusual. You’d usually say the person’s name before they even walked into the room, already knowing who they were. It made trying to get the jump on you all that more frustrating.

But Kate couldn’t even take any satisfaction out of scaring you when you jumped after spotting her, because you were in pajamas.

“Jesus, Kate. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Why were you in pajamas?

Was it your birthday?

No. Natasha had found out your birthday after hacking Shield’s computer system. It wasn’t your birthday.

Had you finally taken time off?

Were they a present? Maybe a Secret Santa gift for last year?

“Kate?”

“You’re in pajamas.”

Those were the only words she could form as she tried to figure out why.

You chuckled and looked down. “Yeah. Because it’s the morning and I just woke up.”

Kate’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “You slept in?”

You looked at her, a little dumbfounded. “Yeah. I had a late night last night.”

“Doing what? You usually clock off at six like the rest of us.”

You shrugged. “I had some paperwork to catch up on. Are you okay?”

Kate had to physically shake her head in order to restart her entire body. Once she had done that, she moved closer into the kitchen like a normal person.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just surprised to find out you own pajamas. I thought you just kinda woke up ready for the day.”

“I wish, but no.” You smiled before lifting your coffee mug to your lips. And you were glad you had something to cover your face with because what happened next was not a situation you had fully prepared for.

“So, now that I know you own more than just tactical gear. I was thinking we could-”

“Morning.”

Kate looked behind her after hearing Joaquin’s voice as he walked inside, also in his pajamas.

“Morning,” you replied.

Kate’s head whipped around to look at you as Joaquin passed her. “Coffee?”

“In the pot,” you told him.

Kate was starting to give herself whiplash as she looked between yourself and Joaquin. The cogs started turning and the longer she watched both of you, the faster they started turning until they all finally clicked into place.

“What were you saying, Kate?”

Kate’s mind was screaming.

“Kate?”

The chair she had been sitting on practically fell over. “I need to speak to you. Now. Right now.” Kate rounded the kitchen island before taking you by your elbow.

“Hey, watch my coffee.”

Keeping a hold of your mug, you tried your hardest not to spill any as Kate dragged you from the room, down the hallway and around the corner and through the double doors that led out to a different section of the balcony.

“Kate, that the hell is wrong-”

“You slept with Joaquin?!”

Your shoulders somehow both relaxed and tensed. “Oh. That.”

“That?!” Kate spat in shock. “That?! Y/n!”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems? It’s not as bad as it seems?”

You looked at her, “Are you just gonna keep repeating what I say?”

“Y/n! It’s not like you two are known for frollacing on a beach together. Quite the opposite.”

Kate had you there. It wasn’t exactly a secret to people that you and Joaquin weren’t the best of friends. Or even co-workers. You didn’t know what it was, you just never got along. You spent more time fighting with each other that it would be more believable to be known for doing as much on a beach together, rather than frollocking.

“Kate-”

“How-How did this even happen? How long has this been going on? Oh, my god. Was it an act? Just to throw us off the scent?”

“No, no, no. Kate.” You put your coffee down on a table before taking her by the shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. It was just one night.”

Kate just sighed, “It’s never just one night.”

“Yes, it is.”

Kate became a little calmer, or rather, was starting to internalise her freak out. But it didn’t last long because the minute you let go of her, she threw her arms in the air. “God, I can’t believe this. God, what are the others gonna think?”

“They’re not gonna think anything because they’re not gonna find out. It was a one night thing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re in pajamas. How long ago did-” Then Kate shook her head. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know. Actually, yes I do. Hm, no. No, I don’t. Hm. Yes. No. Yes. Okay. No wait. Don’t tell me. Tell me.”

“Kate?”

She just nodded. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, suppressing the smile on your face.

“Yes.”

You waited for her to stop you again, but when she didn’t, you finally told her.

“It was late last night, and yes, he’s good. Whoever he ends up with will be a lucky woman.”

Kate looked up at you, a little shocked. She was pretty sure that was the very first compliment you’d ever given Joaquin. Like, ever.

“Wow.”

Kate finally sat down. After a morning training session and finding out about you and Joaquin…she was exhausted.

You sat opposite to her at the coffee table.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle escaping you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kate looked at you. She did. She was more curious than scared. “How about I go and get dressed and we can head into the city? Go and check out that new boutique?”

“How do you do that?” That was what Kate had been planning to ask you before Joaquin walked inside.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Over the next five hours, Kate asked you every question she could think of twice.

What the hell happened?

Did he kiss you first? Or was it you?

Did you enjoy it?

Did he enjoy it?

What the hell happened?

And you’d explained everything. At the makeup counter, at the deli, inside the curtain set up for two dressing rooms in the new boutique, at the coffee shop and on the drive both in and out of the city.

“I just…I can’t even imagine you two having a conversation. I mean, that’s what gave it away this morning. You never tell him where the coffee is, even when he asks. And you never say good morning to him.”

You chuckled. “Kate, it’s not a big deal. It was just one night.”

“That’s what they all say. And before you know it…it’s not just one night anymore.”

You had just rolled your eyes and brushed it off. You and Joaquin had both agreed before and after that it would be a one time thing.

You’d kissed him by accident. And after pulling away, he’d pulled you back. It had only gotten more heated from there until eventually you collapsed beside him in his bed. You’d both fallen asleep shortly afterwards and as much as part of you wanted to stay laying beside him when you woke up, you knew you couldn’t.

Though, maybe you should have. It would have saved you watching Kate have an aneurysm at realising exactly why you were in your pyjamas, why you had slept in, and why you were talking to Joaquin like you actually considered him a friend of some kind.

And you were both adamant it was to be a One Night thing. But apparently neither of you had factored into the conversation how good it truly was. Not just the sex, but not fighting each other all the time.

“I need you.”

You’d been walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when Bucky suddenly nearly pulled your arms out of its socket as he dragged you inside the training room. “Sam’s stuck me with the elementary kids.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” You asked, sounding a little mad.

“Just demonstrate something to the kids.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. You and Joaquin figure something out.”

“Joaquin?” You practically threw up his name before Bucky answered, “Yes,” and threw you towards the training mat where you were met with Joaquin.

“Okay, kids, these two very helpful volunteers are gonna show you what sparring is.”

“We are?” You and Joaquin asked.

Apparently you were.

Which was how you found yourself and Joaquin explaining small moves that the kids could copy, safely. However, Joaquin had been enjoying himself far too much, so taking the opportunity to explain a small self-defence method, you sent him flying to the floor.

All the kids took in a breath, some laughed, some gasped.

But once Joaquin laughed, letting the kids know he was okay, they all relaxed.

“Okay, rugrats. You’ve got fifteen minutes to use the climbing frame!” Bucky announced before letting the kids run free. Meanwhile, you remained on top of Joaquin.

“That was fun.”

“Really got the drop on me, didn’t you?”

“Those kids were boosting your ego far too much.”

“My god,” Joaquin breathed. “Are you jealous?”

“Hell no,” you laughed. “Just don’t think your ego needs inflating anymore than it already has.”

“Well,” Joaquin suddenly flipped you and had you pinned under him. “I could say the same about you. You forget I know what I’m doing, Angel.”

For that last part, he leaned down and whispered it low so only you could hear. A slight whimper threatened to escape you but when you were met with Joaquin’s eyes once again, one of the kids had dropped an end of a bench, reminding both of you where you were and who you were around.

Carefully, Joaquin climbed off you before lowering his hand down to you to help you up. Without thinking, you accepted. You were greeted with the same kind of electricity you’d experienced that night when he’d intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head before tantalisingly moving down your body…

“If you don’t need me?” You called out to Bucky. He brought his forgotten attention back to you both.

“Yeah. Thanks!”

You just nodded, before nodding at Joaquin. His hand waited as long as it could to let you go as you walked away, his gaze trailing after you and you left the training room and hurried back the way you came before Bucky had pulled you inside.

Later that night, long after the training room and a short while after dinner where you and Joaquin had tried to avoid contact; seemingly making more than either of you had done in three years. He knocked on your door.

All he wanted to do was check in on you. Maybe apologise for what happened in the training room. Maybe ask why you hadn’t scoffed at his choice of food combos at dinner like you usually did. But instead, once he opened the door, the wind was knocked from him completely.

“I just wanted to-” Joaquin was trying to find his words again after seeing you, but he was struggling.

But that didn’t matter. Because your lips were on his almost instantly. Pulling him inside, his hands pulled you closer to him. You shut the door and he pushed you against it.

Hours later, sweating and gasping for breath yet again, you both told each other it was just a One Time thing. Well, a two-time thing.

Yet, just as Kate had predicted, it wasn’t.

“It happened again.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth as she opened her apartment door. “I told you.”

“What happened?” Yelena yelled from the living room, a pint of ice cream in her lap.

“It’s Y/n!”

That was all Kate had to say as she invited you inside for Yelena to reply, “Did she and the Bird Boy sleep together again?”

“Did you tell her?”

Kate shook her head as she locked the door. “She already knew. Don’t ask me how.”

“Did she bring drinks? This conversation is gonna need drinks!” Yelena called out.

Over the next three hours, you sat on Kate and Yelena’s couch, mortified at what had happened.

“I told you it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. If you both enjoy it, and I can tell you do-”

“Yelena!”

“What?” Yelena asked. “You’ve been less pissy since the first time. I’m just saying…if you both enjoy it, enjoy it.”

“But it’s more than that.”

“What is?”

When you didn’t answer, both Yelena and Kate looked at each other, already knowing.

“Y/n…”

Kate pushed your hands from your face. “Do you like Joaquin?”

“No! No, of course not!”

Yelena dug her spoon into her pint of ice cream. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You just groaned. “I can’t. What? Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Kate said, shaking her head.

“She thinks you and Joaquin are gonna get married.”

“Yelena!” It was Kate’s turn to yell at her roommate.

“What?”

You looked at Kate. “You really think that? Really?”

Kate had been the one person to see everything. Every reason you gave as to why you didn’t like Joaquin. And clearly this marriage concept to her wasn’t new.

“Look, I just think, sometimes, the lines between love and hate can be a little…fuzzy. Yelena?”

She just shrugged. “If you want to fuck him, fuck him. But if you love him…”

You barked out a laugh. “Whoa, hey, hey, okay. No. No. We’re not- no. I don’t love Joaquin.”

Yelena hummed to herself, holding up her spoon, “The lady-”

“Hey,” Kate raised her voice and Yelena kept hers silent, but still acted out what she was going to say.

“Kate?”

“Look,” Kate took your hands in hers. “Maybe this was it. But, Yelena’s right. If you like Joaquin, maybe you should tell him. Before someone gets hurt.”

It was sound advice. And you gave yourself some time to figure it out. Maybe it was just the sex. Maybe he’d just muddled your brain. Time away would be good.

But time didn’t fix feelings as you came to find out.

After the third One Night, you’d accepted a three month placement from Hill. Maybe time away would do you good. And it worked, for the first six weeks. Joaquin didn’t cross your mind once.

Until the day he walked inside your tent with some of his tech gear, “Where can I set up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.”

You would come to learn Joaquin had been sent in place of Yelena. A woman you sent a very, very long text to: who only replied with a kissy face and a good luck symbol.

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“What?”

You looked up at Joaquin, “Nothing.”

It took three weeks and thirty different fights, including mini spats, for something to break between both yourself and Joaquin.

“Do you do this by accident, or do you just enjoy being a pain in my ass?”

“Says the guy who can’t leave me alone to do the work I’ve been trained for!”

“Well excuse me for giving a crap about my team-mate?”

You barked a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. I’m pretty sure you’d rather fly me to the top of the Empire State and drop me.”

“Believe me, that hasn’t not crossed my mind once or twice.”

You were just standing opposite each other, your chests heaving for breath when all of a sudden his hands were in your hair, your hands were pulling his overshirt from him and his lips were crashing against yours.

With his tongue dipping inside your mouth, tasting you, he moaned. “I’ve missed this.”

Shaking your shirt from your arms, your hand slipped into his curls and pulled his kiss closer to you. As you ass bumped against the table set up, Joaquin moved his kisses from your lips to across your jaw and down your neck.

It was the first time neither of you talked about it being a One Night thing. Because, between the kissing and the breathy moans, a silent agreement had been made. This could never have been a One Night thing.

You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. You’d missed it, too. You’d missed him.

And part of that conversation came to a head the next night when Joaquin found you in your tent since you’d been avoiding him all day.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Joaquin-”

“No, I don’t wanna fight. Not tonight. I just want an answer.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes, you have. Despite our history, I know you, Y/n. You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

You stopped folding your clothes and looked at him. For the first time in forever, you too didn’t want to fight him. Not with him standing there looking all…Joaquin-like. A kind, yet worried face. A comfortable presence.

You moved closer, pulling him in to kiss you. This kiss was different. Rather than raw and needy for sex, it was a little more delicate. But there was still a force behind it.

“Because I’ve missed this, too. I’ve missed you, Joaquin.”

Joaquin looked you in your eyes as you stood, inches from his face. You weren’t lying. Even when you’d been fighting him, and he’d been fighting you, one thing he’d known since the beginning was when you were lying.

He was apparently the only person you knew with that skill, which just added another thing to the list of why you hated him so much.

You weren’t lying.

Joaquin didn’t say anything. He just kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you.

And for the first time, you both took it slow. Well, slower.

“I think this is gonna be more than a one time thing.”

You laughed as Joaquin broke the silence with his sentence, and his laughter joined yours until you kissed him, crawling to straddle him under your bed covers.

By the time you both got back, it was like nothing had ever happened. You and Joaquin seemed to fall right back into your old ways with each other.

But none of it was real.

The truth was in how he kissed you late at night, and in how he would brush his hand across your hip as he passed you in the kitchen. It was in the way you’d pull him around the corner in an empty hallway and kiss him. It was in the way he’d lean against your body and it was in the way a quiet moan, only he could hear, would leave you as his leg pushed between both of yours.

The truth was in the way he’d watch you as you sat up in bed, reading over different mission material. It was in the way you’d look at him when he was training in the training room, early in the morning, the sun kissing the sheen of his skin as he ran his third mile on the treadmill.

The truth was in the way he followed behind you, no matter who was around either of you. It was in the way you both fought less with your superiors about being placed together for different training exercises and missions.

The truth was in the way you had both been slowly falling for each other, despite wishing for the opposite.

“I’m gonna ask Y/n on a date.”

That had been the statement Joaquin had blurted out to Kate one afternoon when everyone else was at training.

“W-w-what? Oh, yeah. No, that’s cool.”

Joaquin just looked at her, “You’re a terrible actor.”

“I am not!”

“I already know you know.”

Kate relaxed. “Oh, okay then. So, you’re gonna ask her out? Finally!” Kate smiled.

“I just can’t decide where. I want this to be perfect. But I don’t want to set us up for failure.”

Kate watched as Joaquin sat beside her on the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the different options he had written down in his notes app. Any of the options he had would be good.

But that wasn’t what made her smile.

It was the fact that Joaquin was putting so much thought into it. He always put a lot of thought into things, but knowing it was for you. For both of you. It made her want to say “HA!” to Yelena.

But if Joaquin was being completely honest with himself, from knocking on your door and hearing you walking to open it, he’d never been so nervous in his entire life.

“Joaquin,” you seemed surprised. Probably because he had knocked in a way that might throw you off in thinking it wasn’t him, giving him a few more seconds to psych himself up.

“I want to take you on a date.” Well, there went the speech he’d prepared. “And I’m hoping you’ll say yes because this isn’t just-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes,” you repeated. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

“You will?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Joaquin smiled before stepping inside and kissing you before you closed the door.

You didn’t quite know when or why, but you and Joaquin had gone from being at each other’s throats aggressively to it being affectionate. And for some reason - one that Kate would probably explain to you one day - you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Joaquin.

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lilacxquartz · 10 months ago

Text

RIVALS;

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: you always thought that satoru gojo hated having you as a rival, but after getting to know him, it turned out to be something so much worse.

tags/warnings: abduction/kidnapping, betrayal, rough sex, non-con, yandere, one shot, drugging, kissing — w.c: 1.6k

ao3 • masterlist

In some ways, it was exhilarating.

Being the second best to the strongest, that was.

From the very first day that you enrolled in Jujutsu High, you weren’t quite sure where life would lead you exactly but it certainly wasn’t to where you were now.

Everyday, after all, was an endless pursuit of an achieving both academic and combative excellence. Everyday, you pushed your body and mind above and beyond, seeking out the strength you didn’t know you had. You always assumed that by the end of it all, you would end up as maybe a grade two or even one with your efforts, but to your surprise, you got the recommendation to graduate as a special grade at just eighteen.

Just like him.

However, with every step forward, a creeping exhaustion settled in, dragging you down a path you couldn’t quite handle the journey of. Through the endless training that forced you to keep up with your prestige and the missions that the higher ups threw at you—it didn’t take too long to wear you out—leaving you weary, tired and almost even jaded as a result. Your mental state was one slight push away from the verge of a total collapse.

It was infuriating in some ways because you couldn’t help but compare. You were only human, after all. Sorcerer or not. Being a step below Satoru Gojo soon felt insulting and even though you didn’t consider him to be a rival, it still felt like… a drag, almost. His power was ingrained within him, whereas for you, it was a never ending grind.

It wasn’t quite envy, but you wished it could be easier. If even for a single day.

However, when your graduated classmate seemed to acknowledge your efforts, it technically felt like he appreciated you after all. A validation beyond anything you could dream of; his attention feeling almost intoxicating as he delivered what felt like genuine praise upon your believing ears.

But then it all started to go wrong and you weren’t sure why.

How were you supposed to know however that beneath his easy smile and casually friendly demeanour laid something else beyond what he presented you with? That through your rise to the top, the expectations that followed, he saw you as nothing more than a threat? Another cog to add to the failing machine, a system that he wanted to take down as his own. True, he played the part of a supportive friend, feeding you words to help you feel secure in your success, but there was something darker that lurked beneath his cheery surface.

How were you supposed to know that after he invited you over for coffee, that you’d soon fall asleep from the spiked liquid, only later to wake up with your hands and wrists completely bound?

It was a sickening realisation as you soon understood that behind those friendly words that you thought were spoken in confidence to you as his friend were nothing more than fleeting sweet nothings that he lied into your ears, leading you believe in a version of him that didn’t exist. He had everyone fooled, but especially you, into thinking that he could coexist with his rival.

Tucking you away into a small closet, at least for now, the room felt awfully confining as it housed you. You knew you were in deep trouble, especially as his words now came out cold, unforgiving and almost mocking.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, “I’ll keep you company. I’ll make you feel like the spotlight always stays on you, but unfortunately, nobody else will ever see or hear from you again.”

Quickly stifling your protesting lip that quivered in response, pausing your voice that urged to fight past the horrific situation you had found yourself within, he didn’t let you. Instead, he spoke on your behalf.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated with more emphasis this time, “I’m saving you. Being the strongest shouldn’t be your responsibility to bear alone, that’s why I’m lifting the burden for you.”

And with that he closed the door, watching your trust fade away as the world around you darkened.

But it was for a good cause.

To keep you safe.

Satoru however grew needier and needier the more often he visited you, keeping you all locked up in his room, somehow perfectly bound and unable to leave. It was only a matter of time before he grew curious about you in that sort of way, seeing you as both something to protect as well as demanding stress release from you.

It was so exhausting keeping you as his big secret, after all. You had no idea what he had to go through to keep this all under wraps.

So when he sprawled you out over the bed, it wasn’t as though you didn’t anticipate it after all that he had otherwise done to you, but it still hurt all the same.

You grunted as it happened, taking a hit face down into the mattress; your whole body sinking over the soon crumpled bedding. You tried to fight him off—yet even as strong as you were—it wasn’t enough, even for you.

He pulled you up, raising your hips to meet with his own building excitement before peeling your jeans down and sliding your underwear away too. All he had to was shuffle out of his own clothes, dropping the fabric down to his knees. You couldn’t see a thing as he forced you to face away, but you could feel as his cock pressed against your sex and forcefully slid inside.

It didn’t matter how much you writhed around and begged him to stop, nor how much your legs thrashed or how your hands tried to pull themselves away from his pursuit; he wouldn’t pull away—instead however—he would push forward, again and again and again.

He grabbed at your hips and dug crescents into your skin with his fingernails for stability, wrapping his palms around you as he slammed himself back and forth your soon bruised ass. It felt insulting as he shushed you through your involuntarily whimpers, because what else were you supposed to do… especially in a situation like this?

“Please,” you gasped out.

Yet he never kept giving you the response you wanted, his voice deceptively warm as he spoke behind you, “You have no idea how good you feel.”

He would continue to cut you off with every protest with a praise, yet nothing about how he complimented you felt good at all.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well.”

“You’re so incredible, I knew it was a good thing I kept you around.”

“So good, so good—“

All it would do was make you feel sicker and sicker, somewhat nauseating you as he continued to pound inside your abused cunt. You couldn’t help but feel nauseated, maybe even dizzied from what was happening because you simply couldn’t understand why. If this was the consequence from your academic effort, then you would have never tried to reach for the stars, if it was as bleak as this.

Satoru continued to spear his length into you; his size hurting you as it stretched against your resisting walls. His cock filled you out completely, feeling almost torturous with how he would relieve you from the pressure as he pulled out, only to impale you again, forcing tears to spill out of your eyes when you felt it all happen again.

Each and every single thrust felt rougher than the last, as if he was beginning to lose himself in the sensation. He would bury his hips as far as he could into the cushioning of your ass, chasing the addiction of the release he wanted so goddamn much.

Soon enough however, he flipped you around to your back, taking in the sight of your dishevelled appearance; your messy hair, your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes and both the best and the worst of all, the overall look or hurt and betrayal.

Satoru didn’t give you a warning as he started it all up again, positioning himself in between your legs while maintaining eye contact with you. Those chilling blue eyes were no longer serene, but painful as they bored into yours and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

He moved into you again, wrapping your now tired legs around his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of your surrendered weak state. He lifted you ever so slightly yet again, pushing his cock into your core and melting into you once again.

Satoru was relentless as he pounded into you, bucking his hips feverishly as he chased his almost strained release. The entire time, he wouldn’t break eye contact with you, forcing you to watch as he mercilessly took you again and again. Your insides clenched around him, longing for him to stop but he wasn’t quite ready just yet.

He picked up the pace regardless, shuddering out shaky breaths as he pushed himself to his limit; slowing down with each remaining thrust, yet rutting at a more impactful rhythm. He was close too, he was so fucking close. It was an addictive sight to him after all, to see your body convulse and quiver from him overwhelming you, to watch as you longed for his release too (even if it was for a completely different reason).

Leaning down for both comfort and the rising sensation, he pumped his length forward one last time before going limp. His hips grinded themselves a little more however, attempting to milk himself as much as possible into your shuddering body.

Yet, it didn’t seem to be entirely over as he pulled away from you ever so slightly.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking that this would be the end after he got what he wanted.

As his lips brushed against your ear, you couldn’t help but feel almost frozen from the delusions he whispered forth.

“I’ll promise that I’ll never leave you now,” he assured you, meaning every last word, because after all, there was no greater love than something so sickeningly obsessive as something unrequited.

At least to him.

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