#(i managed to write a teensy bit yesterday)

[reitziluz]

a farm museum of sorts has weekly open workshops that do have themes and instruction, but you can kinda just go do your own thing there. this week it was crochet, specifically whittling your own hook and making a crochet winter hat.

in practice it was a bunch of people getting the hang of the basics. and me. making black lace. because i want to use it to upsize a fancy croptop.

in hindsight, maybe it wasn't that weird that i got asked if i'm studying in this local fashion school

[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ paper trails ❞

⤷ Word count: 2.5k

Pookies it was my birthday yesterday, so in honour of that, I wanted to write a lil something something with coryo 🤭 not anything grand, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

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WARNINGS:

Implied smut ig, teensy bit fluffy, just coryo being the cutest little gentleman ever (outside the bedroom)

SYNOPSIS:

There was nobody else that Coriolanus trusted more with his cherished garden of roses than you. You were the keeper of his flowers, tending to them with a delicacy that only you were capable of. He’d always admired that about you—how your green fingers always seemed to yield a larger bloom rate than his own ever did.

You’d always thought that you were nothing more than a district eleven nobody gardener to Coriolanus, but little did you know that he knew pretty much everything (however little) there was to know about your history, including your birthday. He gives you a gift of his own, an invitation he’s hoping you’ll accept so that he may celebrate your birthday with you—Coriolanus Snow style.

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Crouched low to the ground, you bit back a hiss of pain as a thorn pricked the tip of your index finger, withdrawing your hand to wipe away the welling drop of red at your fingertip. You fashioned more conscious caution as you returned your hand to the culprit rose and gingerly bent the stem towards you, your other hand gripping a pair of garden scissors. You nipped the stem below the dying rose head, the decayed, featherlight petals drifting to the ground to form a scattered painting of a crime scene.

Each time you were forced to cut away the wilted flowers, a piece of your heart ached. It was a necessary practice in order to keep the bush healthy and set it up for a successful next season, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that you’d once poured as much effort into preserving that very flower, and now you would lay it to rest simply because it had lost all grace and beauty—and hence value. Funny, really, how much that concept seemed to equate to the real world.

Overhead, the sun seared on, taking full responsibility for the beads of sweat that now dribbled down your temples. You dropped your scissors to the ground, it’s fall cushioned by the decayed bodies of your rose victims, and wiped your dirt-strewn hand across your forehead with a sigh. You took a moment to glance around the garden of the Snow estate, your chest prickling with a sense of pride at the perfect order you’d managed to bring it to.

Coriolanus Snow didn’t much trust anyone to tinker with his garden, it was one of his most prized possessions—a symbol of sorts that only he knew the meaning of. No matter, he’d taken you in from the districts and trusted you enough with the duty of being his gardener, and he was a very generous host in return. You stayed on the property—in this very garden, in fact, in your own little rustic cottage. He didn’t often make a stop there, mostly tending to his own business, but there were a few occasions where he did manage to pass-by and would check in with you.

The last thing you’d expected him to be was generous—and kind. It was practically an unspoken rule in the Capitol for the higher classes to spit on and degrade anybody from the districts, merely because your lesser existence was offensive to their way of living. You had to admit that you didn’t much hold any love for the Capitol citizens, either, but you thought that your dislike of them was far more justifiable and valid.

But there was an air around Coriolanus Snow, not exactly the most humble, but he was far from boasting his wealth and luxury of a lifestyle from the rooftops of Panem. It was almost as though he were too afraid to, as though this life would and could be robbed from him in an instant. It gave you the impression that he was not like most other Capitol-born citizens—perhaps he’d known what poverty was like, whether it was him or someone he knew that had endured it. Maybe that was why he’d taken pity on your life in the district and offered you this opportunity to come and live with him in return for your services.

There were many possibilities at play, but because Coriolanus Snow was such an enigma of a man, there wasn’t much hope of closure. As if the mere thought of him was a summons, you heard footsteps clatter down the bricked walkway winding through the gardens, turning your head just in time to glimpse that signature red ensemble of the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts for the last hour or so.

You instinctively rose to full height to offer him a modest bow of greeting upon his arrival. It was a gesture he’d insisted on neglecting for the first few days of your presence here, but he’d soon after given up on the matter when he realised that you would not listen. Now, going off of the sheer delight that seemed to glint in those deep blue eyes, you thought he rather enjoyed the importance that your greeting seemed to imply.

“Mr. Snow,” you offered a formal greeting, feeling suddenly conscious at how ragged and sweat-stained your gardening dress had become under this hot weather. Quite frankly, you hadn’t expected him to pay a visit today, given the scorching weather. You only wished that you could have presented yourself in a better manner.

Coriolanus stood towering before you, his chin tilted down to glance you over as he merely said, “Coriolanus, please.”

You were hesitant at his correction, before offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Coriolanus,” you repeated softly, feeling out each syllable of his name. It felt odd to use his first name outside of your thoughts, but even then, you almost always addressed him by full name.

You noticed the way Coriolanus’ eyes had lowered down your figure, and the self-consciousness only seemed to worsen at the idea that he may be judging your appearance. But you were taken aback as he leaned forward to take your hands into his, his thumbs ghosting over the back of your hands before he turned them over to survey your palms. The way he cupped your hands in his felt far too intimate, and you hoped by the grace of all the Gods that the dirt plastered to your face was mask enough to hide the colour inevitably warming the apples of your cheeks.

“Have you not been using those gardening gloves I gave you?” Coriolanus asked as he trailed his thumb over the cuts littered around your palm and across your fingers. He lifted his eyes to yours, they were shaped with genuine concern.

You were taken aback at how blatantly careless he was in his handling of you, and for a second you almost felt like an equal in status. Capitol-born rarely laid their hands on district occupants, as though they feared the poverty and dirt they carried were a plague to be avoided at all costs.

It took you a few seconds to find your tongue. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted, then quickly added, “not for lack of trying, though. I’ve never used gloves, even back in the districts—they make it difficult to grab ahold of the stems, and I find that my cut becomes rather clumsy with them on. I prefer the unveiled contact with my greenery.”

The white-haired man seemed to nod with understanding, a faint smile stretching his full and soft lips. “I guessed as much,” he responded. The confusion that swept across your face prompted him to explain. “I never developed a taste for gloves, either. When I inherited this estate, the garden was in a ghastly state. No matter how many gardeners I managed to enlist, none of them could bring my roses to justice. For a while, I did all of the work myself, and the garden thrived.” He paused with a sudden and wistful look. “But as it seems, my time wore thin with all my newly acquired responsibilities, so I turned to the districts in hopes of finding a suitable gardener to continue my work.” He paused as his eyes lowered down to your hands once more. “And then I found you.”

Your heart lurched at the way Coriolanus’ fingers began to caress the curves of your palms. You felt that somewhere along the line, you had missed the part of the story where the two of you had grown close enough for this sort of intimacy. But even then, you didn’t find yourself withdrawing from his touch. It felt oddly soothing, the way he dragged a constant, rhythmic pressure across your torn and aching skin.

“Why did you choose me?” You asked suddenly, causing Coriolanus to lift his head with that lopsided smile.

“I just knew you were right for me,” he responded levelly. “When I found your stall, I watched you for a while—the way you tended the flowers and assembled the bouquets for that Capitol celebration order. I thought the work looked familiar, I’ve seen it decorating most—if not all of the foyers of the upper-class Capitol buildings. The bouquets have always had a signature crown to them—one flower in the centre that sits a little taller than the rest of them, like a king that gazes down across his people. I saw you do the very same thing with all of your orders, and I knew then that you were the popular artist whose flowers haunt me wherever I walk.”

You let slip a giggle at his last words, not caring for etiquette at this point. You thought that you’d long since left formalities behind when Coriolanus had taken up your hands.

“I was unaware of just how much of a fan you were, Mr. Snow,” you teased, instantly catching your fault and correcting yourself. “Coriolanus.”

“Involuntarily,” he chuckled, his smile quieting as his eyes flickered across your face rather intensely. You would have cowered away from his stare, had it been casted under a different circumstance. “In any case, I knew I had to have you. Your talent and potential would have been laid to waste crafting posies and ensembles for sanctimonious Capitol parties. I doubt either one of them could properly recognise and appreciate the true effort imbued into their side-piece decorations.”

You pursed your lips at those last words, feeling rather propelled by a sense of pride at his praise and recognition of your hard work. “Putting aside the “sidepiece decorations”—could you, Coriolanus, properly appreciate my work?”

“If you have to ask that, I’m afraid I’ve been too subtle in my efforts,” he responded. Your lips quirked at that, only to gape in slight shock as Coriolanus lifted both of your hands to his lips, and in elegant sequence, placed a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

You swore that the very skin of your hands shrank away from the feel of his soft lips, an explosion of shivers sent along your rigid arms. “Coriolanus—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“I chose you because of what your potential had to offer me,” he said, slowly releasing your hands to return back to your sides, and there they quivered as he went on. “But also because I knew what I could offer you. Nobody understands the scars of labour more than I do—don’t forget that I’ve been kneeling in your place, doing your job, long before I brought you here. Gardening, it isn’t just an industry—it’s an art, one that very few can appreciate, letalone master. But you—you’ve perfected it. I’ve never seen flowers so full and abundant in bloom.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“No,” he politely disagreed, a faint smile trailing after. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due. Please, allow me to commemorate your hard work.” Your lips parted to question what he meant by those words, but you were silenced by the shuffling of his hands as he reached into his crimson blazer and pulled a white rose from concealment. “Take this.” He offered you the rose, and you gingerly accepted it.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it wasn’t a real rose at all—not all of it, at least, but one whose petals were expertly shaped from paper. The stem of it was real, but the thorns had been carefully carved away, the leaves left behind already starting to wither at the edges.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed, tilting the paper rose in every direction to marvel at its beauty. “This is so beautiful. I never pegged you for an arts and crafts guy,” you added with a chuckle.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was one of the ways Tigris and I used to pass time as kids.”

You glanced up in faint surprise at the mention of Tigris. When Coriolanus had risen to power and status, shorty after inheriting the Plinth fortune, it was very difficult for his history to remain private. Everybody—even the districts, knew that Tigris was his older cousin, and that their relationship following his newly acquired fortune had since been estranged. After all, it was difficult to conceal the fact that his cousin no longer partook in his life, staying separated in her living quarters as well as neglecting the courtesy of attending his events of honour to show support.

You wondered whether Coriolanus ever regretted growing so distant with Tigris, but as you silently gazed at him, his expression let on not even the slightest hint of his thoughts or feelings on the matter. He was fashioned from composure, the only way to truly get an answer would be to hear it straight from his lips. But you wouldn’t pick at that particular scab, not when you had hardly known each other for more than a month—or spoken for more than a few minutes.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you told him, gently clasping the stem between your fingers. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity,” Coriolanus said. You furrowed your brows. He made a slight gesture of his chin toward the rose, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “I left some notes on the petals. Feel free to read it once I’ve taken my leave.”

Your tilted down to the rose, your eyes narrowing in an effort to spot said note on the paper petals. After twirling the rose around for quite a bit, you managed to find the neat scribble of his handwriting nestled into the middle ring of petals. Before you had the chance to read the first word, Coriolanus’ voice stirred your focus.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said before offering a smile and turning to take his leave from the garden.

You lifted your head and watched him disappear around a winding corner. “Goodbye!” You called after him, not sure he’d heard you at all. You turned your attention back to the rose and manoeuvred your fingers between the various paper petals, managing to find the beginning of the note. You push down the first petal and began reading it’s contents:

Your breath hitched in your throat at that last sentence. Coriolanus Snow, you little flirt, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the flush of your cheeks as you entertained that possibility. You pushed the thought away as you continued reading:

You chuckled at that statement. You weren’t going to be the one to say it. You bent down the last petal, the writing a lot less than the last few notes.

You averted your attention to the pathway that Coriolanus had long since disappeared along, your heart brimming with a sudden warmth. Nobody, other than your now deceased family, knew of your birthday. It had never been anything special, only a grim tally of your miserable years in the district.

You wondered how he’d come to obtain this information, and you realised then just how true to his word he’d been—he very likely did know every single thing about you. But you hated being perceived, especially by somebody you knew nothing about. So you decided then and there that you would take up his offer on tonight’s dinner,

And then, you intended to find out his every secret.

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This was so fun and refreshing to write. I’ve got about 7 unfinished drafts sitting around that I’ve been working on now and again, but I’ve been itching to get something complete and posted—so although this is something small, at least it’s something lmao. Sorry to disappoint y’all smut lovers, but I’ve got to keep it clean now and again.

Anyways, I just turned 19 yesterday, which feels surreal because I’m literally just a 17 year old teenage girl. I don’t think I’ll ever feel grown up. Every birthday is a goddamn existential crisis 😭

I hope you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Mwah!

𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

[belokhvostikova]

I've been going through your whole masterlist since yesterday and it's safe to say I'm obsessed! You're a fantastic writer <33

I have to say “Interrogations with the unconscious” is my favorite. It was a big ouchie, though... Do you think they did wind up back together (after some grovelling from Eddie 😉), or do they go back to no contact?

Ah, THANK YOU SO MUCH! <3 I love that my page is being ransacked!

And “Interrogations with the Unconscious,” are you kidding?! I feel like out of all my oneshots, that one is not my most popular, but it’s a dear little treasure of mine, I loved writing it! It was my birthday treat! :)

(Please know, if I ever write a story wear Eddie and Reader don’t get back together, I’ve been kidnapped and someone’s taken over my page!) Rockstar!Eddie, of course, grovels to the depths of hell to get back with Reader- well, at least in my head, lol. It’s safe to say Eddie does, in fact, have a face that’s hard to say no to, as—much to their dismay—management would allow him to stay in Indianapolis longer than what was intended.

It was a win-win, those who previously bought tickets to the Indy show were able to attend a show, where Eddie actually stayed to perform, and Eddie got the gift of spending Christmas with you. Of course, it came with much reluctance on your part, but when Eddie promised to bring “the old man” with him, you couldn’t pass up a chance to spend Christmas with Wayne Munson!

He played quite the mediator, enjoying the snippy banter that played out between you and Eddie over the roast. And when needed, Wayne jumped in to take your side, and ensured Eddie was receiving all the playful insults. And maybe, just maybe, when Eddie needed help with kneading the cookie dough, a little spark buzzed within you two, as your fingers brushed to smooth out the mush of flour and eggs.

But, of course, the road called, and Eddie couldn’t spend time in Indy forever. Which is why he exuded the most effort to fly across the country to spend his off days in Indiana. For you? No. Totally not. It just so happened to be a coincidence that during this period one of the biggest playboys in Hollywood wasn’t photographed with any models/actresses, like he usually would be. Total coincidence, ha ha…

And maybe you notice how attentive he’s become, washing off that rockstar facade to showcase the old Eddie you once fell in love with. Something about being back in his home state that really brings him back down to Earth. So, perhaps, one day, Eddie suggests moving back to Indiana. And his team hates it. But what’s his team without Eddie Munson?!

So, yeah, a plot of land is purchased in Indiana- hey, funny enough, only a twenty minute drive from your townhouse, huh? And maybe it’s the close proximity that allows a friendship to bud between you and Eddie. I mean, it’s not like you can avoid him, he’s still in your friend group.

And let’s just say, one, I don’t know, drunken night, you’re feeling just a teensy bit horny. C’mon, you’re a grown woman with needs, happens to the best of us. And Eddie, well, Eddie can recognize that needy face from a mile away, so when he catches those round eyes across the room at the mixer Harrington was hosting, he jumped hurdles to ask if you were okay.

Of course, you weren’t okay! You knew that! He knew that!

And Eddie complied with every stern request from you that this was only a ONE. TIME. THING.

But is it ever really? No.

Nine months later, gossip articles are in a frenzy over the iceberg that’s been spotted on your ring finger.

[umbracirrus]

I am sat here, at... Just gone 5am... feeling all tired and stressed because I've got so much going on both in relation to university over the coming weeks (with my last deadline for this year being 10th/11th December) so I'm not sure how frequently I'm going to be able to actually write or anything in the meantime!

And, in the realisation that yesterday was Wednesday, I'm going to share what may possibly be my last WIP until after uni has died down for the year 💛 I'll obviously be on here still, just not so much on a creative capacity.

I'm not sure if I've posted this snippet before, no doubt I probably have, but pfft. Too tired to check. Wanna share it anyway. I've been sitting on it for a while, but nonetheless I love it (even if this version has been edited a teensy little bit to remove references to a future plot point for The Perfect Storm!)

----

“It looks wonderful out here tonight...” Elyse whispered, hands gripping onto the wooden railing of the balcony as she stared up at the skies with awe across her features. “I spent most of my life hearing from my mother just how beautiful the Skyrim night sky was. I’ve lived here for about four years now, and every time I look up at night and there are no clouds, it’s just as incredible as the first time I saw it.”

Balgruuf nodded at her observation, though in all fairness, he was looking at a different sight entirely. He was too busy looking at her... The way in which her hair had fallen loose from behind the ear closest to him, which had him wanting to tuck it back to where it had been. The sparkle in her eyes as she took in the sight of the aurora. The slight flush across her cheeks from the wine.

Divines, she was... Beautiful. Moreso than the night sky. And just looking at her as she was made him feel... something. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Elyse let out a quiet sigh, then slowly moved to lean against him. It took him aback for a moment, though it didn’t take him long to move his arm to behind her back.

He could envision spending the rest if his life like this. With her.

He also couldn’t help but move his other hand just to tuck that stay strand of hair back to behind her ear before long, though his hand lingered as she turned to look at him. Knuckles lightly brushed against the skin of her cheek, trailed across her jaw, and even with that slight motion, he could feel the warmth radiating off her. He didn’t notice her own hand reach up to his until their fingers touched, but rather than pull him away, she took his hand into her own.

There were far too many words which he wanted to say. Needed to. But little noise came from him as he opened his mouth – all he managed was a whisper of her name.

In an action which was perhaps more succinct than his attempt at vocalising his thoughts and emotions, he tilted his head down so that their foreheads were touching, lips barely an inch apart as the hand which was being held by hers broke free from her warmth and came to rest on her waist. She was the one who closed the distance though, the faintest taste of the wine from earlier lingering on her lips.

[firespirited]

Yesterday was day 5 of body on fire. I managed to make a gorgeous bouquet of our garden's flowers for mum's bday, walk Lily then Talia. It was 6-6.30 early Sunday morning but I met 2 neighbours who wanted to chat and an old family friend who needed to vent. So by the end I was in hives all over from exhaustion which is a sign you've overdone it. Came home, pulled myself together somewhat to have breakfast with mum and then just collapsed for 7 hours in a feverish headachey daze.

It was actually a really nice day but if I possibly can I want to skip the steroids today, they add an extra dimension to the exhaustion or maybe just a better awareness of that deep ache like a big cry you need but can't do, a hunger to go into a sleep coma for as long as it takes.

Once I've got a teensy bit of energy spare I'd really like to continue the doll sort out. It got derailed by taking heads out of the bundle and adding more. So new collages or group pictures.

Then restart work on the condensed web 1.0 version of the tutorials. Wishes - horses - i know i know. Besides, physio comes first.

I'm watching the latest season of the Orville as I needed something just really familiar and chill. The one hour format is not good for the show, it's slightly too slow and lingers on the actors in a way that feels like a sitcom or a soap opera, I can't quite explain why but there's a writing/editing/filming pacing decision that cheapens their acting. It's a delightful series but it feels a lot like when ST: enterprise hadn't yet put in A plots with sub B plots so it was meandering around the first couple of seasons with a lot of standing around looking awkward. But yeah my brain starts zoning out during the extensive cgi or conversations that go nowhere. They're delivered in a zippy way but we're not actually moving anywhere emotionally. But the characters have a lot of potential so I'll stick with it for now.

[daisynik7]

Hi, could we get a prim and proper Nanami but he has a foot fetish. Kneed his thighs with your feet and he'll turn into a moaning mess. Test him /unintentionally/ in public by showing of your cute pedicure and new heels. Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu

cw: foot fetish, established (secret) relationship, boss/employee relationship, smut.

Author’s Note: ANON you might have awoken something in me because oh boy, this was SO much fun to write. Thank you for this request and I hope you like it!

You and Nanami have been hooking up in secret for the past three months. You keep it that way because you are coworkers. Well, actually, Nanami is your boss. So, naturally, the truth makes your little arrangement a teensy bit complicated. 

Aside from this very minor deviation, Nanami is absolutely prim and proper, particularly around the office. He’s maintained that demeanor for most of his career, and he’s not going to let you of all people ruin that for him. Still, that doesn’t stop you from teasing him, especially when he’s so easy. You know exactly what to do to unravel him. Is it mean? Sure. Is it fun? Absolutely. 

You truly don’t mean to torment him. Honestly, it’s his own fault for being so fucking filthy. It was recently discovered that Nanami has the nastiest foot fetish. Everything came to light the first time he held you in a mating press, your legs up in the air as he pounded into your wet cunt, ankles draped over his shoulders. Thankfully, you showered beforehand; you’re not sure he’d do what he did if you hadn’t (and part of you doesn’t want to find out). He turned his head, your precious feet at both sides of his face. Without warning, he kissed you, first at your ankle, then along your heel, lips pressed gently to the arch of your foot. You watched him nervously as made his way to your toes, eyes locked on yours, latching his mouth around them. This was a first for you, and honestly, it was much sexier than you expected it to be. And maybe because it’s Nanami, the sexiest fucking man you’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping with. After that, it’s been on your mind since, and you just can’t help yourself when you’re in the office with him, knowing this little secret he carries. 

The two of you are scheduled to do interviews all day today. After the third candidate leaves, you finally have a short break to yourselves. Nanami stacks his notes neatly in front of him, avoiding eye contact. You smirk to yourself, knowing he’s probably thinking about you. Wishing he could ravish you on this big, round conference room table. That’s because today, you’re wearing your prettiest open-toed heels with a fresh pedicure you got done yesterday. And while he’s managed to focus most of his attention on the interviews, you’re too keen to let those quick glances of his go unnoticed. 

You swivel your chair towards him, crossing your legs beneath the dress you’re wearing. Letting the heel part of the shoe dangle freely from your toes. Behind his glasses, you can see his eyes dart to your shoe before looking back at the stack of papers on the table. 

“Do you like my new pedicure, Kento?” you ask coyly.

Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And please do not refer to me in my first name. You know the rules.”

“Oh, come on, Kento. I saw you staring. You can’t fool me.” You slide your chair forward, closer to him, letting your heel drop with a heavy thud to the floor. 

This time, he glares at you, eyes narrowed with frustration. “Don’t even think about it.”

“We have a couple of minutes before our next interview. And we know this room is soundproof. Why don’t we have a little bit of fun?” 

“You know we can’t do that.” His voice softens, resolve gradually cracking.

“Why not?” you whine, uncrossing your legs. You rub his ankle with your bare foot, pant leg riding up his shin. 

He’s losing his composure, stiff in his seat, taking deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to keep his cool. Your foot travels farther up his leg, extending your knee straight to knead at his thigh. His jaw is clenched, watching as you reach closer and closer to his crotch, the obvious bulge protruding from his slacks. You press your toes lightly against his erection, resulting in a guttural moan escaping his lips. 

“You can touch me, too, Kento. I won’t tell. Promise.”

In an instant, he’s on you, fingers wrapped around your ankle, shoving your pedicured foot closer to his cock. “You’re a naughty fucking slut, aren’t you? Seducing me like this.”

You spread your legs wide, revealing the sheer panties you specifically wore for him today, already wet with arousal. “Then fuck me like a slut.”

He pounces forward, kneeling in front of you, knees on the carpet, your leg hanging from his shoulder. He flicks his tongue at your clit, sucking on the fabric, collecting your juices in his mouth. Thrashing his head side-to-side, eating you out through your panties, hand gently massaging your toes. With the other, he unzips his pants, whipping his cock out of his briefs to stroke himself. 

“Fuck, Kento,” you moan, head thrown back against the chair.

“Hold your panties for me,” he muffles, drooling on your pussy. 

You reach down, stretching your lingerie to the side, giving him what he wants. His tongue dips into your leaking slit, collecting your juices and smearing it onto your swelling bud. He wraps his lips around you, sucking until you’re whimpering with pleasure, coming all over his mouth. He scatters delicate kisses along your leg, ending up back at your foot, his wet lips surrounding your painted toes. With a loud pop, he releases you, expression hazy with lust. “Strip and get on the fucking table,” he demands. 

Thrilled at this switch in personality, you obey, sliding out of your soaked panties and hoisting your dress up. Bare ass sat on the smooth laminate of the conference room table. His pants and briefs pool around his ankles as he shoves your thighs up towards your chest, bending you into a mating press, guiding his thick cock inside you. When he bottoms out, he rests your ankles at his shoulders, lips around your toes again, sucking. His thumb rubs at your swollen clit until you come again, coating his cock in your creamy mess. Soon after, he orgasms inside you, spilling his load into your throbbing pussy, pulling out slowly to watch it drip down onto the table. 

“You’re a very, very bad girl, you know that?” he says, collecting the cum dribbling from your slit and fingering it back in. He retrieves your panties from the floor, slipping them back on you. “Keep my cum inside you the rest of the day. That’s a direct order.”

Grinning, you close your legs and hop off the table, saluting him. “You got it, boss.”

He slides his arms around your waist, hands squeezed at your ass, kissing you. You stay like this for a moment, melting into each other’s touch. Nanami’s phone buzzes, indicating a new email.  He breaks away to check it, eyes scanning over the message quickly before he places it back on the table, staring at you. 

“What?”

“Our next interview is running late. Looks like we’ll have to wait another half hour,” he answers, smirking.

You bite your bottom lip, tugging at his tie to pull him towards you. “So…round two?”

[silverlightqueen]

Filter

‘I can be whatever you want me to be, babe.’

fratboy/jock!Jimin x cheerleader!reader (bc apparently I don’t know how to not write university aus) - e2l, smut, angst, humour, a teensy bit of fluff if you squint

Part of ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo!

Rating: 18 (graphic sex and mature themes)

Word Count: 14.9k+

Warnings - there’s a lot (because this is absolute filth) so please read carefully!  discussion of drugs and consumption of drugs, alcohol consumption, mention of rape, brief mention of murder and violence, brief mention of STDs, extremely bad language, extreme sexual tension (like on another level guys), brief mention of stripping, Jimin is a total dick, a lot of arguing and insulting, y/n has way too much pride for her own good, Jimin is too arrogant for his own good, mention of Namjoon being naked (you’ll understand when you read it), explicit sex, unprotected sex (use protection guys!), hate sex, (really) rough sex, very slight dubcon (she doesn’t explicitly say yes but she does give him consent), dom!Jimin and sub!y/n, y/n is the brattiest bratty stubbornest brattiest brat, very explicit dirty talk, asphyxiation, mention of spitting during sex, marking, y/n does a little striptease, nipple play, finger sucking, cum licking/swallowing, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, edging, begging, spanking, hair pulling, punishment, pussy slapping, degradation, mild sadism and masochism,  very brief exhibitionism, fingering, oral sex (m receiving) and mention of oral sex (f receiving), face fucking, gagging,  thigh-riding, overstimulation, Jimin has a big fat huge monster cock, teasing, manhandling, slapping during sex, penetrative sex, squirting, cunnilingus, (I’m sure that’s it, but please let me know if you notice that I missed something!)

a/n: hey guys! please enjoy this absolute filth lmao (blame black haired Jimin for being the sexiest person in the world). the biggest thank you to the love of my life @silverlightprincess​ for proof-reading this two nights in a row and hyping it up so much, you’re the best and I love you.  lmk what you think and hmu if you’re interested in a part two x

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘Please come with me. I can’t go by myself,’ I whine at Jennie who sits on her bed, watching me in amusement like she’s watching a film or TV show. 

‘Nope, and I already told you why; I don’t want to see him, not after what happened,’ she says, and I roll my eyes as I order an Uber. ‘So you’re really gonna make me go by myself? What if I get drugged, or beaten up, or raped, or murdered, or-’ ‘y/n!’ she exclaims reproachfully, and I shrug, ‘it could happen.’ ‘Well, it won’t. Loads of our friends are there. Wendy and Irene and Seulgi, Yeri and Joy, loads of people,’ she lists off. ‘Yeah, and they’ll be there, too,’ I sigh. ‘Well, I mean, it is at their house,’ she says, holding back a laugh, and I stick my tongue out at her.

‘You know what I mean. I hate them – jocks are so unbearable. It’d be better if you were there,’ I say, pouting. ‘You’re a liar, you don’t hate them. Just him,’ she points out. ‘Well, what if he tries something? He’s so strong, he could literally lift a car if he wanted to-’ ‘Bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?’ she says, and I roll my eyes again. ‘You know what I mean. The point still stands that he’s strong – you’re the one that saw him at the gym lifting more than your body weight. And remember when he knocked one of the players on their opposing team to the floor in that match last year, and he was literally twice his size. If that guy couldn’t take him on, how can I?’ ‘And you think I can? I’m smaller than you, you idiot.’ ‘But you’re scary.’ ‘You’re scarier than me,’ she says mildly, and I sigh. ‘Please, Jen. It’s not even that big of a deal, what happened. If anything, it’s more embarrassing for him than for you,’ I say, trying so hard to persuade her. ‘It is a big deal. It only happened yesterday – I at least need to give it a couple days before I can face him again.’ ‘Fine, I’ll go by myself. If I’m not home in the morning, it’s on your head,’ I say dramatically, pulling on my heels.

‘Don’t be like that,’ she reprimands before launching into a speech, ‘you look absolutely gorgeous and the boys will be all over you, so don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and if you do, please use a condom. I don’t need you bringing an STD back with you. If there’s an emergency, or you need me to pick you up, call me. Make sure you keep me updated on what’s going on. Don’t drink anything anyone gives you – pour your own drinks. Make sure you’re always with one of the girls.’ ‘Okay, okay! I’ll see you later, mum!’ I exclaim, and she laughs, pulling me into a hug. ‘Be careful, y/n,’ she says gently, and I nod. ‘When am I not, Jen?’ I say, and she raises an eyebrow. I leave our dorm and head down the corridor, opting to take the lift instead of the stairs – these heels aren’t that high, but I don’t want to take any risks.

My Uber’s already there by the time I get outside, so I jump straight in. The journey there is short (not short enough to walk in heels, though) and within five minutes, we’re pulling up in front of the house. I climb out, the driver instantly zooming away, and I look up at the house in front of me. It’s much bigger than and further away from the rest of the houses on the street, and it has its own little pier out onto the university lake, perfect for drunken skinny-dippers at the end of the night. I head up to the porch, the Greek letters for Alpha Sigma Phi hanging above my head, and push through the slightly open door. The party is already in full swing, loud bass-heavy RnB pulsing through the house, people already drunk and dancing, the smell of drugs thick in the air. I push through the throng of my classmates into the kitchen where I know my friends will be. The lowered volume in the kitchen is brief; only the moment before my friends notice me is quiet. ‘y/n!’ they all shout, and I jump in surprise. ‘y/n, you made it!’ Wendy shrieks, throwing her arms around me. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it,’ I say, hugging her back. ‘y/n, you look good!’ Yeri exclaims, holding me out for her to admire. ‘Thank you, Yeri, but look at you! Absolutely gorg!’ I don’t get to hear her reply before the rest of my friends greet me, all of them dressed up and drinking. ‘Let me get you a drink. What do you want?’ Irene asks me, and I scrunch up my face in thought. ‘I’ll just have Diet Coke for now – I don’t want any alcohol,’ I say, and I feel a hand appear on my waist. ‘Lightweight,’ I hear his teasing voice, and I can’t stop the big sigh I let out, accompanied by my signature eye roll.

‘Where are your pom-poms today?’ he asks, and I turn to look at him, the smell of vodka strong on him. ‘I was wondering how long I’d have without you bothering me,’ I say, fixing him with a dirty look. I’ve always thought of him as tiny, but he really isn’t – I have to tilt my head back slightly to look at his annoying face because of how close to me he is (he most definitely has lifts in his shoes). And it’s not just his face, that’s annoying, let me tell you that. It’s everything about him. And shall I tell you why? Because it’s all perfect. Everything about him, physically, is infuriatingly perfect. His legs are long and toned, his waist cinched and his frame slim, with vascular hands adorned in silver rings, matching with the silver earrings hanging from his ears and the silver Chanel necklace around his neck (how he can afford Chanel jewellery whilst at university, I don’t know). His lips are plump and glossy, like a Bratz doll, and his eyes are a deep chocolaty brown, framed with dark lashes. His jaw is sharp, his cheeks chubby, and his black hair is soft and fluffy, swept back to reveal the tan skin of his forehead and dark, bold eyebrows. Long story short, he’s beautiful, on the outside. The inside is a whole other story.

‘Bothering you? More like gracing you with my presence. Remember, this is my party, and there are plenty of other, more… willing girls I could be spending my time with, but I chose you. You should be honoured,’ he says with a grin, and I scowl at him. ‘Honoured?’ I echo as Irene hands me a red solo cup with the Coke in it, ‘it’s not your party. It’s Alpha Sigma Phi’s party.’ ‘And what does everyone think of when they think of ASP? This handsome face and the perfect dick that comes with it,’ he says, preening, and I roll my eyes again. ‘Can you not be so annoying and full of yourself all the time?’ ‘I can be whatever you want me to be, babe,’ he says lowly, thumb swiping across his plump lips, and I blink, heart jumping which pisses me off – my own body betrays me when I’m with him. ‘Well, whatever. I don’t think of you when I think of ASP. I think of a bunch of douches,’ I shrug, changing the subject back, and he grins even wider, obviously amused that he managed to make me flustered. ‘Now, now. Is that any way to speak about your friends? I’m sure the other boys would be offended to hear you speak about them like that,’ he says, plucking the cup from my hand and taking a sip. ‘Well, let me correct myself. You’re the douche,’ I say tiredly, and he grins. ‘You won’t be saying that for long. You’ll be eating your words when you feel how good my cock is,’ he forebodes, handing me back my cup, completely empty. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to feel anything,’ I mutter, throwing away the cup, and he chuckles. ‘Oh, y/n, you do amuse me,’ he grins. ‘Oh, Park, the feeling is most definitely not mutual,’ I say in a bright tone, a fake smile plastered on my face. ‘Good talk, y/n, I’ll see you later,’ he says distractedly as he moves away from me, watching a sophomore that’s just walked in with her friends, wearing a skimpy dress. She’s pretty and looks nice, but I can’t help but dislike her instantly, surprised at myself for being so bitchy.

‘Who are you shooting lasers at?’ Joy asks. ‘Park Jimin,’ I spit out, turning my dirty looks to him instead. Or rather, his back, as he’s now facing away from me, speaking to the sophomore. ‘Cradle robber,’ Joy observes, and I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t quite say cradle robber – we’re only a year older than her,’ I point out, and Joy waves my words away. ‘Still. Anyway, are you drinking?’ she asks. ‘Well, I did have a drink, but he took it and downed it,’ I say, motioning to Jimin who’s now got a hand on the girl’s arm. She looks up at him with a sweet smile, her eyes wide and big, and I almost want to go over and warn her away, knowing he’s just looking for someone to fill his bed for the night. ‘Well, Seulgi brought Malibu, and I know you like it, so here,’ she says, pushing an unopened bottle into my hand and disappearing back into the throng of people. ‘Thanks,’ I say to the spot where she was just stood, plucking a clean cup from the packet, pouring out some of the rum and mixing it with coke (an unopened bottle – I’m no rookie). I also find some straws and pick out a pink one, dropping it into the cup. Just as I begin to take a sip, a pair of big hands clap down onto my shoulders, making me jump and I choke on my drink.

‘Oh, shit, sorry. You okay, y/n?’ I hear Namjoon’s voice as I cough again and again. ‘Do I look okay?’ I ask once I’ve stopped choking, my eyes beginning to water and my face warm. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ he says reproachfully, holding back laughter. ‘Idiot,’ I mutter, taking a seat on one of the stools around the kitchen island (these trashy dirty frat boys don’t deserve such a nice house). ‘Sorry. Anyways, how are you?’ ‘I was fine before you tried to kill me. What about you?’ ‘Um, good, yeah. I saw you speaking to Jimin,’ he says, triggering an eye roll. ‘He’s such a pain in the ass. I’m gonna file a restraining order.’ ‘Go for it, I’ll file one too. So, you, um… did you come by yourself?’ he asks, rubbing at the back of his neck, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Don’t be a pussy – say it with your chest,’ I say in a bored tone, and he sighs. ‘Did Jennie come with you?’ he asks quietly. ‘No, she wasn’t feeling too well, so she stayed back at our apartment,’ I grin, and he puts a hand to his forehead. ‘She’s avoiding me, isn’t she? Urgh, I’m such an idiot.’ ‘I can’t argue with you there,’ I reply, and he scowls at me. ‘Sorry. But, it’s true, you are an idiot. I mean, what on earth were you thinking?’ I say, failing to hold back my laughter. ‘I didn’t know that she would be out there. If I’d known…’ he trails off. ‘You wouldn’t have run across the pitch butt naked?’ I ask, and he slaps a hand over my mouth, looking around to see if anyone heard. ‘Keep your voice down! I don’t want people knowing. I lost a bet, and I did it at night-time so no one would see. How was I supposed to know she’d be out there?’ he says defensively, and I shake my head at him in disgust. ‘You’re a mess. And, anyway, yes, of course she’s avoiding you. How can she look you in the face again properly having seen you completely naked?’ I say, struggling to hold back laughter as I think back to Jennie’s face when she walked into our apartment after going somewhere quiet to speak on the phone to her sister, Rose – there was a party going on in the apartment next door, so she went on a walk, conveniently running into (a naked) Namjoon. ‘Oh, go suck Jimin’s dick,’ he says half-heartedly. ‘Go flash Jennie again,’ I retort, and he flips me off before disappearing.

I stay in the kitchen the majority of the night, catching up with all my friends. It’s been a while since I had a chance to socialise; settling back into the Uni schedule after a long summer is tough, especially when you have an entire cheer team to lead. And cheering isn’t easy! People think we just run around in skimpy outfits, chanting and waving pom-poms, but there is so much more to it than that – I’d go as far to say that cheer is one of the hardest sports you can do. I spend so much of my time choreographing and working out to keep fit and planning routines and deciding positions for the team. It requires a lot of dedication and time to get everything done before the season starts. But obviously, a lot of my peers don’t have to dedicate their time to things like that and are used to partying, opting to get black out drunk at these frat parties instead of socialising with their friends. Only three hours after my arrival, there are people passed out all over the place, bedrooms occupied, and drunken students dirty dancing in the living room. Sat in the same stool as three hours ago, I watch Yeri flirt with a senior, feeling proud of my girl. She catches me watching and I put my thumbs up to her, giving her a big encouraging smile, and she quickly looks away for fear of laughing out loud.

‘Ah, y/n. Alone?’ I hear Jimin’s voice from behind me before he takes the seat beside me. ‘Yes, and I was enjoying it,’ I say pointedly, despite knowing he won’t go. ‘How have you been? Still dancing away?’ he asks with a grin, and I roll my eyes. ‘Cheer isn’t the same as dance.’ ‘I’ve seen you on the side-lines while we’re playing – sure looks like dance to me.’ ‘And anyway, why do you have to say it like that? I’m not a stripper,’ I say exasperatedly, completely ignoring his stupid interjection. ‘What’s wrong with being a stripper?’ ‘Nothing, I consider it at least nine times a day.’ ‘Let me know if you decide to pursue that as your career – I’d be more than happy to support you. Maybe even join you if football doesn’t work out for me.’ ‘Oh, I don’t doubt you’d support me, you pervert.’ ‘Now, you know that’s not true. I only flirt with girls that want me back. If they don’t, I leave them alone.’ ‘So why don’t you leave me alone?’ ‘Because it’s clear to me that you enjoy my flirting. You might act like you don’t, but not once have you ever explicitly told me to stop, or to go away,’ he says, and I struggle for a comeback, knowing it’s true. He might be a total dick and I might hate him, but the flirting and the attention, it makes me feel good. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that a boy who could have anyone… wants me. ‘See?’ he points out with a smirk, and I roll my eyes as he takes a sip of the vodka in his hand. ‘You need to deflate your ego a little.’ ‘You need to pull that stick out your arse.’ ‘It’s stuck up there, with your head.’ ‘Touché,’ he laughs, and I shake my head.

‘So, as I was asking before we got side-tracked, how have you been? How are you finding junior year?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why do you care, Park?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘Why wouldn’t I care?’ ‘Because we don’t like each other.’ ‘I like you,’ he smirks, head resting on his hand, arm leaning on the countertop. ‘No, you don’t, and I sure as hell don’t like you.’ ‘Why do you keep lying to me, and to yourself, y/n?’ ‘I’m not lying. Just because you’re attracted to someone, it doesn’t mean you like them,’ I say, regretting the words as soon as I see the mischievous light in his eyes. ‘You’re attracted to me?’ ‘That’s not what I said.’ ‘It pretty much is, y/n. But it’s okay, I knew that already. It’s just nice to hear it out loud. Well, I hope that’s what you were referring to, and not to me being attracted to you, because that certainly isn’t true,’ he says, my body going cold at hearing his words as my jaw drops. I turn to look at him, a shit-eating grin on his face, and I want to slap it off.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ I say, and he just gives me an infuriating grin. Now, let me make something clear. Park Jimin isn’t that bad. Annoying, flirty, egotistic? Yes, exactly, and everyone loves him for being the star player on the team, which makes it worse. But I can deal with him. He’s not really… the bane of my existence, or anything like that. But he is the most irritating person I’ve ever met. He’s like a chipped nail on a fresh set, or a bird chirping outside your window at 4am when you have an exam. But this? This is on another level. How, how on earth, has he managed to turn the tables onto me like this? ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘What do I me- I mean that you flirt with me every opportunity you get!’ I say, voice getting a little louder with annoyance, and he raises an eyebrow, still looking annoyingly laidback, his smirk and my anger growing at the same rate. ‘So what?’ ‘So… if you’re flirting with me that often, you’re attracted to me. You’ve made it clear you’re attracted to me,’ I say slowly, starting to wonder if I’m missing something, and his grin grows impossibly wider. ‘Just a bit of fun, isn’t it? Doesn’t mean anything,’ he says with a little shrug, and I try to hide the way his words hurt.

‘Fine. Go have a bit of fun with someone else, then,’ I say savagely, facing away from him and crossing my arms over my chest, and yet, he seems nothing but amused. ‘Don’t be like that, babe,’ he says easily, reaching for me, and I slap his hands away, ignoring the pet name. ‘No, leave me alone,’ I say sulkily, and he raises an eyebrow at me as he rests a hand on my thigh, lips twitching when I don’t brush it off. ‘Come on, baby, I was just kidding,’ he smiles serenely, and I turn a scowl to him. ‘Well, I didn’t find it funny, so go find some other girls who will,’ I spit at him, and he’s holding back a laugh, which infuriates me even more. ‘But those girls are boring. You aren’t. So stop being bratty,’ he says, and my mouth falls open slightly, my eyes fixed on his stupidly handsome face. ‘Bratty? I’m being bratty?’ I demand, and he nods, lips slightly quirked up at the ends with amusement. ‘Yes, angel, you are.’ ‘Well… you’re being a dick.’ ‘Real mature,’ he says with a roll of his eyes, and I scowl. ‘Says you, you fucking manchild.’ ‘Wow, you really are a brat. I’ve apologised, like, twice. Get over it and stop being so stubborn.’ ‘I’m not being stubborn! ‘You are.’ ‘Am not.’ ‘Are too.’

‘Wow, you two are children,’ Jungkook’s voice comes from beside us, and we both turn to look at him. ‘How long have you been there?’ Jimin asks moodily, and Jungkook grins, dropping me a wink. ‘Long enough to see that you two need to stop fucking around and… fuck,’ Jungkook says, and I scrunch up my nose in disgust, leaning away from Jimin. ‘Don’t ever say that again. I hate him,’ I spit out, putting emphasis on the word so he understands that I truly mean it, and he rolls his eyes again, taking a sip of his drink. ‘You don’t have to love each other. Hell, you don’t even have to like each other,’ Jin’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to him with a hard stare. ‘Seriously? Who fucks someone they don’t like?’ I say, both Jungkook and Jin laughing. ‘Lots of people, actually. Honestly, y/n, I promise you, it’s better when you don’t like each other. No strings attached, no obligations afterwards, and you don’t have to think about whether it feels good for them,’ Jungkook explains, and now my entire face is scrunched up in disgust. ‘That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. You men are disgusting,’ I say, giving Jimin a pointed look, and he gasps. ‘Don’t look at me! I’ve never done that!’ Jimin exclaims defensively, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, right.’ ‘He’s telling the truth,’ Jin says, and I turn my raised eyebrows to him. ‘Sure.’ ‘No, seriously, he never has. Everyone Jimin fucks adores him, so he’s never known the joy that is hate sex,’ Jungkook says, he and Jin laughing as I give them a disgusted look, Jimin suspiciously silent. ‘Jin, Jungkook, Jimin, come dance with us,’ a high-pitched female voice calls from the living room, all four of us looking to see a group of skimpily dressed freshmen beckoning the boys over. Jin and Jungkook waste no time, practically leaving us in their dust as they rush to join the girls.

I look to Jimin, who hasn’t moved a muscle, still with a stormy expression on his face. ‘Well? Go dance with them,’ I prompt, and his features smooth out before a small smirk curls his lips up. ‘I’d rather stay here, babe, with you,’ he says, and I grit my teeth, trying not to swing for him. ‘You didn’t hesitate to leave me earlier for that sophomore,’ I say despite myself, knowing I sound petty, and he chuckles. ‘Jealous, baby?’ he asks, and I let out a sigh, having had enough. ‘If you’re not going to go, I’ll go,’ I sigh tiredly, getting up from my stool, and heading towards the living room. He grabs my hand as I pass him, turning me around to face him, and I want to pull my hand out of his grasp, but the second I turn to see those big brown eyes on me, I freeze. And I hate it. How can he be such a dick to me all the time, so flirty but then so cold, and I forgive him every time because he’s handsome? How? ‘What do you want me to say, y/n? That you’re prettier, way prettier than the sophomore girl, and those drunk freshmen dancing in the living room? That you’re prettier than every girl in this damn house? Is that what you want?’ he asks, actually sounding sincere for once, and my heart jumps at the compliment. I hate it. I hate him.

‘No. I want you to leave me alone,’ I spit, wrenching my arm from his grasp, and he lets out an amused chuckle. ‘Good, because I hate lying,’ he says with an easy grin, and that little voice in my mind just says, ‘oh’ as I stop still. ‘You know what? Fuck you,’ I whisper, feeling tears in my eyes as I turn away from him, ready to go home. ‘You should be more polite, angel,’ he calls after me, and I can’t help myself, turning to look at him. ‘What?’ ‘I said,’ he replies, getting up from his stool before downing his vodka (I hope it’s mixed with something because he doesn’t wince at all), making me wait until he says, ‘you should be more polite. A request like that? You could at least say please.’ My blood boils, anger actually consuming me as all I can see is red, and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face. ‘You’re such a fucking dick, Park. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,’ I rage, stepping closer to him, and he just carries on grinning at me. ‘Go on, babe,’ he says when I’m silent for a moment, jutting his chin out to prompt me, and I want to actually slam his head into the wall. ‘Just fuck off. I can’t deal with you right now, go find someone who adores you so you can stick your tiny dick down her throat,’ I spit at him, his face twisting with anger at me using his friends’ words against him (or at calling his dick tiny – I’m not sure which), and I stomp towards the back door.

I push open the door, storming through and narrowly avoiding colliding with a group of boys passing around a joint. ‘Oh, hey, y/n!’ Taehyung exclaims when he sees me, a big grin on his face. ‘Hi, Tae,’ I say quickly before rushing up towards the road, pulling my phone out of my pocket to order an Uber. ‘You’re leaving?’ I hear Jimin call after me, and I let out a scream of rage, whirling around to face him. ‘How many times do I have to tell you to leave me the fuck alone?’ I shriek, the few people outside watching us with interest, Jimin marching up towards me. ‘No, you don’t get to say your piece and leave,’ he spits out, jaw clenched in anger, and I look skywards, throwing my hands up in despair. ‘Say what you want to say, then. Go on,’ I prompt, voice shaking with anger.

‘You’re such an uptight little bitch, y/n. You fucking mope around in the kitchen at parties, don’t touch the drugs and barely drink, thinking you’re so high and mighty and above the rest of us. You can’t even take a fucking joke and you turn it into something serious by fucking insulting me!’ he shouts, and I’m a little shocked and a lot hurt, the people around letting out little noises of embarrassment on my behalf. ‘Are you kidding me? Just because I don’t turn into a messy fucking disgrace at parties, doesn’t mean I’m uptight!’ I shout back, taking a step towards him, and he lets out a humourless laugh. ‘See? There you go again! It’s called having fun, y/n, you should fucking try it some time!’ ‘I have fun, you dick!’ ‘Yeah, okay, sure you do. You were sat by yourself at a party. Do you know how sad that is? And me, being the nice guy I am, come to sit with you to talk, and you’re just fucking rude to me!’ ‘Nice guy? You have to be joking! You’re not a nice guy, and you never have been! You’re entitled and egotistic and can’t keep your dick in your pants! You can’t take a hint, and even when I tell you explicitly to leave me alone, you don’t!’ I shout, both of us moving closer and closer to one another. ‘I’m trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake! I don’t understand why you tell me to leave you alone!’ ‘I don’t understand why it is so hard for you to accept the fact that I. Don’t. Like. You,’ I say in his face, emphasising every word, hoping he finally gets the message.

‘You fucking liar,’ he says lowly, taking another step closer to me, centimetres apart from me. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘I said that you’re a liar. You do like me,’ he says, eyes dark as he looks at me, and I scoff, trying to ignore how tense I am now that he’s this close to me. ‘I promise you, I really fucking don’t,’ I laugh, our voices much quieter now, everyone around us still watching the exchange, straining to hear our words. They must be confused to see a girl not falling at the feet of great Park Jimin for once. ‘Stop lying, for once, y/n! Discard your pride, for fuck’s sake! You think I’m stupid?’ he asks, getting even closer to me, so close that his chest brushes against mine, my skin igniting at the touch, and I curse my body for betraying me. ‘You think I don’t see you literally fighting the smile off your face when I compliment you? You think I don’t feel the way you shudder when I touch you? You think I don’t notice how you lean towards me when we’re sat together? You think I don’t see the way your breath catches in your throat when I talk about the things I’d do to you? And it’s sexy, it’s really fucking sexy, and it’s so fucking hot when you play hard to get,’ he whispers, his tone harsh but his words making my entire body feel like it’s on fire because, yes, I fucking hate him, but God, he’s hot as hell. And then he makes me want to strangle him by saying, ‘but you ruin it by being so fucking uptight and taking a stupid little joke to heart.’

I let out a disappointed sigh, opening up the Uber app on my phone. ‘y/n. What the fuck are you doing?’ he asks, an edge to his tone, and I ignore him completely. ‘Are you ordering a fucking Uber?’ he demands, sounding incredulous, and I continue to ignore him, knowing it’ll piss him off even more. ‘I’m trying to fucking speak to you and you’re ordering an Uber? Can you stop being so fucking immature and, like… talk to me? Put down your fucking phone, y/n,’ he says slowly, and I can practically sense how he’s trying so hard to keep a hold of his temper – I can see him clenching and unclenching his fists, the vessels in his hands more visible than ever. And then he snatches my phone out of my hands. ‘Wha-’ I start to say, looking up at him, but I’m startled into silence when my eyes meet his. I’m good at riling him up from time to time, but I have never seen him this angry, not even when he’s playing football. His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed with rage, jaw and fists clenched so tight that I’m worried he might shatter a bone, and I actually feel scared. ‘Give me my phone back, Park,’ I say tiredly, and he lets out a mirthless laugh before turning away from me and heading back towards the house, tucking my phone into the back pocket of his tight black jeans.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ I say before following him – I’ve got too much pride to run after him, especially in heels because my clumsy ass will fall over. ‘Park, I swear to God,’ I call after him, the onlookers laughing. I’m glad they find it funny – I’m just tired, fed up and I want nothing more than to go to bed. He disappears into the house, and I speed up a little, knowing if I lose him, it could take ages to find him in that huge ass house, packed full of people. ‘y/n, babe, wait,’ I hear Yoongi say as I pass their group again, feeling him grab onto my hand. ‘Yoongi, not now. He’s got my phone.’ ‘I know. He told us to distract you,’ Yoongi admits, and I let out a noise of frustration as I pull my hand from his grasp, rushing into the house before another of them can grab me, narrowly escaping Tae’s reach. I see him disappearing into the living room, and rush through the kitchen, pushing through the few people stood around the counters, but I freeze when I reach the living room door. A load of ASP boys are lining up coke on the coffee table with their credit cards, Eric Nam who lives in our accommodation block is passed out at my feet, and a group of girls from the sorority up the road are grinding on each other in the middle of the room, Jungkook in the thick of the throng with his hands on Nayeon’s waist. My eyes scan the room, and I spot jet black hair disappearing into the front hall. I seriously consider just leaving my phone and getting Namjoon to call me an Uber, but my passcode is basic as hell (123456) and I don’t need Jimin snooping around my socials. Or worse – my camera roll.

I step over Eric, narrowly avoiding Momo’s hands stretched out to grab me and dance with me, and sidestep the table covered in coke, bursting into the front hallway where Seulgi stands with Kai, one of the spotters on our cheer team. ‘Hey, babe!’ Seulgi exclaims when she sees me, and I grin at her, momentarily distracted from Jimin. ‘Hey, Seulgi. Hi, Kai. Have you guys seen Jimin?’ I ask, both of them looking at me in confusion. ‘Park Jimin?’ Kai asks, and I nod, a little impatient. ‘He just went upstairs. Why?’ Seulgi asks as I begin to run up the stairs. ‘He stole my phone,’ I shout over my shoulder, ignoring Kai’s shout of, ‘Use protection!’ At the top of the stairs, more of my friends are sat in a circle on the landing, handing a bottle of vodka around. ‘Hey, y/n,’ Mina says when she spots me, the others all greeting me too. ‘Hi, guys. You seen Park Jimin?’ I ask, all of them exchanging a glance. ‘You two about to resolve the sexual tension?’ Dahyun asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and I roll my eyes. ‘No, he’s got my phone.’ ‘Ooh, worried he’ll find your nudes?’ Jackson asks with a smirk, and I fix him with a hard stare. ‘He’ll never guess the passcode for ‘My Eyes Only’ so I’m not worried,’ I say evenly, and I have to hold back a laugh when the boys all exchange a glance. ‘Anyway, did you see where he went?’ I ask, getting even more impatient now. ‘He went upstairs – his room’s up there. Second door on the left,’ Jeongyeon says, everyone’s eyes turning to her now. ‘How do you know?’ Jinyoung demands, and I take the moment of them being distracted to sprint up the stairs. With every step, I feel the anger inside me grow, all of the times he’s pissed me off over the past couple years building up within me. I hate him, really fucking hate him, and this is just the last fucking straw.

When I reach his room, I don’t even bother knocking, bursting in. And when my brain registers that he’s lying on his bed, with the pretty sophomore from earlier on top of him, all I can see is red, my hands shaking with fury. She looks up at me in surprise, Jimin completely ignoring my presence and continuing to press kisses to her jaw. ‘I swear to fucking God, Park, I’m going to murder you,’ I say slowly, voice wavering with anger, and the girl has enough sense to get off him. ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t know he was in a relationship,’ she says, sounding truly apologetic, and I feel bad for her. ‘He’s not. You’re welcome to get back to your thing in a minute – I just want my phone,’ I demand, eyes flitting to the bed where he’s leaning back on his elbows, watching our exchange with amusement. None of us say anything for a few moments, the poor girl caught in between mine and Jimin’s feud.

‘I’m being serious, Park. Give me my fucking phone before I cut your dick off,’ I threaten, knowing I’d make good of it too, but he doesn’t move a muscle, just watching me with eyes sparkling with mirth. ‘You know what? I’m gonna leave you guys to resolve whatever the hell this is,’ the girl says, heading to the door. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, truly feeling bad, and she turns back to look at me, stood in the doorway. ‘Don’t be. I think you’ve helped me dodge a bullet. If anything, I’m sorry for you, being involved with him,’ she says quietly, making me laugh, and she laughs too. She really is a nice girl. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you around. I’m y/n, by the way,’ I say, and she nods. ‘I know. I’ve been thinking of trying out for cheer, and everyone I’ve spoken to said to go to you,’ she says, and I let out a little noise of excitement. ‘Oh, my God, you should! You look like you’d be a good flier, and we’re running short of fliers at the moment!’ I exclaim, completely distracted, and she grins. ‘I used to fly at high school, so I’d definitely like to give it a go.’ ‘That’s great. Try-outs are next Saturday, at 12, and I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?’ ‘Park Jiwon. Do I have to sign up or anything?’ ‘Well, you missed sign-ups, but I’ll put your name down. Just show up,’ I say with a grin, and she smiles back. ‘Thank you, y/n. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ ‘See you, Jiwon,’ I smile, the girl heading towards the stairs with a wave.

When I turn back to look at Jimin, he’s right there in front of me. He pushes the door shut and then slams me up against it, knocking the air out of me before pulling my shoulder bag off my arm and throwing it across the room, the chain strap making a loud clanking noise when it hits the wall. He’s so close that all I can smell is him – the vodka he’s been drinking, his expensive aftershave and… something that’s just him. ‘You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous, and angry with me. Love getting you all worked up, baby,’ he spits out, voice so low it sounds like a growl, and I’m speechless, literally speechless, his words igniting a fire low in my stomach. ‘You had plenty to say earlier, babe – why so quiet now?’ he asks, eyes dancing with amusement, and I look to the side, unable to hold his heavy gaze. ‘Don’t even think of turning your head away,’ he spits out, my stomach turning when he raises a hand to my chin, moving my head back to face him so my eyes can’t escape his. He holds my head in place, and the feeling of his hand resting loosely around my neck sparks arousal deep within me, my mouth drying. But I have too much pride to submit to him. ‘Give me my phone,’ I demand, and he lets out a chuckle, dark eyes not leaving mine. ‘I don’t know about that, angel. What will you do for me in return?’ he asks, pressing his body against mine so I’m trapped up against the door, and my eyes widen. ‘Nothing. It’s my phone,’ I say slowly, unable to believe how entitled he is. ‘It’s mine now,’ he grins, my mouth falling open. ‘Close your mouth before I spit in it, baby,’ he says, my mouth falling open even more in shock, stomach churning, arousal burning hot in my veins. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he growls, pushing my mouth closed.

‘Get on your knees for me and I’ll consider giving you your phone back,’ he grins, and I can’t even say anything because he’s holding my mouth closed. ‘Is that a yes?’ he asks teasingly, and I make a noise of frustration, looking down at his hand to try and get him to move it. With a sigh, he removes his hand, and I snap, ‘get your hand off my neck, and give me my fucking phone, Park.’ ‘I always thought you’d be into choking. You seem like a dirty little slut,’ he grins, hand still not moving, my underwear flooding at his words. ‘I swear, Park, I will fucking kill you.’ ‘So you really, truly want me to let go of you? You really want to just get your phone and go?’ he asks, words dripping with amusement, testing me. And I can’t, I just can’t discard my pride – it’s too painful for me to concede to him. ‘Yes,’ I spit out, and his face twists with anger.

‘What is wrong with you, y/n? Why can’t you just fucking let go of your pride for once? I know you want me, I’m not fucking stupid! We’re both attracted to each other so why can’t you just stop fucking around and let me fuck you? I’m not going to do anything without your fucking consent, y/n, I’m not a fucking rapist! Why are you making this so fucking hard for me?’ he demands, rage making his voice shake, and I don’t know what to say. ‘I…’ ‘You what? Go on, fucking speak,’ he prompts, jaw working overtime as he waits for me to answer, hand still resting around my neck, his silver rings cool against my burning hot skin. ‘I do like choking,’ I breathe out, giving the only form of consent to him that my pride will allow, his face blank for a moment. ‘What?’ ‘I said… I do like choking,’ I whisper, his eyes lighting up slightly. I hold a finger up against his lips to stop him explicitly asking, hoping he’ll understand from my gaze. ‘Sure?’ he asks, plump lips moving against my finger, my heart warming at him double checking, and I nod. ‘I’m sure,’ I whisper back, and that’s all he needs to hear.

His hand tightens at my neck as he leans down, lips landing on mine. He kisses me, harshly, forcefully, his tongue sliding into my mouth within moments, turning my mind to slush and emptying my head of any thoughts other than how good he is at kissing. His free hand grips my waist, bruisingly tight, as my hands run through his hair, the soft and fluffy black locks tangling between my fingers, and he tastes like the citrusy vodka he was drinking, with the sweet undertone of my coke (the soft drink – not the drug). ‘On your knees,’ he growls, and I laugh against his lips. ‘No.’ ‘No?’ he asks, sounding amused. ‘No.’ He breaks away from me, looking down at me, heavy breaths escaping through his swollen lips. ‘Wanna say that again, babe?’ he asks, his gaze intimidating, but I don’t let myself break. ‘I said ‘no’. I’m not getting on my knees,’ I say forcefully, matching his serious stare with one of my own, and he lets out a little chuckle. Hand still around my neck, he grabs my arm with his free hand and pushes me towards the middle of the room before letting go of me and sitting at the edge of the bed he was lying on a few minutes ago, another bed on the other side of the room empty. ‘Strip,’ he commands, and I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow. ‘I swear to God, y/n, do not fucking test me. Take off your fucking clothes,’ he spits out, the rage from earlier reappearing, and I decide to follow his instructions, but have a little fun while I do so.

I grin at him before I slide my hands across my torso, slipping my fingers beneath my top and pulling it up over my head, slowly as I possibly can, leaving me in just my black lace bralet (my top was too thin to wear a padded bra). Once it’s off, I throw it to him, and he deflects it with a quick hand, just about stopping it from hitting his face. He sends me a hard glare (though I can see that he’s trying to hold back a laugh behind it) but it disappears the second I flick open the button of my jeans, pulling down the zip too, his gaze darkening. He’s so intimidating that I can’t help but feel self-conscious at undressing in front of him, but then I spot the growing bulge in his jeans, and it makes me feel a little better. I turn away from him, kicking off my heels, pushing my jeans down my legs and bending over to give him a view of my ass, covered by my black lace pants, and I know there’s probably a slightly darker patch between my legs. I straighten up again, stepping out of the denim pooled at my feet, and turn back to face him. He runs a hand through his hair, a smirk on his lips as he beckons me over with the curl of a finger. I step towards him and he reaches out, grabbing me by one wrist and pulling me onto his lap. He tilts his head back to kiss me again, my fingers tangling into his hair and nails scraping against his scalp as he digs his hands into my back, our bodies pressed together almost painfully. He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth before laving his tongue over the sore skin, making me let out a whimper against his mouth.

‘Feels good?’ he asks cockily, and I want nothing more than to take him down a peg, so I ignore him, just continuing to kiss him. ‘I asked you if it felt good,’ he says against my lips, hand reaching behind me to gather up my hair and pull my head back, exposing my neck to him. ‘And I ignored you,’ I reply, voice shaky, as he kisses up and down my neck, pulling the skin beneath my jaw between his teeth, marking me. ‘Petty… stubborn… uptight… bratty… little bitch,’ he says between marking my neck and skin around my collarbones, shaky breaths and little whines falling from between my lips every few seconds at the feeling of his tongue laving over the bruises caused by his perfect teeth and plump lips. ‘I’ll break you, y/n. You’ll be begging for my cock by the time I’m done with you,’ he says, lips curled into a smirk against my skin, and I let out a laugh. I lean down, my lips against his ear, and whisper, ‘less likely than you scoring a goal in the first match of the season. Which we all know is very unlikely.’ He scoffs, lifting me up and putting me down over his lap, my ass sticking up the air.

‘Safe word?’ he growls, sounding almost reluctant, and I feel a thrill at the thought that he’s planning on doing enough to me that I might need a safe word. I think for a moment, and his grip on my thigh tightens before he spits out, ‘hurry up.’ ‘How about… small dick?’ I ask, biting my lip to hold back laughter (I really do find myself funny), but my amusement quickly disappears when his hand delivers a solid slap to my raised ass, making me let out a small squeal of pain, and I look back at him with a glare. ‘Small dick it is,’ he says cheerfully with a grin at me before reaching out to turn my head away from him. ‘You’re being punished, bitch, you don’t get to look at me,’ he spits out before his hand lands down heavily on my ass again, in the exact same spot as the previous slap, making me yelp in pain. I begin squirming in his lap – this spanking is not it, but he holds me firmly in place, landing another slap on the same cheek, and another, and another, and-

‘Park, cut it out!’ I shriek, my ass stinging with pain, and I just know he’s grinning. ‘Safe word?’ he asks, and I bite my tongue, knowing I can’t give in this easy. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he says cheerfully, before wrenching my pants down just past my ass, his hand, spread wide, to land across both cheeks with every slap. I squirm on his lap, still trying to escape, but he’s strong, holding me still and spanking again and again. And then the pain begins to ebb away into pleasure, my yelps of pain becoming desperate whimpers, my pussy practically drenched. With one slap, his skin is inches from the place I need him most, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips. ‘Enjoying being spanked like a dirty little bitch?’ he asks, stopping the tirade of slaps on my ass, but I stay silent, too proud to admit to it. The spanks continue with my silence, my ass burning with the pleasurable pain, and when he’s finally deemed it enough, he rubs a hand over my cheeks, the metal of his rings providing relief for my stinging skin.

‘You okay, y/n?’ he asks, momentarily breaking from his hard demeanour, my heart warming despite myself. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I reply, sounding breathless to my own ears, and he chuckles. ‘You took your punishment well, for a little brat. What do you want now, babe?’ he asks, and I’m silent, too proud to tell him. ‘Well, you’re obviously deciding to be a stubborn little bitch, so we can sit here like this all night,’ he says, and I look up to see him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking relaxed and smug. I let out an annoyed huff, looking back at the ground, and I wait a few moments to say, ‘touch me.’ ‘What was that, angel?’ he asks, hand beginning to rub over my sore ass again, reliving some of the pain, and I sigh. ‘Touch me.’ ‘I am, baby,’ he replies easily, hand continuing to skim over my stinging skin, and I let out a frustrated whine. ‘You know what I mean, Park!’ I exclaim angrily, and he chuckles. ‘I’m not sure I do, babe. Spell it out for me,’ he prompts, endlessly amused, and I clench my jaw in anger. ‘Can you touch my pussy?’ I snap, and he chuckles, making my blood boil. ‘Can I touch your pussy…?’ he asks, and I let out another angry noise, not wanting to be polite to him at all. But he’s completely silent, waiting for me to speak, and I give in, spitting out the word, ‘please.’ ‘Good girl,’ he compliments, voice soothing, but his hand doesn’t move from my ass. And then he says, ‘but it took too long.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me? If you’re not going to fuck me, Park, I’m leav- oh! Oh, God,’ I moan out, my angry tirade cut off when he pushes two thick fingers deep between my folds, stretching me out almost painfully. My walls clench around him as I whimper, my slick coating his hand. ‘So fucking wet for me, oh, my God. Does being a bitch to me turn you on, angel?’ he asks, but it seems he doesn’t require an answer, pushing one of my legs off his lap to give him better access to my pussy, my foot on the floor to stop me from sliding off him. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out of me, fast, and my head falls down as I let out a loud moan because, God, he’s good, better than I could’ve imagined. ‘So tight,’ he groans, as I throb around his thick fingers, my hips rolling back unconsciously to meet the thrusts of his hand. I can feel my high nearing quickly, the spanking and teasing making me desperate, and his fingers are so fucking good. And then his thumb begins to rub at my clit harshly, forcing a startled moan out of me, and I’m so close, twitching around him as my entire body tenses.

And then he pulls his fingers out. I let out a frustrated whine, eyes prickling with tears as he chuckles, leaning down and holding his slick covered fingers in front of my face. I refuse to take his fingers into my mouth, lips sealed shut, and he sighs, before his other hand lands a harsh slap onto my swollen pussy. I let out a shriek of pain, but he doesn’t relent, landing more heavy slaps onto my sensitive folds, pulling pained moans from my mouth. ‘Stop making this so hard for yourself,’ he says through gritted teeth, and I reluctantly open my mouth, his fingers instantly slipping between my lips, the slaps ceasing as I lick his fingers clean of my arousal. ‘Look at you, being a good little slut for me,’ he says with satisfaction, making my blood boil, and I can’t help but bite down on his fingers, not hard enough for it to hurt, but hard enough for it to shock him. He jumps, making me grin in satisfaction, before ramming his two fingers back between my folds. I let out a loud moan as he pumps in and out of my pussy, the pleasure rolling over me in waves. The rough pads of his fingers brush against my walls, thumb nudging at my clit as I let out moan after moan, feeling my orgasm build back up. I clench around him even tighter, twitching against his fingers, and it’s like he’s already managed to identify when I’m close, pulling his fingers away at the last second.

‘No, please,’ I whine pathetically, bucking my hips up in frustration, and he chuckles. ‘It’s a bit late for ‘please’ now, babe. You can beg better than that,’ he prompts, and I want to cry, so desperate for a release that I give in, swallowing my pride to force out some desperate words that might persuade him. ‘Please, Park, please make me cum. I need it, I need it so fucking bad, need your fingers or your mouth or your cock, anything. I just need to cum,’ I beg, and he’s silent for a moment. ‘God, that’s fucking hot, y/n. But…’ he says, making me tense at the thought he’s not going to give me what I want. ‘Your begging means nothing – you’re just saying what you think I want to hear. You need to earn it, angel,’ he says, making me whine in frustration and thrash on his lap. I’ve had enough now – my vibrator can probably do a better job than him, and Jennie will be fast asleep now (she could sleep through an earthquake). ‘Call me by my name,’ he says, breaking through my anger, and I freeze. ‘What?’ ‘I said to call me by my name. You’ve only ever called me Park. If you swallow your pride and call me ‘Jimin’… I’ll make you cum as many times as you want,’ he says, and it sounds simple enough, tempting enough.

But I’m not giving him what he wants.

‘No.’ ‘No?’ ‘No.’ ‘Okay,’ he says simply, his fingers sliding back in easily, making me shudder. His fingers pump in and out of me, furiously fast, as his thumb rubs against my clit, my mind numbing with pleasure as I let out moan after moan, unable to stop myself, and I know I must be so loud right now, loud enough for my friends on the floor below to hear, but I don’t care. He curls his thick fingers, brushing against the soft spongy spot inside me, and I let out a loud whine. ‘Listen to you being nice and loud for me, like a good little bitch. You’re so close, aren’t you? Can feel your tight pussy clenching around my fingers. You’re gonna cum soon, right?’ he murmurs, fingers fucking into me relentlessly. ‘Call me Jimin. Swallow your pride, call me my name, and I’ll let you cum all over my fingers, as many times as you want, baby. Just call me Jimin,’ he says, voice so soothing that I’m almost persuaded, but no. I’m too proud, too stubborn. I bite down on my lip to stop myself, and he sighs. ‘Such a stubborn little bitch,’ he says, almost disappointedly, pulling his fingers out from me, and I let out a shriek of frustration.

‘Fuck, please, Park! Please let me cum, please! I’m so fucking desperate, need to cum so bad!’ I cry out, words slurred as my eyes fill with tears, vision blurring. He’s silent, just listening to my desperate begging, before plunging his fingers back into me, making me moan. And then he stops, fingers stilling inside me. ‘Park, please, feels so fucking good, please!’ I beg, his fingers continuing to thrust into me when I begin to speak, but stilling when I stop. ‘Please, Park, I need it, need it so fucking bad,’ I whine, and it’s an endless cycle, his fingers only moving when I speak, and stilling when I fall silent. I fall into a repeated cry of ‘please’ again and again until my throat is hoarse, his fingers bringing me close to the edge before he pulls out, yet again. ‘Oh, my God, Park, please make me cum! Please, I need it so bad, need to cum so bad,’ I beg pathetically, and he chuckles. ‘Not until you break,’ he says, pushing his fingers into my swollen pussy again. And he’s ruthless, relentless, fingers fucking into me so fast, so hard that it hurts, hurts so good, and I’m moaning out, loud and desperate. ‘Say it, baby, swallow your pride and say my name like a good girl. I can make you feel so good, angel, so good. Fuck you all night, eat this pretty little pussy until you’re begging me to stop. Just say my name, swallow your pride. Come on, babe, say my name,’ he murmurs, soothing voice mixed with how good his fingers feel fucking into me and his thumb rubbing at my clit that the prospect of not finishing, makes my eyes fill with tears. And I’m so close to breaking, so close. But his fingers disappear.

He lifts me up, moving my weak body to straddle one of his strong thick thighs, the material of his jeans against my pussy making me whimper. My hands grip onto his shoulders to support myself, and when my eyes meet his, I nearly cum from that alone. His eyes are so dark, impossibly dark, blown wide with lust, his hair a mess from him running his fingers through it, his lips swollen and shining in the low lamplight, skin flushed and hot. He looks so fucking hot. ‘Ride my thigh,’ he whispers, and it takes every last bit of my willpower to shake my head, no. ‘Such a fucking brat,’ he spits before he begins bouncing his thigh. I let out a strangled moan when my pussy rubs against the sturdy denim of his jeans, head lolling back, and he quickly grabs my waist to stop me from falling off his leg. He doesn’t stop, and I’m bouncing on his thigh, moans falling from my lips with every jolt, his eyes latching on to my breasts which bounce right in front of his face. ‘Fuck. So fucking hot,’ he says, hand wrenching down the centre of my bralet so my breasts fall out, straps digging into my shoulders. His plump lips attach to one of my nipples, waves of bliss washing over me at the mixed sensations, heightened when he reaches a hand down to rub my clit slowly. ‘Look how good I’m being to you,’ he says against my nipple, his saliva sliding down my breast as he speaks, ‘making you feel so good, angel. And you can’t even say my name. It isn’t that hard.’

I ignore him, focusing on keeping my orgasm at bay – I’d rather feel the pleasure of now for hours than have one more orgasm denied. ‘Say it,’ he says, moving to the other nipple, flicking his tongue over the bud before sucking it. ‘Fuck, please, Park.’ ‘Say it, angel.’ ‘Oh, God, feels so- oh! Fuck.’ ‘Come on, y/n. Just say my name, baby, and I’ll make you feel so good. You’re so close, I know you are. You’re gushing all over my thigh, can feel it through my jeans. Just say it, babe, and I’ll let you soak my thigh with your cum. Say it, angel. Swallow your pride for me, baby, and I’ll make you feel so good, fuck you all night long if that’s what you want.’ And I feel my high nearing, feel the knot in my stomach tightening, and I’m so close, so fucking close that I just can’t, I can’t lose it.

And I break.

‘Fuck, Jimin, please, make me cum, I need it,’ I cry out, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips as I moan his name again and again, unable to stop because of how fucking good he feels. ‘Cum for me, angel,’ he whispers, and the second I hear him give me permission, I’m falling over the edge, crying out his name as I cum all over his thigh, shuddering as he continues bouncing his leg, thumb rubbing at my clit to prolong my high. ‘Such a good girl, so fucking good for me, angel,’ he whispers soothing words as I come down, his hands on my back gentle and comforting. The exhaustion that comes after my orgasm is heavy, making me fall into him, and he chuckles, holding me as I try to get my breath back, hands on his shoulders.

‘Are you too tired? You wanna stop?’ he asks, and I push myself off him with effort, trying my hardest to stay upright when I land on my feet. I pull my pants back up, and my bralet too before dropping to my knees (I hate being naked while I’m sucking someone off – it’s weird, but I hate being… on display). His eyes darken the second I hit the floor, and he can’t stand up quick enough, unbuckling his belt in record time. I pull his black jeans down to his ankles and he steps out of them, and he pulls his white t-shirt up over his head, throwing it over his shoulder as he steps out of his jeans, kicking them away. And then I pull down his boxers, leaving them bunched up at the top of his thighs, and my heart skips a beat, my eyes widening and my mouth watering at how beautiful he is. His legs are long and toned and his skin is tan and clear, pulled over hard muscles and a full six pack, his abs rippling as his long, thick length stands up against them, rock hard and leaking with precum. I spit on his dick, his breath catching in his throat at the contact, before I use my palm to spread my saliva over his length, his hips bucking. He’s so sensitive, reacting to my every touch, and I almost feel sorry for him, thinking how long he must have been hard. And he’s so big, so thick, with a beautiful fucking curve, that I actually wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get more than just the head of his cock in.

Without wasting time, I lick the tip, revelling in the shaky breath that falls from his lips, his salty precum spread across my tongue. I decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, kitten licking his tip, occasionally swirling my tongue around the head, exhales and gentle groans escaping from his lips. He soon gets impatient, gathering my hair up in one hand and trying to push my head further down onto him, but I resist his force. ‘Stop fucking teasing, y/n,’ he spits out, making me grin to myself, and I don’t waste another second before sinking down onto his length until he hits the back of my throat, the boy letting out a strangled moan as I begin to bob my head up and down. I can’t get my lips to the base of his cock, and my jaw quickly begins to ache, because he’s just too damn big, gags being forced from my throat every few seconds. I take him out of my mouth, placing my tongue at the base, licking up to his tip against the vein on the underside of his cock to relieve myself of having him in my mouth, but he’s quickly bucking his hips, desperate to have my lips around him again. I look up at him through my lashes as I swirl my tongue around the tip before slowly taking him in as far as possible, gagging around him, and when he hits the back of my throat, his head falls back, a desperate moan of my name falling from his lips, the sound rushing straight to my core.

I slowly build up my pace, steadily bobbing my head up and down, taking him in further each time. ‘Fuck, y/n, you’re so fucking good at this, oh, my God. So fucking good, angel, such a good little cockslut for me,’ he groans, hips bucking and making my eyes water, not to mention how hard he’s tugging on my hair, but his moans spur me on through the pain. And I just as I’m beginning to adjust, nearly getting him into my throat, he loses his patience. He starts thrusting into my mouth, controlling my head movements with the hand he has fisted in my hair, and all I can do is grab onto his thighs as he fucks my mouth. ‘Fuck, you’re so good. My perfect little whore, letting me fuck your mouth, and taking it so well. Love hearing you gagging,’ he says, thrusting particularly hard and prompting a gag from me, the noise making him moan. ‘So sexy,’ he whispers, and I moan around him, the vibrations making him thrust faster. Tears stream down my face, saliva bubbling around my mouth and dripping down my chin and neck.

And then there’s a knock at the door, followed by, ‘Jimin, you in there?’ Jimin stills completely and opens his mouth to reply, but I get an idea, deciding to get my revenge for all the edging. I bob up and down on his length, furiously fast, hands playing with his balls, and a strangled groan falls from his lips, panic in his eyes when he looks down at me. ‘y/n,’ he says, almost pleadingly, and I look up at him innocently, as the door opens. I take his dick out of my mouth, looking around Jimin to see Hoseok stood in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight with Namjoon stood behind him, quickly clapping his hand over his eyes when he sees us. ‘I…’ Hoseok says, Jimin sighing before looking at him over his shoulder. ‘Yes?’ ‘Sorry. But I did ask if you were in here,’ Hoseok says, eyes flitting to me, and I can see him holding back a laugh when I grin at him mischievously. ‘Please, Hobi, just get what you need, and go,’ Jimin says tiredly, Hoseok nodding as he darts in, grabbing a charger from what must be the other bed which must be his, before darting back out, dropping a wink at me before he shuts the door.

And Jimin looks down at me, his gaze making my stomach turn. ‘Get up. Now,’ he spits out, and I rise up from the floor as slowly as possible as he pushes his boxers off, leaving him stood in all his glory. He’s so fucking beautiful, an absolutely Adonis – his body is perfect, like it’s been carved by the Gods. He rips my pants off as he reaches around me, unclasping my bralet with unmatched expertise, pulling it off my arms, and throwing both items over his shoulder. He grabs me by the neck, forceful but not violent, and walks me backwards to his bed, pushing me down and climbing over me. ‘You think you’re funny, huh?’ he demands, no regard for how tight he’s gripping my throat, and I grin, enjoying how pissed off he is. ‘We were doing well, and you just had to fucking ruin it,’ he spits out, entire weight on me, and I struggle for air, the lack of oxygen making my head spin pleasurably. ‘You like being caught in the act, huh? Like being a dirty little bitch and being on your knees for me in front of my friends? Or d’you just like pissing me off?’ he demands, eyes dark with anger, veins in his neck corded tight. ‘Like… pissing… you off. Thought… we could… try… hate… sex…’ I breathe out between deep inhales, desperately trying to take in enough air, and he smirks. ‘Thought you’d piss me off, so I’d hate you?’ he asks, and I grin as best as I can, eyes watering. He reaches down and grips his cock in one hand, running his length along my folds teasingly, sending little waves of pleasure through me. ‘Don’t make me beg,’ I whisper, my hoarse voice making him loosen his grip slightly, a smirk stretching his lips out. ‘That’d be mean, right? After how good you’ve been for me?’ he says sarcastically, eyebrow raised, and I fix him with a glare, his hand tightening again, rings digging into my skin. ‘Beg, bitch,’ he spits harshly, and I’m silent, our eyes locked together. ‘I could cum just like this,’ he says, still running his cock across my folds, and I sigh, the thought of him not fucking me making me snake my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to press my lips to his ear and whisper, ‘Fuck me, Jimin, so hard I can’t fucking walk, for as long as you fucking want. Fill me up with your big fat cock until I can’t breathe. Don’t care about me – I’m just a slut for you to use for your own pleasure, a whore for you to fill with your cum until your balls are empty.’ My words make him gulp, eyes blown wide with desire, and I press my lips to his, speaking against his mouth:

‘Fuck me like you hate me.’

He plunges all the way into me, both of us moaning, ‘fuck’, drawing the word out until he bottoms out, and it’s so fucking good. He’s so thick, the stretch burning deliciously, the curve of his cock having him fill me up perfectly, brushing up against my spongy spot without even meaning to. He doesn’t give me even a second to adjust, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, both of us letting out moans at the feeling. He sets a bruisingly fast pace, the bed hitting the wall with each strong thrust of his. ‘So fucking tight. Gonna stretch you out with my fat cock, gonna ruin you for everyone else,’ he growls, forcing the words out with effort, his energy being taken up by thrusting into me, and it’s euphoria, absolutely euphoria. ‘I’d… like to see you… try,’ I breathe out between moans, and he chuckles, hammering into me, heavy balls slapping against my skin. ‘I already broke you, angel – don’t make me embarrass you by doing it again,’ he growls, hand still tight around my neck, my hands on his back, nails digging into his skin, hard. He grabs one of my legs, lifting it to rest on his shoulder, and he goes even deeper than before, my eyes rolling back into my head at the feeling of his cock dragging against my walls.

Obscene squelching and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room with my moans and whimpers, his groans and grunts, the smell of sex thick on the air as he abuses my pussy, pounding into me like there’s no tomorrow, and all I can think is, ‘why the fuck haven’t we done this already?’ ‘Fucking gushing around me, soaking my bed like a good little slut. Gonna smell like you for days – my other bitches will know I’ve had a cock-hungry whore in here,’ he moans against my ear, rage filling me at the mention of other girls, and I can’t help myself. I slap him around the face, and he just grins at me, cheek reddening, not ceasing his thrusting. ‘Jealous? Don’t worry, baby, you’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ll ruin you, but you’ve ruined me. Only want your pussy from now. Want you to be my good little bitch, my sex toy,’ he grunts, cock hammering into me relentlessly, my walls clenching around him. ‘Only if you eat my pussy with those pretty lips,’ I whisper with a grin, and he chuckles, smirking. ‘Can’t wait to taste your pussy, angel. But let me fill it with my cum first,’ he breathes out against my neck, making me moan, before he practically pushes me down into the mattress, cock pounding into me bruisingly hard.

‘So fucking tight around me, baby, like you’ve never been fucked. Your cunt was made for me, huh? Scream my name out, babe. Let everyone in the damn house hear how good my cock makes you feel,’ he prompts, and I can’t help but do as he says, head thrown back into the pillow as he repeatedly hits my g-spot, crying his name repeatedly like a mantra. And I can feel my orgasm approaching, my walls clenched around him, my nails raking down his back, moans falling from my mouth again and again. ‘You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, want you to soak my cock like a good little slut. Cum for me, angel,’ he whispers against my ear, hand snaking down to rub at my clit, other hand still tight around my neck, pushing me down into the mattress, and I feel the knot in my stomach tightening, head full of bliss. And then he hits the spot inside me head-on, and I reach my high.

I scream out his name, so loud it feels like it’s being ripped out of throat, my own voice ringing in my ears as I cum around him, gushing out release, walls clamped around him so tight he can’t move, and so he rubs at my clit to prolong my orgasm. Never have I felt an orgasm this intense, never felt pleasure like this, and my vision becomes blurry as the tears run down my face, mouth hanging open, eyes rolling back into my head and nails raking down his back, breaking the skin. And when I begin coming down, my walls loosening around him, he starts chasing his own high, with no concern for me at all. He slams into me, again and again, the bed probably leaving dents in the wall every time it bumps against it, and the overstimulation is too much, making me sob. But he doesn’t care, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one still around my neck as he fucks into me, grunts and groans falling from his lips, and when my vision clears, I nearly cum again at the sight of him.

His black hair is pasted to his head with sweat, his skin completely drenched and glistening with perspiration, mouth wide open and letting out whispers of my name, lips swollen and shining. His eyes are dark, impossibly dark, completely blown wide with lust, and his face is flushed and contorted with pleasure. His muscles ripple with the effort of fucking me, desperate whines escaping his lips as he chases his high, body tense and strong. He looks like sin incarnate.

And I can feel him nearing his orgasm, dick twitching inside me, and I tighten around him, digging my heel into his back to hold him place, his hips stuttering with erratic thrusts. ‘Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum in this tight little pussy. So good for me, so good,’ he moans loudly, making my lips curl in satisfaction before he lets out a cry of, ‘fuck, y/n, gonna cum!’ He buries himself deep inside me, head falling to rest in the crook of my neck, biting down on my skin as he cums, thick and hot ropes of his release painting my insides. And there’s so much of it, an endless amount of cum flooding me, and my sensitive walls fluttering around him prolongs his high, milking his cock for all he has.

Once he’s done, he pulls his softened cock out of me, moving down the bed with a grin, wanting to see his masterpiece. ‘You squirted, you know?’ he says nonchalantly, eyes momentarily flitting up from my pussy to meet mine, and I can’t mask the surprise quick enough, a satisfied smirk stretching across his lips. ‘Thought so. I’m the best you’ve ever had, right, babe?’ he asks, eyes trained on my folds, waiting for his cum to leak out of me, and I don’t reply. ‘God, after such a good fucking, you’re still a stubborn little bitch? Well, whatever. If it makes you feel better, that was the best I’ve ever had too,’ he says, and I’m silent, attempting to ignore the thrill that runs through me – he’s fucked that many girls, but I’m the best. ‘Your moans are so pretty, angel. My name sounds good on your lips,’ he grins, and I roll my eyes, dropping my head back to rest on the pillow – I’m absolutely exhausted, physically and mentally (and of him). ‘Do you always talk this much after sex?’ I ask, and he chuckles. ‘Nope. I usually give them a kiss on their cheek and send them on their way. You should be honoured you’re getting pillow talk,’ he says cockily, and I scoff. ‘Fuck you.’ ‘I just did,’ he says, voice dripping with mirth, and I roll my eyes.

And then I feel it. His cum beginning to drip out of me. ‘God, I really did cum deep, huh? Look how long it took,’ he says, words lined with fascination as he watches my pussy intently. ‘Remember when you said I’ve got a tiny dick?’ he laughs, and I let out an annoyed noise. ‘Shut up,’ I say half-heartedly, before he collects up some of his cum on his fingers, making me let out a shaky breath as I look down at him. He holds his fingers out to me, and I don’t bother waiting this time, licking them clean, and his cum is actually... not bad. Sweet and almost… fruity. But I’m knocked out of my thoughts about his semen when he licks a bold stripe up my pussy, a broken moan falling from my lips. ‘I… didn’t think my cum would taste this good. Or maybe it’s just your pussy,’ he says casually, as though discussing the taste of cocktails. ‘I think it’s your cum.’ ‘Let me test it,’ he says before delving back down for another taste of my juices, making me moan before I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling him away. ‘I’m too sensitive,’ I say gently, and he nods, moving to lie beside me. ‘It’s you, by the way. Your pussy tastes amazing. You gotta let me eat you out in the morning,’ he says, and I turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow and trying to ignore how handsome he is. ‘In the morning?’ ‘Well, if you wanna stay the night, that is,’ he offers indifferently, but I can see that he’s a little nervous underneath the casual demeanour, and so am I, panicking at the prospect of this… not being just sex.

‘Where’s my phone?’ I ask, and he laughs at the swift topic change, before reaching his hand under the pillow my head is on, pulling out my phone, and handing it to me as I thank him – though I shouldn’t have to say thanks for getting my phone back. But whatever. I start to get up, slowly sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. ‘Are you leaving?’ he asks, almost panicked, and I laugh. ‘I gotta clean myself up, and go to the toilet – I don’t want a UTI. Where’s the bathroom?’ I ask, and he pulls a face. ‘It’s the last door in the corridor,’ he says, sitting up to watch me as I collect up my clothes, legs shaky. ‘You’re not gonna put those tight ass clothes back on, are you?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘It’s not like I brought a spare change,’ I say, and he laughs, getting out of bed. He goes to his wardrobe, getting out a loose black long-sleeved top of his, and then to his chest of drawers, delving deep into one of the drawers and pulling out a pair of black Nike socks and a pair of black cotton pants, holding them out to me. And I look at him, looking back at the clothes, before looking back up at him, and then back at the clothes. ‘I hope to God you’re not expecting me to wear those random pants,’ I say with disgust, and he laughs. ‘They’re brand new, I promise. Rosie bought a pack to keep here for when… hers weren’t suitable to wear anymore, and these are from that pack – they’ve never been worn. I swear. And the top and socks are mine – freshly washed,’ he says, and I nod, still suspicious, sniffing the pants when he hands them to me. They smell clean, and I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt – I’d rather not be underwear-less in a frat house. So I pull the pants on, and then his top, trying to ignore how it smells exactly like him, the nice scent filling my senses, and it’s long enough that it covers my ass completely, hem brushing against my thighs. I pull on the socks, soft material nice against my tired feet (I don’t know why I wear heels – it’s literal torture).

‘Make sure you knock – there might be someone in there,’ he says meaningfully, and I scrunch my nose up in disgust. ‘Who fucks in the bathroom of a frat house?’ I ask, and he’s silent, looking a little sheepish. ‘That’s gross. Please, don’t. I don’t want to know,’ I say when he opens his mouth to explain, and he nods, holding back a laugh. I open the door, looking down the corridor to see if it’s empty before rushing towards the bathroom. Thankfully it’s empty, so I wee and clean myself up, trying to ignore how much of a state I look. Once I’m done, I look a little more presentable, but it’s clear I’ve just been fucked, my eyes a little heavy and lips swollen, and my skin glowing. My makeup (which was a full face) is minimal now, my mascara slightly smudged around my eyes and my foundation patchy around my mouth and chin, so I blend it out as best as I can, and it doesn’t actually look that bad. The most noticeable thing is the purpling marks from his mouth, his hand and his rings around my neck and under my jaw, the ones on my collarbones hidden by his top. I run my fingers through my hair, and have it hanging around my face, not really covering the marks, but it’s the best I can do. I head back into Jimin’s bedroom, and I stifle a laugh at seeing that he’s fast asleep. And he looks really fucking cute, lips pouted, hair messy and face relaxed with slumber. How can he go from being the most annoying person in the world, to being sin personified, to being adorable? It’s obvious he was expecting me to stay the night with him – he’s on one side of the bed, the other side with two pillows, my phone sat atop them with the blanket pulled down for me to climb in.

But I can’t. I can’t stay the night and pretend like everything’s okay. Yes, he just gave me the best fucking of my life, but I’m not sure if it makes up for all the times he’s been a dick to me over the past couple years. And now, he’s expecting me to climb into bed with him, to act like we’re more than just two people who hate each other, and acted on our sexual tension and attraction to one another. Because that is all we are. But then he said things like me being the best he’s had, and that he wants to eat me out in the morning, and he’s expecting me to stay the night when he never lets anyone stay the night – everyone knows that about him. So maybe he doesn’t hate me, which is terrifying, because I cannot deal with Park Jimin not hating me.

So I have to make him hate me.

Quietly, I grab my phone, and he moves in his sleep, stirring, making me panic and run out of the room, leaving behind my clothes and shoes. I venture to the end of the corridor, ordering my Uber before looking down the flight of stairs, spotting the group of my friends still sat on the landing, Chaeyoung sat closest. ‘Chaeng, I whisper, but she doesn’t hear me. ‘Chaeng!’ I hiss a little louder, and she looks around before spotting me, opening her mouth to speak before I hold a finger to my lips. She gets up, pretending she’s going to the bathroom before rushing up the stairs. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Yeah, but I need to, like, escape. I’ve ordered an Uber, but I left my shoes in his room,’ I say, and she instantly slides off her sparkly silver sliders. ‘Don’t you need them?’ ‘Yoongi said I could stay the night,’ she says shyly, making me squeal with excitement for her, a little smile on her face. ‘You know there’s no way you’re gonna be able to leave without everyone seeing you?’ she says, and I sigh, slipping her shoes on. ‘I know, but I can’t stay. I can’t share a bed with him,’ I say, and she raises an eyebrow. ‘Girl, we heard everything. Everything. But staying the night is where you draw the line?’ she asks, and I nod, absolutely humiliated that they could hear. ‘Yes. I still hate him,’ I say as though it’s obvious, and she just nods, holding back a laugh. ‘Come on, then,’ she says, leading me down the stairs, and I’m so embarrassed when my friends spot me, jeering and laughing. ‘Walk of shame!’ Bambam shouts, before the boys all begin chanting it, and I cover my face in embarrassment. ‘Bye, girls!’ I call over the racket, the girls all bidding me goodbye before Chaeyoung leads me down the next flight of steps.

She turns the handle of the front door, pushing it open for me, and I quickly rush out before I can run into anyone else. ‘Thanks, Chaeng, you’re the best. I’ll drop these off tomorrow,’ I say, motioning to the shoes, and she waves my words off. ‘Just bring them to try-outs next weekend. Text me when you get home,’ she says, and I nod, my phone buzzing to let me know my Uber’s a minute away. ‘See you, Chaeng,’ I call over my shoulder, heading up to the pavement. My Uber pulls up, and I turn to wave at Chaeyoung, instead seeing her being pushed out of the way by Jin and Jungkook who are cheering and shouting at me, running over. I quickly jump into the Uber before they can reach me, telling the driver to go quickly, and he does so, leaving Dumb and Dumber in our dust. I’m silent the entire journey back, trying my hardest to stay awake, and I can feel him looking at me in the rear-view mirror, probably wondering why I’m dressed the way I am, getting into an Uber at 4am. Or maybe he knows exactly why.

When we pull up to my accommodation, the sky is already beginning to lighten with morning just around the corner, and I thank him, climbing out of the Uber and heading into the building, entire body aching. I take the lift, having to lean one hand against the wall as I walk down the corridor towards our door. And then I realise I left my bag, with my keys in them, in Jimin’s bedroom. I’d hoped to sneak in whilst Jennie was asleep, but I’ll definitely have to wake her up now. I knock on the door, not too loud because I don’t want to wake anyone in the neighbouring rooms up, but it works, Jennie instantly opening the door. And she doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping, wide awake and fixing me with a hard glare. She knows.

‘How the hell do you know?’ I ask tiredly as she moves to the side to let me in, looking me up and down. ‘Namjoon phoned me after your conversation with him, to clear the air. And halfway through our reconciliation, I can hear shouting in the background, and he kindly informs me that you and Jimin were having a screaming match on ASP’s front lawn. And then he texts me around an hour and a half later to say he’d just seen you on your knees in Jimin’s bedroom with his dick in your mouth,’ she says, voice harsh but eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘I know, I know, I’m an idiot. But I’m really fucking tired and achy so can I sleep first? I promise, I’ll let you lecture me all you want in the morning,’ I say as I collapse into my bed, and she just stares at me for a moment before nodding, a small grin on her face. ‘It’s about time you got laid.’ ‘Oh, thanks.’ ‘I want all the details in the morning.’ ‘I’m not sure you do.’ ‘Ew.’

[chroniccombustion]

Caught in The Grey (ch 6)

Genre: Trans!AU, hurt/comfort, romance, angst with a happy ending Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), Yosuke Hanamura, Naoto Shirogane, Kanji Tatsumi, Investigation Team, Izanagi/Shadow!Souji Warnings: depression, dysphoria, disassociation, self-hatred, implied suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, mentions of homophobia, implied past child abuse and transphobia, canon-typical violence, mild sexual content Status: multi-chapter, incomplete

Playlist: Spotify | Youtube <- previous chapter | next chapter -> (unavailable)

Souji is talking to Kanji.

Souji is walking with Kanji.

Yosuke feels something inside of him twist sharply. He feels… sick.

Chapter 6: On the Outside, Waiting

“I was only in my mind, You were on the outside waiting. I could feel you all the time. Your voice could save me...”

- (“Echo”, Starset)

Thursday absolutely creeps into existence.

Yosuke wakes with a vicious headache. It doesn’t start off slowly, either; from his first moment of consciousness, even before opening his eyes, his head feels like something has been trying to claw its way out from inside his skull while he slept. It thrums just behind his eyeballs, leaving everything tinted ever-so-slightly yellow around the edges with each pulse. He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets in an attempt to lesson the pressure, but all he gets for his troubles is a stinging, lingering starburst behind his lids – not even ten minutes into the day and Yosuke’s mood is already beyond all hope of saving. So, bleary and exhausted, he forces himself to ooze out of bed like melted wax. He gets up, frowning against the sickening dizziness, the weird sallow hue, and drags himself through the house to get ready for the day.

Going about his morning routine feels like he’s wading through wet concrete. The constant pain keeps his stomach just barely at the point right before nausea, and as he sidesteps around Teddie in their new “brotherly tradition” of communal teeth-brushing, Yosuke has to actively fight the urge to just go back to bed and stay there until Monday. Maybe if he hits a hard reset he can write off the Endless Week from Hell as just another nightmare; fuck knows he’s had enough weird dreams lately that one more wouldn’t mean much at this point.

He doesn’t though. He powers through the motions on pure muscle memory and diverts what little willpower he does manage to scrape together towards putting on a mask of normalcy. It sticks in place precariously, like dried, cracking glue that’s flaking off under too much heat and wear. He keeps the façade going as best he can, however, because despite wishing he could just evaporate into nothingness, Yosuke doesn’t want Teddie to think he’s pissed off at him. (Because he isn’t, not specifically, even if the bear’s enthusiasm for everything is a dozen kinds of irritating this morning.) So Yosuke does his best to try and keep his mental and physical discomfort as close to secret as possible.

More than being worried that Teddie will take it personally, though, Yosuke just doesn’t want his little brother to ask at all. The reserves of energy Yosuke normally has tucked away have not yet been replenished after days of continuous draining. Even the overflow of nervous, anxious energy that comes from his brain and not his body and makes it impossible for him to sit still half the time; he just… doesn’t have it. There’s simply nothing left that he can spare, not even for Teddie.

So Yosuke swallows down the pressure in the back of his throat that threatens to choke him and pretends that nothing is wrong, that his head isn’t pounding like it’s about to explode and he’s two steps away from giving up for the day. He speaks when Teddie prompts him to, answering questions or responding as needed and staying quiet with it’s not. He lets the chatty blond fill the silence for him, instead, and uses Teddie’s unnatural lack of a need for air to his advantage. For the most part, it seems to work in his favor.

Teddie doesn’t notice – or at least, Yosuke doesn’t think he notices – and by the time Yosuke has to leave for school he’s almost convinced that his act has been bought. It’s only at the last minute, when he glances up for no real reason while slipping on his shoes and spots Teddie in the entryway next to him, that he catches the odd sideways look his brother is pinning him with. Yosuke gives him an overly sunny smile as he opens the door, pretending to both his brother and himself that he doesn’t see the frown on Teddie’s face, and finally slumps out into the chilly morning air.

He tries not to think about it for long.

The sky outside is drearier than it has any right to be as he begins trudging along the path to school. He’s actually a little glad for it – the diluted sunlight is just low enough that it doesn’t hurt his eyes and make his still-present headache worse the way a brighter, bluer morning might. Sadly, with his proverbial battery as drained as it is he can’t take much comfort from the lack of extra pain, and it does nothing to lift his mood from the murky depths of his own self-pity. So, even though the sun doesn’t bother him directly, Yosuke keeps his eyes trained on the concrete beneath his shoes as he walks and distributes his weight onto the balls of his feet to keep his own footsteps from jostling his brain.

He makes his way carefully down the familiar first part of the trek. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t pay attention to anything except the quiet music from his headphones – cranked down today so as not to exacerbate what he’s starting to think might be a migraine. Nothing happens; he’s never been so glad for uneventful monotony. He counts the cracks in the sidewalk as he crosses them and lets himself get lost in the repetition.

He doesn’t want to think – not about Souji, not about the dreams, not about the squirmy, guilty feelings low in his gut leftover from last night’s shitty texts. None of it.

He doesn’t want to think at all.

(He feels his knees start to buckle mid-step and has to forcibly blank out his mind to stop himself from remembering everything that’s made him question his own reality over the past few days, lest he turn right the fuck around and lock himself in his bedroom for a year.)

Surprisingly it seems to work; the awful, mocking voice isn’t there this morning, chewing at his memories and bringing them all into sharp relief. There is no harsh whispering in his ears, telling him all the ways he’s fucked up or how worthless and forgettable he is, how much Souji must secretly hate him or how disgusting Yosuke really is down inside. Instead there’s an eerie quiet, only broken by Yosuke’s own mind when he slips and lets his caged thoughts out for a moment. He can’t tell if he’s glad or unnerved.

He tries not to think about that, either.

(The yellow hue hasn’t gone away – he doesn’t know what that means but he’s pretty sure it’s nothing good.)

The mental silence feels like a cool breeze against a scalding sunburn for the short amount of time it lasts. It follows Yosuke the first third or so of the journey, numbing him to the streets and background highway noise within the couple-block radius around his house. But as much as he wishes it could last the entire day, Yosuke has long-since learned that nothing good or decent lingers around him for very long before vanishing and leaving him desperate for steady ground. All too soon, in little visual bits and pieces, he starts to habitually recognize his surroundings once more.

Just past the point where the sounds from the highway he lives by start to fade entirely, Yosuke’s eyes catch on minor landmarks, reminding him of just where he is and where he’s heading. He slows his already-sluggish pace even further and lifts his head to properly align himself with the rest of reality. Up ahead, about a block away, lies the little stretch of road where he and Souji’s paths usually intersect; he’d avoided it yesterday, and looking at it now, even from a distance, Yosuke can feel his nerve endings beginning to spark and crackle, even as his mind stays unnaturally silent. His muscles tense slightly, like his body is getting ready to break into a sprint at any moment before his head can even fully catch up and register the bitter unease that’s steadily taking hold. He hates this. He hates the way his stomach drops out at the sight of he and Souji’s meeting place. There isn’t even anyone there that he can see – though he’s ashamed to admit the teensy flash of disappointment – because... well, because – and, even worse, how afraid he is to stick around and find out if that’s going to change any time soon.

(The whole world turns sickly bile-yellow for a second; the color disappears when Yosuke blinks and swallows with a dry throat, but for a single instant it’s there.)

I can’t do this.

Just like yesterday, just like the coward he is, all talk and no spine, Yosuke lets his feet turn away from his typical route and down a nearby side street. It’ll take him a little extra time to go around like this, to wind through a different part of town and come out at another spot along the river before heading practically a back way up to Yasogami. He’ll still have to take the path to the front gates – there isn’t really another way he can go – but if he can do enough meandering and time it right then he can (probably, hopefully) avoid Souji until he’s actually in the classroom. He’ll have to figure out the rest of the day as it comes.

He stalls and stalls and wanders and picks his way carefully along a zig-zagging line in the general direction of the high school. He’s familiar enough with where he’s going that the roundabout way itself doesn’t bother him; he’s already spent a lot of time mindlessly exploring the streets of Inaba.

When his family first moved from the city, out to this tiny little hole in the middle of nowhere, Yosuke had found himself with too much free time and too few distractions to keep his mind from dwelling on his own misery. Being new meant he had no friends, and being the person everyone seemed to blame for Junes’ existence meant he wasn’t really welcome anywhere either. When he wasn’t at school he was working, and when he wasn’t working he was home alone because his parents were working, and when he was home alone his options were either homework or unpacking boxes. Eventually he ran out of both.

Video games were only fun for a little while before they grew frustrating and boring without someone else to play with. Movies and tv were alright but sooner or later he’d already seen everything twice over. Books where never really his thing because his attention span was always just too short to let him enjoy them; manga was better, but had the same problem as movies. In the end, Yosuke’s only choice for something to do besides sit and stare at the wall had been to go walking – if only to try and familiarize himself with the place he was inevitably going to be stuck in for the rest of his natural life.

So he walked. From the school district down towards his house, looping and doubling back to kill time, or from Junes after an earlier shift and across to the other side of town just to see how far this tiny pocket of rural bullshit extended before he hit the wilderness. He might not have gotten the whole place memorized, but after those first couple of months in Inaba, when his entire experience with the town outside of school, work, or the pile of moving boxes at home had been made up of long walks and lonely hours, Yosuke’s mental map had soon become, at the very least, decent.

He calls on that mental map now as he rounds another corner, pulling at a few staler memories to see if he’s going the way he thinks he is. The house at the end of the street with the blue shutters, the rickety doghouse in the front yard across the road – yep, all still there. He’s probably going to be late again, or very, very close to it, but as long as he keeps moving, as long as he twists and winds and pretends he doesn’t eventually have to join the rest of the student population on the same road to the school entrance, he can keep himself from succumbing to his anxiety. Souji is punctual, Souji likes routine. If Yosuke takes his time getting to school and avoids the usual path, then he theoretically doesn’t have to worry about accidentally running into Souji on the way.

But even as the thought helps to keep the jitters at bay, there is just something so… inherently wrong about it that Yosuke has to bite down hard on the inside of his own cheek to keep himself from choking. This is a violation of his own routine, of everything that has made his world anything considering normal up to this point. Never in a million years would he have ever thought himself capable of outright hiding from his best friend, going out of his way to purposefully avoid him – it feels like a betrayal, like he’s adding just one more slight against Souji to his ever-growing pile of mistakes. A faint echo of loneliness washes over him and clings to his skin like a humid breeze – the morning feels far too much like the walks he used to take before he even knew that Souji existed, all those months ago.

He never wants to go back to that.

He thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.

Digging his shoes a little more roughly into the sidewalk, Yosuke powers his way up the street – headache be damned – and past the house with the blue shutters, counting his footsteps in his head loud enough to eclipse the lyrics of the song in his headphones. He keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched, only letting his eyes lift from the sidewalk to keep himself from tripping over as he walks like the entire world is clawing at his heels.

He almost doesn’t notice when he’s reached the path that leads through the school district.

He almost doesn’t notice the achingly familiar sound of Souji’s voice further up along the road.

He almost doesn’t notice the figure striding along at his partner’s side.

But then he does.  

Yosuke looks up instinctively as his friend’s voice reaches his ears, startling violently for a moment when he sees just how close he got to Souji without even realizing it. His heart stutters, trembles like the wings of a frightened moth at the flash of silver not even twenty feet in front of where Yosuke has been disassociating as he walks. (And how funny is it that even when Yosuke forgets where he is, his feet always seem to lead him right back to the one thing that’s ever made his life make any sort of sense?) He nearly trips on the next footfall as he overrides his own autopilot and manually slows his pace, falling a little further back from the ethereal swath of black-and-moonlight ahead of him just enough to not be noticed. He makes sure to stay close enough that he can still hear his partner speaking, though – not even the words themselves, just the sound of Souji is all he really needs.

(Just how needy can he get?)

Souji’s voice carries on the slight breeze that blows through and ruffles his hair, moving it enough to catch the muted morning light and make it shine like sunbeams across the Samegawa. Souji's volume is as quiet as ever but unmistakable in its steady timbre, its velvet-softness, and even with his headphones still on Yosuke can hear it. He’s trained himself to pick up on Souji’s commands through his music while in battle. By now it’s almost second nature to him to react every time his friend speaks.

But Souji isn’t speaking to Yosuke. No, Yosuke is still a ways behind him and from the looks of it Souji hasn’t noticed Yosuke at all. Instead, walking side-by-side, so close that their arms nearly brush every time one of them gestures, Souji is talking to someone else. Someone tall, with broader shoulders and a louder voice, bleach-blond hair slicked back to show off the glint of several earrings, a uniform jacket worn like a cape instead of over the arms.

Souji is talking to Kanji.

Souji is walking with Kanji.

Something inside of Yosuke twists sharply. He feels… sick.

It sits like concrete in the pit of his stomach, growing rapidly in its weight until he can barely breathe, can barely see, the edges of his vision almost pulsing with that same ominous yellow. He can't think for a moment, can't focus on anything but the way his best friend – his best friend, goddamnit! - walks just a little too close to Kanji, smiles just a little too widely at Kanji. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong, and Yosuke can't even begin to peel back his own thoughts from the slow crescendo of screaming now building inside his mind to parse just why he's suddenly so angry. The yellow becomes tinged with something almost like an acidic green, the color of jealousy and vomit and everything Yosuke can feel at the back of his throat like a wad of wet paper. He feels shaky in a new way, no longer afraid but something closer to how he tenses before a strike in battle. Defensive. A snarl curls at his lips before he can stop himself, and it's only because he's still rooted to the spot in a kind of shock that doesn't even feel human anymore that he doesn't go launching himself across the way and yanking Souji back to himself by the arm.

Somewhere, deeper than the anger and the horrible heat trickling down his spine, Yosuke knows he's being unreasonable; after all, Kanji is Souji's friend, too, and it's not like Yosuke has exactly been available for Souji to interact with recently, so there's nothing in the world wrong with the other boy walking to school with another member of their team. He wishes he could pinpoint where this is even coming from, why he's suddenly flipped like a switch from wanting to avoid Souji at all costs to violently wanting to hoard him all to himself. It doesn't make any sense, and Yosuke's actually starting to get a little bit frightened of his own reaction.

It's just too bad he can't feel it properly below everything sinking into his heart, poisoning him from the inside out; maybe it would be enough to snap him out of whatever this is.

He stands stock still, only vaguely aware of the other people around him, some shooting looks at him no doubt, and watches as his Souji (his, something in him hisses,) passes through the gate with someone other than Yosuke. He watches, body frozen and eyes burning, refusing to blink as Souji, his friend, his leader, his partner approaches the school together with Kanji, the same way he used to (used to, should be,) with Yosuke.

It shouldn’t knock the wind from Yosuke’s lungs like he’s taken a Zio straight to the chest; it shouldn’t, because when all is said and done it's almost guaranteed all this is completely innocent – Souji is a friendly guy, and it's never been like him to say no to anyone asking for his time. (Except for when he did, Yosuke thinks bitterly, because wow, that wound is just not closing.)

But that's the thing, isn't it? Because no matter how much it is absolutely Yosuke's fault for putting this newest distance between him and his partner, even if Souji's refusal to talk to him had set everything in motion, no matter who or what is truly to blame for this, it does little to change the very real fact that Yosuke is not the one by Souji's side right now.

That Souji has picked someone else.

The scene is so similar that it’s almost as if Yosuke is looking at a displaced echo, a badly done juxtaposition of two different images made to look like one. Like someone stripped the negative of a photograph and pasted in a poor substitute. Like someone replaced the original and, and...

Told you, the voice inside his brain sneers. For the first time that morning, Yosuke feels that formless smirk stretching wider, curling into his fingers and toes like something settling into its frame after being wadded up, stuffed into a space it didn't fit. It feels simultaneously right and wrong – wrong because he doesn't think it's supposed to be there, hiding just behind his limbs, adhering to his bones and pricking at his nerve endings; right because the thing now wearing his skin alongside him disagrees.

It was only a matter of time before he got tired of your shit.

It was only a matter of time before he got tired of you.

He takes a few steps after them as they start to get just a little bit too far away, hyper -focusing on the way Souji acts, the sound of his voice and the way it lilts and flows, comfortable in a way Yosuke's rattling memories can't recall if he's ever been before. Yosuke zeros in on the lack of distance between the pair ahead of him, scanning them like Rise does in the TV and storing away all the minute details he can suddenly see, focus now sharp as his kunai. He sees the way Kaji's face reddens. He sees Souji looking over at Kanji with a bright expression, with a smile that shows teeth and pulls the corners of his mouth wider than Yosuke has ever seen when Souji is talking to him. He feels a growl rumbling deep in his throat.

Souji tilts his head in Kanji’s direction as the punk says something, swinging a large hand out in front of himself with obvious excitement and nearly smacking into Souji’s side with his elbow. He catches himself before the hit lands and sheepishly pulls his arm away, face going redder. Souji lightly, deliberately, bumps Kanji's elbow with the back of his own hand, no doubt reassuring the blond that his exuberance has caused no harm. Kanji rubs at the spot awkwardly. He says something. He blushes harder.

And Souji laughs.

It not a real laugh, it never really is with Souji, nothing louder than a very quiet chuckle or a huff or a breath, but Yosuke has heard it before, has been the one to bring it out before, so he would know that sound anywhere, will always recognize that silent shudder of his partner's shoulders as the other boy uses his body to communicate instead of his voice. Yosuke doesn't have to hear it – his mind supplies the sound.

That's mine! he snarls.

Not anymore, something mockingly singsongs in reply.

The yellow-green in his eyes grows darker and Yosuke can see the corners start to creep inward with solid color, until all he can see is the fondness on Souji's face that isn't meant for him.

He has to claw his way back to the forefront of his mind in order to get to class on time, just barely slinking into the room with the teacher coming up the hallway behind him. His eyes bore into the soft grey hair at the back of Souji's neck and – for the briefest of moments – he has to quell the urge to lean forward and sink his teeth into his partner's flesh, leave his imprint for all the world to see and claim what's his.

He doesn't even notice the way the thing inside him that before would have been copper and sick now seems to purr at the thought.

---

He doesn't remember the rest of the day.

Yosuke is aware that he somehow makes it through the school day, bounding out of the room at lunchtime to go and... well, he doesn't even know, really. He thinks he may have gone up to the roof but he isn't sure. He knows that he did eventually go back to the classroom – presumably after lunch – but beyond that there's nothing. The end-of-day bell sounds and he's immediately on his feet, out the door, down the hall, head foggy and vision tinted yellow; if anyone says anything to him then he doesn't even notice.

Something ugly is happening to him inside. He knows it, doesn't know how to fight it. Right now, after that morning, after everything swirling around in his chest and his head for most of the week now, Yosuke feels a disconnect between himself and reality. He's spent so much time trying not to think, then over-thinking, the repeating, and repeating, and repeating, that it's like something has finally snapped. He's so tired and wrung out that he can't tell how he even feels right now, whether he's mad at Souji or Kanji or himself. Or all three. Or just fucking everything. It's as if there's a block of ice holding him separate from the dark things twisting like vines behind his heart; he can't look at them, can't pull them apart with his hands and study them, he can only feel them coiling tighter and tighter until his body goes numb.

His phone goes off in his pocket as he stalks his way down the hill away from school, thighs burning despite months of combat toning his muscles inside the TV. He checks it on instinct, feels the vines in his ribs twist in another direction as he reads the “I miss you, Partner,” that Souji had texted him.

Guilt or anger or self-disgust or something climbs its way to the back of his throat and threatens to spill from his lips onto the sidewalk and it's such a mess, such a god-fucking-awful mess that the only thing Yosuke can do is type a quick, dismissive, “sorry @ work” and back out of the text before he chokes on molten, raw emotion. Without even looking he scrolls and clicks on a random chat log further down the list and pulls it up so he doesn't have to look at Souji's name anymore, doesn't have to try and figure out if he's upset or happy or just sick to his stomach. Chie's nickname screams at him from the phone screen, her words from last night still justifiably pissed.

Yosuke takes a second to think of the dirtiest pick-up line he can and sends it off, not even caring anymore. It doesn't feel like anything, he gets no satisfaction from it, doesn't even bother harboring the idea that maybe she'd find it funny like he used to do ages ago. It doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything anymore. He's just hollow.

His phone 'ping!'s and he barely glances at the response. She's mad again. Whatever. Let her be. Yosuke deserves it – the frigid rush he gets from her anger coats his skin and, in a horrible, disgusting way, it makes him feel better. Good. At least someone feels something in his direction. He sends her another message, pretending it was all a joke, that he wasn't punching at the walls of his tiny world just to feel anything anymore. He's gone so far from the constant buzz of anxiety and fear that he's grown immune to it now. Everything is so loud and at the same time it's all too brutally quiet. It's like he's rigged for self-destruction, caught in a loop of feeling betrayed and wanting to betray in return out of spite, folding back around to hating himself for it, wishing everything was back to normal, that he and Souji were back to normal, and then wanting to rip his own skin off when he realizes they aren't and can't. It tilts him side to side and he can't balance. He can't regulate his emotions, can't sort out his feelings, has no outlet – all he can do is take a swipe at everything around him and hope he finds a handhold, something to pull him back to the surface. Maybe if he causes enough damage outside himself then it will make up for all the damage already caused inside.

He wants to scream.

Instead, Yosuke types out another dirty text and hits send with shaking, vindictive hands.

Nothing changes as the afternoon stretches on. Chie spits more fire at him through the phone, apparently borrowing Yukiko's element for a while as she tells Yosuke in loving detail just how many ways she intends to break his knees. He hates that it's almost comforting in its normalcy – albeit in a dark and over-exaggerated way. The ice block sits comfortably in his chest, hindering him from properly feeling the fallout of his actions as the vines dig their thorns in deeper; he knows that if he tries to look behind it then he'll be disgusted with himself all over again, (Chie really doesn't deserve this kind of treatment, for one thing) and so he just. Doesn't. He holds back the part of him still consciously rallying against everything he's doing, yelling at him to stop, throwing itself against the frozen wall to try and make him feel all the remorse and guilt he knows is there behind the ice. It's building, drop by drop, bucket by bucket, action by action, but Yosuke can't make himself stop.

You really are a worthless piece of shit, aren't you?

It's to the point where Yosuke can no longer tell the mocking, hissing, whispering voice inside his head from his own. He thinks there might not be a difference at all anymore.

He wanders through the streets and between the buildings in the same weaving, winding pattern he did that morning, letting the music in his ears and the faint ache in his legs from his ceaseless power walking distract him from all the things he wants to pretend aren't happening. Eventually he reaches the bottom of another hill and doubles back to kill more time before his shift at Junes – because, unlike the night before, he really does have one this time. He debates on calling in as he takes the long way around to the shopping district. Right now he barely feels human, let alone like he's capable of interacting with other people; donning the mask of artificial pep needed to deal with shoppers is draining even on the good days, despite the fact that he's used to being on autopilot while at work with too many years of involuntary customer service making it almost muscle memory by now. In the end, though, he decides against it. Calling in will mean having to make up a good excuse for his dad, which might lead to a far longer and more complicate conversation than Yosuke has any desire to have. There's no way he has the energy to play verbal minesweeper with his parents, whether it be now or later once they get home.

He checks his phone to see how much time he has left to fortify himself, to keep his brain and his heart blissfully, chaotically numb, and sees a trio of new texts from Chie that must have come through while he wasn't looking. He taps her name to bring the chat back up and expects to see more of the usual fair. He doesn't.

Meat-Fu: What's going on Hanamura? This isn't normal.

Meat-Fu: U know u can talk 2 me right?

Meat-Fu: Ur my friend & I'm worried.

Yosuke feels like he's been stabbed.

Nonononono,this isn't right! With all the shit he's pulled to get attention, validation, to force the world to prove he's a bastard, none of it was supposed to result in this. He's sick, he's worthless, why can't everyone just hate him as much as he hates himself?!

Yosuke nearly throws the phone away from him, his body suddenly shaking as the ice cracks and the vines squeeze and he comes dangerously close to feeling something. This wasn't – he doesn't' know how to deal with this. Everything is off-kilter; Souji has gone and replaced him with Kanji and Kanji is stealing his best friend and it's all Yosuke's fault because he's disgusting, of course Souji isn't going to want anything to do with you anymore – and Kanji probably has the same kind of dreams that Yosuke's been having because that's what gay people do, right? And now Chie, of all people is picking up on the stuff Yosuke is trying so hard to shove down because how does he even begin to deal with all of this and he can't let her know, he can't! Not after everything he's done and said and everything he's turning into, oh god.

Blinking through the sudden blur in his vision, (when did he start tearing up, what the hell?) Yosuke grips his phone in both hands and sucks in breath after breath of too-thick air. He's so tired of borderline breakdowns. Typing as best he can with his limited sight, he fumbles out a reply, just something, anything to grind the conversation to a screeching halt before it can even begin.

Yosuke: wth r u talking about? lol ur crazy Chie

He sends it. It's not enough, it's too casual, too easy to brush off, but he can't see the screen anymore and his fingers won't move right. So he sends it and he stands there in the middle of the sidewalk near the bus stop in the shopping district, staring unseeing down at his phone and forcing himself not to blink. The tears stay in his eyes, dry up, fade away. He takes a shaky breath in and lowers his phone.

“Yosuke-kun?”

Oh no.

It's like a nightmare. An actual nightmare. He looks up and sees Yukiko standing a few feet away from him, likely waiting for the stupid bus (why did he have to stop here? Why?) with what looks like a couple of Junes bags draped over the crook of her elbow. She must have just finished shopping and come straight to the bus stop, ready to head home.

Which means Yosuke would have been damned either way – if he'd gone straight to work he would have run into her there, and because he'd stalled for so long he'd run into her here. He shouldn't have answered Chie's text, should have kept moving, should have taken another route or hidden in the stock room at work. He should have--

Yukiko takes a step closer, concern sweeping over her delicate brows. “Are you alright, Yosuke-kun?” She takes another step. Her lips pull into a frown as she looks at him and Yosuke can't even begin to imagine what's she's seeing.

“H-huh?” he squeaks out. His knees don't want to hold him up.

Yukiko's frown deepens. “You look troubled, did something happen?”

Yosuke shakes his head. “No! No, I'm perfectly fine, I'm just uh...” He flounders for a second, staring at her like she's an approaching Shadow four times his size – even if she hasn't moved since that second step in his direction. He knows his eyes are wider than a cat's, he can feel it. Finally he manages to blurt out, “stalling? Cuz I really don't wanna go to work.” (Well it's not... exactly a lie.)

From the way Yukiko is looking at him, he knows she isn't convinced, can already tell she's thinking of saying something. She's quiet and polite most of the time, yes, but she's been getting better at speaking her mind, and that scares him right now. He can barely keep himself together over a text conversation; there's no way in hell Yosuke will be able to make it out of a face-to-face one alive.

So he defaults. He defaults and it leaves him feeling gross and slimy even before it's finished leaving his tongue; “You know, if you're worried about me, you could always come cheer me up.”

(Oh god does he wish he could put the words back in his mouth and swallow them down.)

Yukiko leans back slightly, her expression turning uncomfortable, and it just serves to make Yosuke feel even worse about what he's doing. She opens her mouth to speak. Yosuke cuts her off.

“You never did send me that picture.” He tries to wink. He doesn't like how it feels.

This time, Yukiko recoils as if something foul has been splashed at her. “That's--”

But Yosuke is already turning on his jelly-kneed legs and willing them to carry him just around the corner, just out of sight. “See you tomorrow!” he calls, trying to keep himself from retching as the words come out. Behind him, he hears the sound of the bus' breaks squealing and pushes his legs faster. Yukiko won't follow him, he knows (he hopes,) lest she miss her ride home and have to wait for the next one. Yosuke has been spared for now.

(Except he hasn't really, now has he?)

He's almost makes it up to the top of the shopping district, almost makes it to (possible) safety at Junes where he can hide between the aisles, go and find things to do and redo in the stock room, keep himself busy without actually doing anything. It'll be a welcome distraction at this point, despite how vehemently he doesn't actually feel like dealing with customers, coworkers, hell, he'd even probably dodge Teddie because Yosuke just genuinely can't today. (And on the chance he spots one of his friends walking into whatever area he happens to be in, well... then he'll just have to find something to hide behind and stay there until they go away.)

He's almost to his goal when the universe decides he's not done suffering quite yet. There, coming around the corner, Nanako perched happily on his shoulders, is Souji.

Yosuke stops dead in his track, so abruptly that it's only by some tiny speck of luck that he doesn't fall face-first onto the pavement and break his nose. Panic erupts in his blood like he's been doused in gasoline and set on fire and suddenly his lungs are collapsing in his chest. He doesn't know how he manages to do it, but he dives to the side into an alleyway and tears out the other end as if his life depends on it.

Souji can't see him, Souji can't know he's there, because Yukiko and Chie both talk to Souji and Yosuke hasn't even managed to deal with all the stuff that's already happened this week, hasn't dealt with this morning even! So if Yukiko and Chie talk to Souji and tell Souji about all the horrible shit that's Yosuke's been doing...

Yosuke is doomed. Yosuke will absolutely be doomed. He hasn't spoken to Souji in days and he can't let their next interaction be Souji looking at him with disappointment, with anger, with disgust.

Yosuke runs through back streets and down alleyways until his legs betray him and he collapses against a wall just outside the Shiroku Store. He wasn't even aware he'd managed to book it that far – no wonder his chest feels like it's about to explode. He waits until he can manage to catch his breath, leaning into the bricks so he doesn't sink to the ground. When he thinks he can move again, (ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour later, he has no idea how long he's there,) he pulls himself around the corner and looks first to the left, up towards Junes, and then to the right down the shopping district. No Souji. Good. Hopefully the other boy is still up shopping with his sister and will be for a good long while, (especially if Teddie has anything to say about it.) Tentatively confident that he's not about to be ambushed by his former partner, Yosuke slips shakily out onto the sidewalk.

First thing's first, he shoves his hand into his pocket and digs around until he finds every bit of loose change he's got and shoves it gracelessly into the receiver of the vending machine. He hits a random button, doesn't even care what he gets so long as it's liquid and cold. He chugs the can without even tasting anything and he stifles a wince as the drink hits his burning throat, before the raspy dry feeling finally goes away. He tosses the can away in the nearby trashcan and slinks back into the alley to hide while he calls his dad and tells him he can't make it in for his shift.

(Chie texts him again because of course she does. He doesn't even look at it this time; he just fires off a quick, “@ work can't talk” and puts his phone on airplane mode.)

---

Yosuke makes a quick stop inside Shiroku Store before chancing the trip back home. He grabs a couple of instant ramens for himself, knowing full well no one will be home for a while to make dinner and that his own appetite is questionable after his stomach has been tied up in knots for so long. It'll also give him an excuse not to have to sneak back downstairs later and risk running into his parents. Again, not a conversational minefield he's willing to navigate right now. (He also grabs a pack of mochi to placate his little brother when Teddie inevitably whines about Yosuke not coming in to work.) Once he's out he heads straight home – straight, because the sun has started going down and it's freezing outside, so he feels confident enough in the low temperature to take the gamble on none of his friends being out where he can stumble into them.

He makes it to his house without incident, makes it inside and up to his room, even manages to take a bath without a fuss since Teddie isn't home yet to knock insistently on the bathroom door. For now, he's safe. But even knowing he's at home, alone, with his phone far away from him in the other room, Yosuke finds that he still can't relax. He soaks in the warm water, (he'd washed as quickly as fucking possible because even days later the shower makes his stomach squirm,) and tries to will the anxiety to bleed out through his pores. It doesn't.

Something is keeping his shoulders tense, his nerves frayed and spiked. Even when he gets out of the bathtub after Teddie comes bounding into the house, loud even from downstairs, Yosuke feels like he could jog all the way back to school and have energy left over.

He gives Teddie the mochi, which effectively shuts up any line of questioning that might have been incoming, and Teddie babbles excitedly as he eats. He tells Yosuke all about how “Sensei and Nana-chan” had come by to do some grocery shopping, how he and Nanako had run off to find the groceries together while Souji had wandered off. How they'd found him later after they were all done, around the side of the building, crouched low to pet the stray cats. Yosuke listens to all of this with far more attentiveness than normal; he only breathes once Ted is finished and there has been no mention made of Yosuke whatsoever.

It's... weirdly easier to relax his body after that, though understandably not his mind. His little brother is a small sliver of something normal, oblivious and innocent and forever just happy to be there. It lets Yosuke pretend that nothing bad is waiting for him just outside the house's front door.

Normally he'd play a few rounds of a video game with his brother until one of them felt tired enough to go to bed; tonight, though, Yosuke can't keep his attention on the game, and so gives up after only two failed races. He moves to sit on the bed and picks half-heartedly at his cold instant ramen, only partially watching as Ted plays against the game's AI until the bear starts getting bored. Teddie decides that they're going to have a movie night together after that, and Yosuke lets the blond boy put in some brightly-colored Ghibli thing for them to watch. Yosuke inevitably zones out.

It isn't until the credits end and the dvd menu comes back with a loop of the movie's main theme that he finally looks up, blinking at the red numbers on his alarm clock that read far later into the night than he'd thought, and then down to find his brother passed out cold on the floor. Yosuke sighs and gets up, throwing his unfinished noodles away before awkwardly – albeit carefully – dragging Teddie's slumbering form over to the closet and plopping him onto his futon.

It's as Yosuke is getting ready to turn off the light that he sees Teddie's phone lying on the carpet.

He doesn't know why he thinks it, what makes him link the sight of his little brother's cell phone to the flicker of memory that bubbles up to the surface. He doesn't know where the idea comes from. But he has it.

Rise had taken pictures of everyone and everything at the pageant. Rise had taken pictures of Souji.

Teddie had been begging Rise to send the pictures to his phone.

Yosuke has no idea whether or not Rise had ever actually did, but with how proud of herself she'd been for taking them, he'd bet money on there now being a whole folder of pageant photos residing in the bear boy's phone.

I shouldn't, he thinks, and not just because it'd be incredibly invasive to go poking around in his brother's phone –  if he does, and he finds what he's looking for, then what? He knows neither the girls nor Naoto took any photos of the second pageant, but despite what he let Yukiko believe (and what he's been trying to convince himself of for days,) Yosuke doesn't need those; he'd snapped a few of his own when the event was happening. There aren't many - he'd been a bit preoccupied worrying over Souji's disappearance at the time, and he'd purposefully avoided taking any pictures of Naoto because they'd looked so miserable that it felt almost cruel, but he has some. (And thinking about it now, he realizes he hasn't so much as opened the photo gallery on his phone even once to look at any of them since he took them.)

So no, it's not photos of the beauty pageant he's looking for.

Slowly, as if terrified Teddie will somehow wake up and throw open the closet door to catch Yosuke in the act, he reaches down and picks his brother's phone up off the ground. He's just picking it up, he tells himself; he's just getting it off the floor so no one steps on it. He's doing Ted a favor. He's not going to look, he's not.

(Liar.)

It's not hard to get into Ted's phone – the bear doesn't have any sort of lock on the screen – and because it's a cheap Junes model, Yosuke already knows exactly how to work it. It takes him less than half a minute to find Rise's nickname in the text logs and pull up their last conversation.

There, staring up at him, is the bottom part of a photo, with what looks like the stage in the school auditorium.

Yosuke immediately feels his palms start to sweat. He crosses the room in two quick, silent strides over to the light switch, turning it off with fumbling fingers and plunging the room into darkness save for the faint glow of his alarm clock and the glare from the phone in his hand. He pads back over to the outline of his bed and throws the covers back, then climbs in, throws the blankets over his head like a child avoiding bedtime, and curls up into a ball on his side with his prize held tight in his nervous hands.

His stomach swoops as he holds his thumb over the up button, ready to scroll past Ted's enthusiastic words of thanks to Rise and see--- but hesitates.

He could stop right now, he thinks; it would be so easy just to shut the phone off, put it on the charger, go to sleep. He could roll over with his face in the pillow and pretend none of this happened. It would be so easy.

Okay, he thinks, momentarily closing the phone. Okay. Okay...

This isn't creepy, it's not; he's just... making sure. Right. Yes. That's all. The dreams started after Yosuke had seen Souji dressed up as a girl – after Yosuke had thought things about Souji dressed as a girl. That had to be the reason, right? He couldn't be gay if he was only attracted to his best friend when Souji was in a skirt, when he looked a little too convincing as a chick. That's where the wires had gotten crossed in Yosuke's head, when his teenage hormones had been confused at the sight of his already-pretty partner making an even-prettier lady. That's all it was, it had to be, and Yosuke was holding the proof, the means to his mental salvation, in his hands. All he had to do was look.

Yosuke closes his eyes and takes a second to brace himself, scared for reasons he doesn't particularly want to explore. He pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. Another. A third. On the final exhale, he opens his eyes and taps a key to wake the screen back up. He stares at the bottom of the photo for just a few moments more and then finally sucks in one more breath, pressing the 'up' as his lungs fill to the brim.

The first few pictures aren't what he needs: a crowded group shot, Teddie flouncing around the stage, Kanji looking ready to break an ankle in his ill-fitting heels, Yosuke hating everything while holding the mic. He keeps scrolling up, growing irritated and more anxious with every photo revealed not to be the one he wants. Eventually he just holds the button down and lets everything scroll by until all the images start to blur together; it's because of this that he very nearly misses a flash of grey and silver as the photo streaks by.

Yosuke immediately takes his thumb off the 'up' and jabs at the 'down' until the picture comes back into view. There, bathed in the harsh spotlight of center stage, stands Souji, expression tightly neutral and face pale. It sucks the breath from Yosuke's lungs.

This. This is what Yosuke has been trying so desperately to find, simultaneously to avoid. It feels wrong, somehow, like an invasion of more than just Teddie's privacy, but the whole school had seen Souji in a skirt so it's not like it's a secret that anyone's trying to keep. Still, as Yosuke stares at the familiar shape of his partner's face, his hips, his hands, Yosuke feels, not the wave of relief he'd been expecting, but sour. He can't even put his finger on it, why his face seems to curl up in frustration without him even consciously bidding it to; Souji's body is just as lean and graceful as he remembers it looking, with the long silver wig framing his face and softening his features and the line of the skirt hugging his waist to give him just the faintest of hourglass figures. It should be beautiful, in a way it is, but the more that Yosuke stares at the photo the less and less attracted he finds himself being.

This isn't right.

(Oh, but isn't it?)

Yosuke scrolls up to look for another photo, finding a better one, a closer one, on the very next try. This time the camera is zoomed in, giving Yosuke a much clearer view of Souji from the waist up. Whatever bra the girls had stuffed him into makes his chest look natural, a petite curve to his body that fits stunningly along with the slender way his figure normally seems to taper slightly at his waist. Objectively, Souji looks great, hot, even in the pageant clothes he'd been forced to wear; Yosuke had thought as much when seeing his partner in person on that nightmare of a day. He squints at the phone in his hands and tries to recall just what specifically he'd found attractive when he'd been staring at Souji backstage in the dim, shitty lighting. His hips, definitely – he remembers thinking how perfect they would be for him to rest his hands on. Souji's waist, his chest, yes, but also his hands. Yosuke remembers how ethereal Souji had looked, too, with his eyes and the wig (an uncannily perfect match for Souji's actual hair color,) shining dull silver in the dark. The curve of his jaw, the hint of skin just above his collar bones, the line of his thighs barely there below the straightness of the skirt.

Looking at the photo now, Yosuke can see all the the things that he found so alluring before – and feels, strangely, next to nothing.

He can't understand it, why is he not swooning over the image of his best friend making the most amazingly convincing girl Yosuke has ever had filthy dreams about? (Something turns over in his mind, and suddenly, sickeningly, Yosuke feels like he's on the highest peak of a roller coaster, staring down at the hundred-foot drop below him just as the cart begins to move.)

The sex dreams hadn't featured a skirt.

They hadn't featured long hair or perky boobs.

In his dreams, Souji had just been... Souji. A flat, smooth chest, all toned muscle and softly masculine edges. The silver had been shorter, the cheekbones sharper, all of it had been Souji as he always is – a guy. No matter how gorgeous Yosuke thinks (or thought) Souji looked in his pageant outfit, the blinding fact remains that the boy in his dreams had stayed a boy.

Slowly, stomach twisting into nausea, Yosuke reaches out from the safety of his blanket shield and picks his own phone up off the night stand beside the bed. Like some kind of gremlin, he snatches his hand – phone and all – back into the darkness beneath the covers, clutching it to him with fingers so clammy it threatens to hinder his grip. His heart flutters in his chest, hard enough that he can feel his own pulse; he swallows and his throat is dry. Trembling, Yosuke holds a phone in each hand, holds them up next to one another. He opens his, and fumbles his way to his photo gallery, clicking through until he comes to a picture of himself and Souji, standing close and smiling as Yosuke snaps the selfie.

Oh god.

It's all still there. The photo is, again, a waist-up shot, but even still Yosuke can see the gentle line of Souji's jaw, the hint of his collarbones just past the open top button of his shirt, the long, delicate fingers on strong and calloused hands. Souji's hair is shorter, of course, and doesn't frame his face the way the wig did, so his cheekbones are more visible, his chin slightly sharper, but his eyes. Souji's eyes are still that same summer-storm hue, round and kind, and full of far more life than any of the photos of him in pageant garb. Pageant Souji looks like a marionette; real Souji looks like rainclouds incarnate.

Yosuke's gaze travels down to the very bottom of the picture, where the image cuts off right below Souji's belt buckle, leaving the dip of his waist, the jut of the top of his hip, all still visible. He's wearing his uniform shirt and jacket, but even with the layers of straight-cut clothing Yosuke can see that same faint, curving line of his partner's body that almost looks like the start of an hourglass. Yosuke can't see the other boy's thighs in this one, but the line of Souji's hip fills outward slightly, instead of carving a path straight down like Yosuke is so used to seeing on most other guys – himself included.  Souji, for all that he's built like an athlete, is only sharp in certain places, soft in others; a graceful blade of curving steel, handle wrapped in velvety leather.

Yosuke tears his eyes away from the photo of him and Souji together and back over to the one of Souji at the pageant. The features are the same but different, radiant in one and hollow in the other – both have the same shape, the same color, the same lines and vivid angles. But even without the false femininity, Souji is still gorgeous. Souji is still ethereal. And Yosuke can feel that swooping in his stomach turn to something warm.

A terrible realization comes dawning over Yosuke's mind like a cold and wretched sun. The people in the photos – excluding Yosuke – though differing in dress, are the same. The things that Yosuke had noticed on the day of the pageant, when he'd stared and stared and stared at his friend like Souji was the most beautiful ghost he'd ever seen, every single one of them was still there. Even without the wig and the makeup and the clothing meant for women, every tiny detail that Yosuke had poured over was unmistakably present; they'd all been there the entire time, never not.  

Which means that Yosuke just hadn't noticed them until he'd stopped and stared. And stared. And stared.

Oh my fucking god.

---

There is a certain kind of quiet mania that comes from not having slept at all; a distant sort of grinding at the threads keeping a person from breaking down, from cracking like a gunshot. It's a mental time bomb, one that can lead to either exhaustion and collapse, or the utter shattering of all rational behavior and thought.

Yosuke sits on the living room couch, already fully dressed for school, watching the sun come up through the window as his body and mind are eerily calm. That internal timer is already running low.

He hasn't slept. After his brain-breaking revelation the night before, Yosuke had lain there, pulling out every memory he had of Souji and turning it over and over in his mind. Each interaction, each time he'd thrown his arm casually across the other boy's shoulders, the way it felt when they sat close enough that Souji's body heat warmed his side. So many times Yosuke had felt his breath hitch, his heart beat just a little bit quicker, but every time he just brushed it off. Adrenaline from talking over the murder case, the heat in the summer air, his now-absent crush on Rise kicking in when she did anything cute. (Because he'd noticed that, too; that his cheeks no longer flushed while thinking about her – not since she went from The Idol Risette to his friend Rise.)

Memory by memory, it felt like Yosuke's self-dug grave had gotten that much deeper, and as he pulled on that first thread of realization, more and more had come. Like untangling a spider web piece by fragile piece. It had left his brain in a jumble, keeping him awake for hours until he'd just given up on sleep altogether.

He hadn't been restless, per se, but there had been enough static in his head that it had eventually threatened to spill out into the dark of the bedroom, and, resigned to being awake forever, Yosuke had peeled back the covers and crawled silently out of bed. Grabbing his wrinkled uniform from the day before and slipping it on, he'd gone to grab his toothbrush and a comb out of the bathroom (fervently not looking at either the mirror or the shower,) and headed downstairs to use the bathroom there instead. Slowly, with all the time in the world, he finished getting ready for school on autopilot, even bothering to make – and eat – a bowl of cereal. From an outside perspective he might have looked relatively normal; internally, however, there was nothing but empty, dissociated quiet. Still waters, deceptive with their glassy surface, poised and ready to drop into the churning rapids below.

Yosuke checks the time on his phone, still on airplane mode.

He stands from the couch without a sound, collects his coat and school bag, and slips out the door into the frigid November morning.

(His reflection in the entryway mirror turns to watch him as he leaves.)

---

He cuts through the back way to school again, though this time he doesn't drag his feet; instead, he stalks down the side streets with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched. The lack of sleep and the cold feeling now lingering just at the base of his skull both serve to sharpen the knife's edge of emotional instability he's currently teetering on. He feels... nothing. And everything. All at once. He feels like he could run full-throttle straight at somebody and deck them square in the jaw; he also feels like he could break into hysterical laughter at any moment, or maybe tears. It's hard to regulate what's going on in his everything, because his head is both empty and far too full from all the thinking he'd done the night before, but it's also quiet, which is never a good sign. Normally his brain is too loud, but today...

Today is different.

Today is bad.

If he had to try and put words to it, Yosuke would have probably described his mood (if only to himself) as fragile. It's like the wall of ice that had been blocking him from his thoughts and emotions before has turned to tiny, thin splinters. Sharp and cold and so delicate that one wrong move will shatter them – but they'll also slice everything in their path to ribbons.

The slow, methodical trudge to Yasogami High actually takes far less time than he means for it to, leaving him ample time to loiter unseen around the side of the gate, just out of view of any students passing through it. Somehow, (and he's not sure just which god to thank for this,) he hasn't seen Souji yet, either in flashes on the way as Yosuke ducked away from the normal path, or up already near the entrance. It means that Souji is either already inside or he's still en route. (And Yosuke hopes it's the former, because he's not sure just how well that wafer-thin pane of frost is going to hold. Or, for how long.)

It's just his luck, then, that he catches a glimpse of starlight silver and bleached blond coming up the crest of the hill. Yosuke digs his teeth so hard into his cheeks he can taste the coppery tang of splitting skin – Souji and Kanji are walking together. Again.

So easily replaced.

Yosuke bites viciously into the flesh inside mouth and turns to stalk into the school before either of the other boys – so close together they almost touch – can see him.

---

“Hanamura!”

Yosuke twitches, jerked from the ominous quiet inside his own achingly-empty head. Turning, (slowly, stiffly, with the faintest spark of mania waiting to be fueled,) he turns to see the bearer of the voice that had shouted at him from the stairwell behind. Chie stands on the second floor landing with her hands on her hips, glaring up at him with a look so cold it could rival her Bufu. Yukiko appears just two steps below and finishes the climb to stop beside her, a stern expression locked on her face as if made of iron resolve. Neither one of them looks to be in a forgiving mood.

Yosuke wants to just turn back around and ignore them, wants to say 'fuck it,' and just throw away what's left of his friendships so he can go back to the blissful emptiness of rock-fucking-bottom. It'd be easier that way, and he has neither the time nor the energy to even begin to untangle the knot of mistakes he's made this week.

But the looks on his friends' faces (Chie, especially,) tell him they aren't going to let this go, even for now, so, begrudgingly, Yosuke stands and waits for one of them to speak. They don't disappoint.

Chie, upon seeing him pause, marches up to him with Yukiko hot on her heels and together the pair of them back him up until he's nearly hit the wall. “Alright, you dick, we need to talk.” From around her, Yukiko steps into position and stays at Chie's side, looking for all the world like a disappointed mother as she silently lets Chie do the talking.

Somehow, Yosuke finds his voice. Somehow, despite that momentary fight-or-flight-or freeze instinct when the girls had stormed towards him, Yosuke is calm. (It isn't the normal kind, either, it's the kind of calm that can only be found when someone has reached the threshold of just how much adrenaline their body can handle and they loop back around to apathy.) “Can it wait till we don't have class?” he asks, and the voice that leaves him is so devoid of life and emotion that it actually makes Chie balk. She and Yukiko share a disquieted look, like they aren't sure whether to be startled or mad and Yosuke takes their moment of distraction to try and slip to the side where there's still space to move away.

This snaps the pair out of their hesitation. Chie blocks his path with an outstretched arm, open palm smacking the wall hard enough – though not violently, to his mild surprise – to make a soft 'thwap.' Yukiko, still silent, moves to block Yosuke's remaining escape route on the other side.

“No,” Chie hisses, “it can't. Because the moment we let you out of our sight you're just going to run off into nowhere and go back to avoiding everyone, just like you've been doing for days. We're tired of it, Yosuke.”

Yukiko nods. “I know we're not as close as you and Souji-kun, but you're our friend, too, and this behavior needs to stop.” She strengthens her stance - and it is frightening.

Yosuke can't meet either of their eyes. “...I don't know what you're talking about.”

Chie makes a sound low in her throat. “Like hell you don't; you've been totally MIA with barely a word to anyone, you've been acting shady as hell whenever someone tries to talk to you, and on top of that you've been straight up avoiding Souji – which is insane, considering you two're normally joined at the freaking hip!”

Yosuke must be doing something with his face, because Chie squints at him and says, “Yeeaaaah, don't think we haven't noticed.”

Something sniggers inside Yosuke's head and it makes his vision pulse a faint, sickly yellow. His lip curls in a barely-there sneer. “Look,” he says, a little more life in his words this time. He smacks at Chie's arm with the back of his hand. “It's nothing, will you get off my back? I'm just having a bad week.”

“Bullshit,” Chie growls in response.

From the corner of his eye, Yosuke can see Yukiko take in a long, carefully-controlled breath, as if she's silently counting down from ten to keep herself collected. “This is more than just a 'bad week,' Yosuke-kun,” she says, and the evenness of her tone belies the fire he knows she can conjure during battle. “You've been rude, crass, evasive, and downright belligerent...”

(Yosuke isn't sure he knows what all those words mean but he's pretty sure she's right on every one.)

“Even on your worst days you've never been this bad.”

Yosuke is so, so tired. He's tired of feeling like he's being buffeted by the wind that's supposed to be on his side, unable to find his footing and ready to fall at any given moment. He's tired of the wildly swinging pendulum of his emotions sending him back and forth from feeling everything to feeling nothing. (And deeper, deeper down, he's tired of people leaving him behind, even more so of driving people away; it's a skill he's never asked for but has somehow mastered nonetheless.)

He doesn't answer Yukiko's spot-on accusations. He doesn't answer Chie's too-observant glower. He doesn't look at either of them, he instead stares off to the side, unseeing, just past the arm that blocks his escape.

Chie lets out another sound of frustration and leans further into his space, craning her neck to somehow stare him down despite their height difference. “Well?” she demands, “Anything you wanna say?”

Yosuke takes a long, deep breath through his nose, letting it out so slowly that the yellow creeping into the edges of his eyes dots with black. With the exhale, he feels the last of his energy – physical, emotional, mental – drain away. It hollows him out with each passing second, until he's nothing more than a husk resigned to his fate of forever being the King of Fucking Up; he's already pushed everything this far towards the edge, he might as well take that last step over.

“...Yeah, actually,” he says, and it's a lifeless drawl, almost entirely devoid of anything. (He sees Yukiko stiffen and Chie flinch in his peripherals.) Exhausted, he lolls his head forward and finally turns his eyes to Chie's face, fixing them just above her eyebrows because he can't focus them any lower. False eye contact, something he's picked up in his time working at Junes.

He takes another deep breath, feeling that disconnecting wall of ice closing over his heart, and says, “You should probably lay off the meat, Chie, cuz you're not doing your thick thighs any favors.”

Yukiko gasps.

Beside her, Chie looks stunned, jaw dropped and mouth open like it's trying to form words her head can't find.

(Yosuke tastes bile in the back of his throat.)

Disgusted with himself and just wanting to not be here, Yosuke tries to use the girls' frozen reactions to his advantage. He isn't sure he can move or duck under Chie's arm, so he makes a break for it the opposite direction and attempts to slide past Yukiko – only for her to snap back to attention just as he's almost free.

“Yo--!”

But Yosuke is too far gone. Instead of letting himself be forced back against the wall, he doubles down, gives in to the fatalistic inevitability that he's going to be losing more than just Souji at this point. (Good, he thinks sadly; I don't deserve any of them, anyway.)

Swerving, scraping the wall with his shoulder to try and get as much space between himself and Yukiko as he can, Yosuke reaches out a hand (desperately hoping he misses,) and makes a pinching gesture at her skirt, causing her to jerk back and away. “See? Here's a perfect set right he--”

His face erupts in red-hot pain.

Yosuke staggers backwards, hitting the back of his head against the cold concrete of the wall with an audible 'thump.' Thoroughly bewildered, he blinks over at the space he had just been and sees Yukiko, hand raised, stance wide, and completely, utterly livid.

Oh, he thinks, slowly reaching up to touch his scalded cheek. I've been slapped.

“You!” Chie snaps, just as Yukiko whispers, “How dare you,” in the most bone-chillingly quiet voice he's ever heard.

He... may have gone too far this time.

Chie stalks forward, so close he has to shallow his breathing to keep his chest from touching hers when he inhales. She turns her face up at him and for a moment, through the exhaustion and the resignation and the apathy, he truly believes her to be capable of tearing his throat out with her bare hands.

It's almost impressive.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snarls, “You've been acting like a jackass all week!”

Yosuke focuses on Chie's cheekbones as best he can with her so close; he practically has to go crosseyed to do so, even without meeting her murderous glare. It's strange, how he's aware that his cheek is in pain, (and rightfully so, he deserved that slap,) just as he's aware that on any other day before this week he'd be terrified for his safety in a situation like this. He remembers just how hard Chie can kick, having felt it firsthand in delicate places. But his energy is spent at this point, and all the awareness in the world can't conjure up the ability to be anything other than drained.

So he doesn't react, just looks back at his (probably former) friend and huffs, “Chill out, Chie, it was just a joke.”

Both girls visibly tense, shoulders squared and backs straight. Yukiko brings her hand up like she's going to slap him again, rearing it back as she hisses, “It wasn't funny!”

Chie, simultaneously, bares her teeth in vicious rage. “Like hell it was!” she barks, her own voice layering over Yukiko's outburst.

Yosuke just lolls his head to the side slightly and focuses on empty air. “Yeah, well,” he drawls, unable to find the right emotion to put into his voice. “You're girls, of course you wouldn't get it; it's guy humor.”

Chie leans impossibly closer. “You think you're such hot shit,” she seethes, and her tone has gone icy, blisteringly cold. She jabs a finger into his chest hard enough for him to feel it bruise. “We put up with your nasty 'jokes' and your weird staring because you're our friend, but there's a limit, Hanamura!” Her lips curl, the finger digging into his sternum like a silent threat. “And you're freaking pushing it.”

Yukiko leans in as well, her hand still raised and ready, a bow string held taut. “Girls don't like it when you say things like that,” she says, so dark and even that it raises the hairs on the back of Yosuke's neck – but even though his body physically, instinctively reacts, the hollow pit in his chest where the ice now sits keeps his heart and mind numb. He doesn't look at her as she says, “If your brand of humor makes other people uncomfortable, then it isn't really humor at all, it's gross.”

There are people starting to collect around them; Yosuke can see them moving closer just past the haze of his unfocused vision. He can't tell if he cares of not, doesn't think he does anymore. Everything Chie and Yukiko are saying is too right, too justified for him to fight back or defend himself. I deserve this, he thinks, hears his own voice echoing like there's another nearly identical one layering beneath it.

A few other students, faces unrecognizable, gather just a bit too close to the direction he's been staring in. He doesn't feel like letting them think he's acknowledged them, so he rolls his head lazily back so he can pretend to face to the two girls in front of him. He's just going back to fixing his eyes on Yukiko's shoulder when a swath of silver catches in his vision – just barely, just enough to make him look up before he can consciously think about it. He refocuses, and feels his heart come to a painful halt inside his ribs.

Souji is standing there, looking at Yosuke as if he's never seen him before. His eyes are wide and confused, thin brows pulled so low that they're actually visible below his hair; his lips are slightly parted as if he's been caught mid-gasp.

Yosuke stares back at him for a long, panicked moment. A slow, frigid kind of adrenaline begins to seep into this veins, making his hands and knees shake even though he can't feel it. It kick-starts his heart back to life and suddenly it's pounding as he looks into Souji's eyes for the first time in he can't even remember how long, seeing no trace of recognition in the other boy's face. Only pain. Only confusion and betrayal. Souji looks at him like Yosuke is a stranger now, gaze boring into his own like he's looking for someone familiar but just can't find them, can't figure out who Yosuke is.

He saw, the voice that had layered his own whispers, hissing though laughing, jagged glee.

Souji saw.

The floor drops out from under Yosuke's feet and he switches to autopilot to keep from falling, somehow managing to stay upright through sheer force of unconscious will. Chie and Yukiko must notice the change, because he can peripherally see them pause, turning their heads to see what he's looking at. It's enough.

Moving feels like he's underwater, drowning, but Yosuke sees his chance and snatches at it with trembling fingers; as the girls are distracted by Souji, Yosuke pushes himself sideways along the wall until he's no longer pinned by Chie's proximity. Once there's space to do so, he shoves his way forward, sticking out an arm and breaking through the line that Yukiko and Chie's bodies have made. They part in their shock, and he's able to slip between them at last.

“Whatever,” he hears himself say. A verbal barrier, a wall to keep them all at bay while he books it to something resembling safety. He reaches up and palms the headphones resting around his neck. “You guys throw your hissy fit, I'm goin' to class.” He tugs the headphones up as he takes a couple long, quick strides out of their stationary reach, shoving them over his ears without actually turning on any music – using the comforting weight at the sides of his head as a shield. If they try and call out after him, he can just pretend he can't hear them and keep walking.

He makes it all the way to the classroom without being caught; he doesn't dare look at Yukiko, Chie, or Souji (especially not Souji,) as the three of them enter the room. Yukiko first, then the others, and Yosuke busies himself with his school bag until the sound of the door opening signals the arrival of the teacher and the start of class just moments later.

Yosuke keeps his head ducked down the entire morning, just in case of the the girls decides to risk a glance back in his direction. He can't tell with his eyes glued to his desk, but he thinks that none of them do.

(He doesn't know whether he should be relieved or not.)

---

Yosuke is up and moving almost before the lunch bell even rings. Like he's done for the past week, he grabs his stuff and hightails it out the back of the room, pointedly not looking and any of the friends he's managed to alienate in only a handful of days. Headphones snug over his ears and player in his hand, he takes the steps up to the third floor, then the roof, two at a time. It's only once he's up in the cold air and alone that he feels like he can breathe.

Picking a spot as far away from the door as possible, Yosuke drops to the ground and leans his back against the frigid metal links of the fence, barely even feeling the chill through his clothes. The breath he's finally caught starts to pick up – only for a moment – and he has to bring his knees up to the his chest, hands over his eyes and fingers twisting in his hair as he ducks his head and pulls in lungful after lungful of air. It passes just as quickly as it came.

What do I do now?

Despite the hollow feeling encompassing his heart, Yosuke still feels the twinge of anxiety that had brought about the thirty-second panic attack; it sticks to his blood cells, causing his palms to sweat and go clammy in the nippy November breeze. He brings them to his mouth and cups them over his lips, breathing into them to try and warm them back up. It doesn't work.

He sighs and drops his hands back into his lap, tucking them between the bend of his knees. He didn't bother bringing lunch with him again today, though between the rare breakfast that morning and the churning in his stomach he isn't so sure he'd be able to eat anything anyway. Still, even a snack would have provided him something to do with his hands, and so Yosuke is left with nothing but his music and his surroundings to occupy his time. He frowns – being alone with his thoughts recently has been anything but good, and today having gone the way that it has so far, he can feel the incoming uphill battle against his brain. He cranks the volume up on his player in hopes of drowning it all out before it begins, but turns the whole thing off and tugs the headphones from his ears a minute or so later, not wanting to associate any of his favorite songs with the maelstrom already brewing inside his mind.

It starts with a replay. Every single thing he'd said and done that morning in the hallway with Chie and Yukiko. It twists at his gut with each image, each remembered word he'd vomited out like a bio-weapon; he barely recognizes himself in his own memories, and honestly that is the part that scares him the most. No wonder Souji had looked at him that way.

And oh, if that hadn't been the worst part of it all. Yukiko and Chie he already hated himself for, already felt sick over how he'd treated them both since even before this all began, starting with the festival. He wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from ever putting their names down – all of them – because not only was it just a shitty, immature thing to do, but it also violated their trust. He sees that now, and it feels like a hammer to the head, because with everything that he's turned into in the days since, he knows it all started with that one first terrible decision. Most of the low points in his life have started with terrible decisions, he just hadn't been aware enough to put the pieces together until now. Had things been different, Yosuke wonders if Souji would have been proud of him.

That, however, is the thing that brings Yosuke's already-simmering self hatred to a rolling boil. Of all the people he's hurt so far, Souji is the one that makes Yosuke feel like he's beyond all hope of redemption. Souji had been his partner, his best friend, and Yosuke, stupid, stupid Yosuke had taken that bond and thrown it right in the garbage. They were supposed to be equals, but Yosuke had been too busy sinking into his own head, too mired in self pity and selfishly wanting things to go back to a normal that likely didn't even exist anymore. Not after all of this. For all the maturing Yosuke feels he may have done – the only silver lining in the storm that he himself created – focusing only on his own hurt and blaming Souji for it is by far the most childish thing he's done.

(Inside his skull, stretched out as though sliding into Yosuke's skin like a glove, he can almost feel something like a head being tilted, an eyebrow raised. There is a quiet, contemplative, 'hmmm,' as if his mind is thinking thoughts without him. He doesn't know how to interpret the sensation, so he tucks it away on the back burner for now.)

Somewhere past the door leading back into the school, Yosuke faintly hears the warning bell sounding, signaling the end of lunch and the resumption of classes for the day.

Yosuke doesn't move.

He sits there and leans his head back against the fence in utter exhaustion; he doesn't have the energy or will power to get up and go back inside. He doesn't want to feel the others' eyes on him when he walks in the door, or, equally painful, being entirely unacknowledged instead. Having done the same to Souji for days,Yosuke will admit his hypocrisy in that he doesn't know if he'd survive having his former partner do the same to him - even if Souji had scared the shit out of him, neglected to communicate with him, left him to wonder and worry and want after the pageant.

Then again, some part of Yosuke quietly relents, Souji... really isn't obligated to tell Yosuke anything. And while their leader should have at least been courteous enough to let someone know he was still alive, he'd eventually told Naoto. Which had hurt Yosuke – pretty badly, in fact – to not be the one Souji had talked to first, but at least he'd talked to someone. (Even though Yosuke is still adamantly sure the “food poisoning” excuse had been complete bullshit.) But... it wouldn't be fair to expect Souji to never have secrets; after all, Yosuke still has secrets of his own, even after confronting his shadow.

Some are just far, far more shameful than others.

Thoughts swirling, Yosuke can feel a headache beginning to build behind his eyes. He keeps going around and around; he's mad at Souji, he's not mad at Souji, he's mad at himself, he's not mad at himself for being hurt – on and on and on. It's a loop that doesn't seem to have an end, and it's making Yosuke dizzy.

He sighs again, and there's an echoing sigh inside his skull, albeit one that sounds far more frustrated than his own audible one. He's too tired to suss it out, though, and because all this thinking is starting to spiral, he digs his player back out and tries one more time to drown out the thoughts with music. He's relived when his attention stays on the lyrics and doesn't go careening off again; he closes his eyes and lets himself go blank for a little while, almost-but-not-quite dozing, tucked away in his little patch of rooftop in the brisk November air.

Sometime later – he doesn't know how long – Yosuke is pulled from his trance by the sound of a far-off school bell. His player apparently ran out of battery long ago, because the screen is dark and his headphones silent. Yosuke feels like shit.

He's chilly to the point where his skin doesn't really have much feeling anymore; his neck is stiff from the cold and the position it'd been kept in while he was out of it. His ears ache a little, too, and it's probably more from the headphones than the weather. Groaning, Yosuke sits up and peels the headphones off, setting them in his lap and rolling his neck to try and get his full range of motion back. He feels something pop. With another groan, he makes it slowly to his feet and stretches, every muscle in his body protesting as he does.

Fully aware that he hadn't gone back in after lunch, Yosuke has absolutely no idea what time it could possibly be; judging by the position of the sun over the treetops, however, and the sound of the bell from earlier, he can guess that it's probably well into the afternoon. “Fuck,” he mutters to the empty rooftop. He's more than likely missed most of the rest of the school day, though if that's the case then he can't bring himself to care. There was nothing waiting for him back in the classroom anymore, anyway.

Reluctant still to make his way inside lest someone catch him, Yosuke takes his time gathering his bag, tucking his player away, setting his headphones carefully on top because, well, they aren't any use to him right now, are they? It's only once he's run out of stuff to do that he finally fishes his pone out of his pocket to check the time.

Weirdly enough, there are no new messages – which, he isn't surprised at but also is? If no one had wanted to talk to him after that morning, he would have understood. However, with as rightfully angry as they both had been, he would have expected there to be something from Chie at the very least – even if not from today, then something else from last night, surely. Curious and a little uneasy, Yosuke stares at his phone until the screen goes dark. Oh, he realizes finally; he'd forgotten he'd put it on airplane mode the night before.

(He'd wondered why his phone had been so blissfully, ominously quiet all night.)

He taps the keys lightly to get the screen to wake back up and goes to take it off airplane at last – only to hesitate just before pressing the button, thumb hovering as Yosuke chews on his lip. His gut curdles. Whether there are a slew of missed texts or none at all, Yosuke knows that whatever is waiting for him once he hits confirm isn't going to be good. He has to brace himself; he just isn't sure what for.

With a deep breath in and a quick breath out, Yosuke takes the plunge and hits the button, not looking at the screen as his thumb presses down. He doesn't want to see just yet. At first there is nothing – no belated notification sound, no vibrations, nothing. He thinks maybe he's safe for the moment, simultaneously unsettled by the lack of any apparent messages...

...Until his phone vibrates, just once, in his hand.

Yosuke's breathing sticks in his throat for half a breath, head instinctively tilting to look down at the notification that just jostled his anxiety. It isn't from Chie, which is not what he expected, nor is it from Yukiko, which also would not have surprised him. It isn't even from Teddie, whining that Yosuke had left without partaking in their new morning ritual of communal teeth-brushing. No, the sender, devastatingly, is Souji.

Prtnr: I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore.

Everything stops.

[rosemarypasta]

monday afternoons ♡ 10 (end)

➤  pairing : oikawa tooru x female reader (karasuno manager)

➤  chapter warnings : slowburn (?). teensy tiny manga spoiler that you probably won’t even notice

➤  summary : You just recently joined the Karasuno boy’s volleyball team as their first year manager. As you grow closer to your teammates, you also unexpectedly grow closer to one of their biggest rivals, Oikawa Tooru

➤ chapter word count: 1708

♡ masterpost ♡

-ˏˋ chapter tenˊˎ-

FRIDAY

5:48 PM

“All right everyone! Let’s start cleaning up!” Daichi announced after Coach Ukai finished wrapping up the day’s training session. You got up from the floor and did as you were told, grabbing the first crate of water bottles so you can clean them in the tap outside of the gym.

“Today is more peaceful than usual huh, Y/N-san?” Yamaguchi smiled, bending down to pick up the second crate of bottles, “Of course Noya-san and Tanaka-san was loud as ever but Hinata and Kageyama’s noisiness is just on a whole ‘nother level right?” He chuckled at his absent teammates. “Yeah.” You smiled back as you thought of the two first years who got held back by their teacher because they flopped in their test big time. Both you and Yamaguchi would kill to see the duo’s faces when Ono sensei told them that they would have to skip club activities and retake the test.

“But since Kageyama got held back, that would mean you would be going home alone again! Will you be okay? I’m sure Tsukki wouldn’t mind if you walked home with us!” He furrowed his brows, looking at you with concern. “I’ll be fine! Nothing happened yesterday anyway.” You lied through your teeth, recalling your memories of the third year Seijoh student waiting for you in front of the school gates. Though, you weren’t in any imminent danger so you comforted yourself with that thought as you lied to your friend.

The clean up session went by smoothly as usual and you said your goodbyes to your teammates to welcome the weekend. Yamaguchi was still concerned over you as you waved at him but thankfully Tsukishima dragged him off before he could ask you to walk home with him again.

The walk home was relaxingly quiet, only filled with the sound of your own footsteps and muffled car sounds from a distant street. You’ve been distracted the whole day as your brain kept replaying your encounter with Iwaizumi. And as if the world hasn't given you enough of your daily dose of Seijoh students, they decided to throw in another one different from last time.

Your feet stopped moving as the image of a brunette boy standing with his face down in front of your house. You couldn’t see his face and his hair was slightly different from usual but you knew who he was.

“What the fuck.” was all you managed to say as you stand steps away from the uninvited moping boy. As soon as the words left your mouth, the boy whipped his head up towards you, showing his dark circles even from afar.

“Y/N! I-” He started, about to run towards you but stopped last second as he saw your bewildered expressions on your face. You hated how seeing his hurt expression made you subconsciously feel bad for him. You weren’t supposed to feel any pity for him whatsoever but staying angry felt like the hardest thing to do in the moment.

Oikawa looked up towards you once again, his eyes slightly red, hesitating before speaking again. “Please let me explain. I know I’m supposed to do this ages ago but p-please.” His voice breaking towards the end.

You bit your lip as you let him continue.

“I was an idiot. I know I was. I took out my childish and petty anger towards Kageyama onto you because I’m such a selfish asshole.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t know how much you know but considering how you ghosted me, I guess you know the main idea. Yes, I did want to mess with you and pretend to be interested in you.”

Your breath hitched as all the thoughts in your mind were true. He had always been faking it and never found you remotely attractive. He only saw you as a toy to play with. You didn’t know who to be more mad at. Him or you for getting ahead of yourself and thinking you even had a chance with Oikawa.

“And I never meant to fall in love with you,” His voice was soft but was still plenty loud enough for you to hear.

“But I did.”

You cocked your head forward in shock. You stared at the boy in front of you without blinking, “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“I love you, Y/N.” His voice broke again. “I know what I’m saying is so unfair and so ridiculously insensitive but I’m telling the truth. I do love you.”

He took a deep breath as he fiddled with his fingers. His breath was shaky and his shoulders sagged low. “I only meant to go out with you a couple of times but time flies by so fast and I unconsciously kept asking you out because I wanted to see you so much. Being with you was so unexpectedly fun and you were just amazing to spend time with. I loved being with  you so much that every Monday afternoon I would sprint my way to the station so I could see you quicker. I would fall on my way sometimes but I didn’t care. I just wanted to see you.”

You were speechless. All you could do was stare at him with your mouth hanging wide open. You were feeling an array of emotions ranging from confusion and glee.

“So please, Y/N.” He cried out softly as he started to slowly walk over to you, “let me make it up to you.”

“Give me a chance to make it up to you.” He grasped your idle hands and brought it up to his face where you felt his hot cheeks and tears against your bare hands.

MONDAY 3:10 PM

“Eh? Brazil? That’s so far away!” Yamaguchi stared at the red haired boy with bewildered eyes.

“Yep! I guess I won’t be attending get-togethers in the future.” Hinata smiled.

Two and a half years have passed. The third years and second years have long graduated and left the club in the first year’s hands. You’ve gone through all highs and lows of high school with the other four boys.

Two and a half years ago, you wouldn’t think you could fall in love with a sport you can’t even play. No matter how hard the boys tried their best at coaching you, you still can’t manage to spike a ball without somehow hitting it out of bounds.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us instead and get ramen, Y/N?” Hinata pouted as the five of you were inching towards the school gates.

“I’m sorry guys, but I really have to pass.” You sighed though a soft smile was evident on your face. “And Hinata, don’t get too attached to me, a certain someone will get jealous.”

“Nah he wouldn’t get jealous, that’s ridicu-”

“I would tho.”

The four of you stopped in your tracks to turn towards the setter who evidently looked confused. “Wow, never thought the king would be the jealous type,” Tsukishima scoffed, “gross.”

“What! How could you get jealous over that! I’ve watched you walk Y/N home for three years now and I’ve never said anything!” The red head bickered, punching the setter playfully on the stomach.

“T-That’s because I’m a man!”

“Damn, Kageyama, did Nishinoya-san teach you that?” Yamaguchi laughed at the odd character the raven haired setter had adopted last second.

“Sorry guys, I gotta run.” You loved spending time with your teammates especially how they get to be their rowdy selves since they finally got away from their juniors after retiring from the club but you forced yourself to pull away just for the day as you caught a glimpse of the familiar man waving at you from outside of school grounds.

“Hmph, fine.” Hinata pouted, crossing his arms dramatically.

“Later.”

“See you tomorrow Y/N!”

“Bye.”

You waved back to all of them before turning at your heel to run towards the man up front. “I’m sorry, Hinata forgot his wallet so we had to wait for him.” You explained out of breath.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Oikawa hummed as he patted your head. “Should we go?” He smiled at you, opening the passenger seat of his door to which you smiled back and nodded at.

The rest of the boys watched as the car they were so used to seeing picking you up grew smaller and smaller in the horizon. Yamaguchi’s eyes wandered over to his blonde friend who looked more fixated at the car than the other two were.

“Tsukki? You okay?” The retired captain said softly over the background of the bickering middle blocker and setter.

“I’m fine.” Tsukishima sighed, a forced smile crept up his face.

6:49 PM

“Hey.” You called out.

“Hm?” Oikawa’s muffled voice replied.

“Remember how we first met?” You said absentmindedly as you scrolled through your phone. OIkawa’s head finally left the crook of your neck and his brilliant brown eyes met yours.

“I wish I could. I was such an idiot.” He muttered before diving under the covers of his bed. You sighed in satisfaction. You loved bringing that topic up because you knew how much he hated it and how he acts all flustered about it. It was truly one of the rare ways to see the different and vulnerable side of Oikawa you rarely get to see.

“But you’re my idiot.” You hummed, diving under the covers as well before showering his head with kisses.

“You’re cruel.” He pouted. Though it was dark under the covers, his perfectly soft lips still glistened. You leaned in to give him a soft peck, “But you love me”

Oikawa’s fingers traced your jawline before cupping your cheeks, bringing them closer towards him before giving you a long sweet kiss. The butterflies in your stomach went crazy as soon as your lips got in contact with his again. No matter how many times you’ve done it before, the butterflies never seem to disappear.

“I love you, Y/N.” He messily slurred out as he pulled out from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.

“I love you too, Tooru.” You giggled before going in for another kiss on another fine Monday afternoon.

previous:  -ˏˋ chapter nine ˊˎ-

A/N:

Gah! It’s finally done! My first ever Haikyuu fic is completed :’)

I started to write the plot three months ago and I never knew it would get any attention what so ever lmao. And honestly, I don’t know how my first fic would be a reader x oikawa one cause I truly hated Oikawa’s guts three months ago but I guess that hatred translated a bit to the plot. (I don’t hate him anymore uwu he’s baybe to me now)

I even impulsively added a lil kagehina for some spice HAHAHA and um someone get a love interest for Tsukki ASAP!!!

But thank you so much for reading this! I never thought I would get so much support on this and I plan on making even more fics!

I’m sorry if there was more drama and minimal fluff with Oikawa :’) And sorry if you thought the ending was rushed but I tried my best and I’ll try even harder next time!

Though I plan on making more x reader content, I’ll probably release more ship ff (mainly tsukkiyama, kuroken & bokuaka maybe?) Since that’s what im more good at.

Thank you everyone and I hope to see you in my next project!

(also i haven’t proof read this cuz i’m sleep deprived rn and i have school tomorrow so forgive me for any mistakes)

tag list (let me know if you want to stay on my normal tag list):

@hey-there-demonss​​ @bumbledunce​​ @teasbees-knees​​ @angrylittlezizi​ @hvneymun​ @yeetabish​ @fandomlover-universe​ @air-wreckaa​ @siriiel​

[lambroseforlife]

Well, this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now. After sudden renewed inspiration and a bunch of half-done research over a year later, here goes nothing. I felt that the best setup for this would take place between books 2 and 3 so maybe like 2 months after returning from Egypt? For those that are squeamish and dont like stuff about periods then duh, skip reading this.

— — —

'Blast it all!' I huffed as I dropped the stack of boxes on the floor. Pretty sizable ones, by the noticeable thump as they hit the ground.

'Mr Linton.' I heard a curt voice. Looking up, I stared into a pair of cold, familiar eyes.

'Yes, sir?' I grimaced at him. It was much easier than smiling when your ribs were aching and lungs wheezing for air.

'You are two minutes and twenty-three seconds slower than you were yesterday.' Snapping his pocket watch closed, he tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. His gaze flickered back to me. 'I do not pay you for your tardiness.'

'No, sir.' I beamed. Well, I tried to anyway. 'Just for my delightful company.'

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His mouth parted slightly as if to retort but then closed.

I made the mistake of looking into that glacial, intense stare of his and felt trapped. But I didn't want to escape. Not when I felt like I could forget my worries and problems from the rest of the world when it was just him and me. His gaze held mine and I had to suppress the urge to shiver. Not out of fear, though.

A flash of images came to mind. Soft lips melded to mine. Ripped clothing on a hotel bed. Cold desert nights spent in strong, comforting arms.

Snapping out of my daze, I shook my head.

'I...' I cleared my throat and glanced away. 'I better get a move on. Wouldn't want to waste time.'

Without waiting for a reply, I hurried back into my office and closed the door without looking back.

I met my reflection in the glass windows overlooking the tall buildings of London on a typical gloomy morning. If I squinted hard enough, I could see a blush forming on her cheeks.

Get a hold of yourself, Lilly!

This past month I had been polishing my acting skills. By that, I meant pretending that certain things in Egypt had never happened. In general, both my employer and I had smoothly settled into a routine that, well, made it seem that Egypt had never happened once we both returned back to London two months ago. A bit too smoothly, actually.

Although there were times when our gazes would linger on each other for one moment too long just like earlier...

Enough, Lilly! Back to work.

Marching back to my desk, I sat down and stretched. What was wrong with me today? I slept mostly decently last night, save for waking up late with some soreness in my lower back—

Plink.

Opening the metal tube on my desk, I unfolded the paper.

Mr Linton,

It is already thirty-two minutes past nine and I fail to see my daily correspondence on my desk.

Rikkard Ambrose

So we were back to communicating through notes now, were we? Flipping it over, I picked up the fountain pen on my desk and began to write.

Dear Mr Ambrose,

On it immediately, sir.

Yours, Lilly Linton

I folded the note and placed it back into the tube, pulling the lever. I opened one of the desk drawers and found the pile of letters Mr Stone had left for me to sort through. Pulling them out, I began to go through them when I heard a gurgling noise. I looked around, confused. Then I heard it again.

What was that noise? It sounded like it was coming from someone's— oh.

As if in protest, my stomach growled even louder.

Right. Another thing I forgot to do this morning after waking up late.

Well, times like these called for extra measures. Opening another desk drawer, I found out my treasured stash of chocolate and grabbed a bar.

Not exactly the healthiest option for breakfast but so what? It was chocolate!

Unwrapping the bar, I began to sort through the stack of letters for Mr Ambrose's correspondence for the day. I managed to finish going through it in under five minutes too— both the stack of letters and the bar of chocolate.

No sooner after sitting back down at my desk once I passed the letters through the letter slot at Mr Ambrose's door, I heard another plink.

I removed the letter from the tube and picked it up, beginning to read.

Mr Linton,

Why are there brown fingerprints on my correspondence?

Rikkard Ambrose

I frowned. What brown fingerprints was he referring to? Setting the note down on the table, I was about to reach for the charity letters in the waste paper basket when I noticed something odd about the note.

Upon further inspection, there were brown fingerprints on there too! But how did it get there? Where was it coming from?

Wait...

Slowly, I looked at my fingers and then at the wrapper of the finished chocolate bar. Then my fingers. Then the wrapper again.

Oops.

Wiping my fingers and the pen on my trousers, I thought about how to explain my slight predicament.

Dear Mr Ambrose,

There was a small accident while sorting your correspondence. I fixed it immediately so it shall not happen again.

Yours, Lilly Linton

That should suffice. I sent the letter through the tube and took out the small appointment book with all of Mr Ambrose's scheduled meetings. I had barely opened it to the current week when I heard another plink.

Mr Linton,

What do you mean by 'small accident'?

Rikkard Ambrose

Darn! I thought I had gotten away with it. I picked up the pen to write again.

Dear Mr Ambrose,

Just a small, teensy-weensy, tiny incident that is barely of any consequence. Really, no need to worry yourself. I've taken care of it.

Yours, Lilly Linton

Not even ten seconds had passed until the next plink.

Mr Linton,

Do not test my patience. Tell me what happened.

Rikkard Ambrose

Blast! He wasn't going to let this go, was he? Chewing my lip, I picked up the pen with sweaty palms. What to write this time?

Dear Mr Ambrose,

The aforementioned incident was minor, completely inconsequential. Not even a small accident, really. Just a small inconvenience involving chocolate.

Yours, Lilly Linton

With bated breath and my heart ready to jump out of my chest, I pulled the lever.

Perhaps he would move on from it?

Ha, as if! This was Mr Ambrose I was talking about here. Getting the Queen to dance on the rooftops of Buckingham Palace in her undergarments would have been more likely to happen.

As if on cue, icy silence radiated from behind the door to his office. The kind of silence that preceded judgment from kings before they gave the order for executions.

Now to any person, silence was just silence. But not with Mr Ambrose. As his secretary, I knew that there were at least ten types of silences after a few months of being in his employ.

Seconds stretched into minutes until finally...

Plink!

Holding my breath, I unfolded the letter.

Mr Linton,

I do not pay you to eat on the job as my secretary. There is a designated 30 minute break appointed in the afternoon for that. See to it that there are no more 'small inconveniences' to distract you. Knowledge is power is time is money.

Rikkard Ambrose

I suppose that could have gone worse than expected. Considering the incident at his factory two weeks ago. Also the other business deal from the other day. And...

Well, you get the picture.

Sighing, I set the note aside and decided to start on the day's tasks. Hopefully today would just be another day at work that would pass by quickly.

It wasn't until later that I realized just how wrong I was.

— — —

A few hours later, I was in the process of organising new files to be added to Mr Ambrose's already endless file collection when it happened.

I felt a building pressure in my lower abdomen, on the verge of becoming an entirely uncomfortable pressure in my lower regions.

Wonderful. Another thing that I had forgotten to do before leaving the house this morning.

Getting up slowly and carefully, I headed towards Mr Ambrose's door and knocked.

'Enter.' Came the composed, cool voice that I knew by heart at this point.

Shuffling into the room, I saw that Mr Ambrose surrounded by a pile of papers on his desk as usual, reading an opened file in front of him.

'Ehem.' I cleared my throat.

'What is it?' He didn't look up from the file.

I contemplated how to tell him that I needed to pee in the most delicate manner that I could currently manage. I decided to settle with:

'I need to use the powder room.'

He glanced up at me, then quickly back to his papers.

'Go in.' He jerked his head towards the direction of the small door that led to his personal bathroom.

Without expelling the contents of my bladder, I walked as fast I could to the door and shut it behind me. Dropping my trousers, I sat on the toilet to relieve myself.

This was one of those times when wearing trousers was more convenient than wearing a dress and hoop skirt. Once I finished my business, I was ready to pull up my trousers and get back to work.

That's when it happened.

That's when I saw it.

A small, reddish stain on the nether region of my brown trousers.

Oh no.

No.

No, no, no, nononono !

No! No! No!

Why now?

Well, that nasty inner voice in the back of my mind retorted, that explains everything so far today.

My sore back, waking up late, feeling sluggish and extra emotional, craving for chocolate. It all made sense now but...

I frantically tried to think back to when was the last time this happened. Let's see...sometime shortly after I had returned back to London after the Egypt trip. But why wasn't this an issue then?

Because, my inner voice piped up again, you were home on a Sunday afternoon when it started.

Blast! What was I going to do now?

I went over my options.

Option 1: Try to endure the rest of the day and hope that no one would notice. I could even tie my tailcoat around my waist. It would definitely look odd and probably rouse suspicion but maybe it could work?

Yeah, right. If you bleed through your tailcoat too, then you're done for. Say goodbye to your job.

Couldn't that inner voice of mine shut up already! Why did it have to be so rational?

Option 2: Resign my job before I would be found out.

Definitely not happening. Not when I had been through so much for this job including leaving the country twice and risking my life multiple times. There was no way that I, Lilly Linton, ifrit extraordinaire, would let something like this get in the way of my independence.

Which left option 3: Ask Mr Ambrose if I could take my lunch break early to go home and change.

Just the idea made me want to disappear on the spot. It was embarrassing enough that this had to happen but having to involve my boss too? This made the situation more dreadful a hundred times over. But...

What other choice did I have? Unfortunately, this was the best option compared to the other two.

Closing my eyes, I couldn't help but to let out a loud sigh.

Remember what I said earlier about trousers being convenient? I take it all back. This was definitely one of those times when wearing trousers was definitely not convenient! If I was wearing a dress, then there may have been a chance that I could have held on a bit until lunch break. But there was no choice, I needed to go home immediately to change my trousers and retrieve that.

However, the bigger issue was how to convince Mr Ambrose to let me take my lunch break earlier. What to tell him?

Mr Ambrose, I'm feeling a bit ill and would like to take a break.

Great. That would give him the grounds to dismiss me for the day, possibly even sack me, especially after what happened earlier with the chocolate.

My younger sister, Ella, has food poisoning and I need to check on her.

Nope. Mr Ambrose would be moved to sympathy as much as a mountain could budge.

My aunt has arranged a meeting with a prospective suitor for me this afternoon.

Not convincing in the slightest considering that Mr Ambrose knew that I would do anything to avoid the topic of marriage. Especially when it involved me.

Drat! What could I say?

Unbidden, another thought popped into my head.

Why not just tell him the truth?

What? As if that would ever work!

Not to mention, a woman's....time was a taboo topic. Despite my mother's early death and limited knowledge provided by my aunt, even I knew that was something proper ladies did not discuss with gentlemen in society. It was highly inappropriate.

But then again, since when were you a proper lady?

Good point. It's not like Mr Ambrose was a gentleman either by any means.

Still, the main issue was that would Mr Ambrose be understanding even if I told him the truth?

I doubted that someone like him even knew something like that about females anyway, given that he most likely came out of a giant boulder. It was impossible to imagine him with a mother, let alone two human parents.

Enough stalling, Lilly! It's now or never.

Five minutes later, I stepped out of the bathroom after working up enough courage. Mr Ambrose was still flipping through the same file, not having moved from his position.

Standing in front of his desk, I cleared my throat. No response.

I tried to get his attention again. 'Mr Ambrose?'

'What is it, Mr Linton?' His eyes never left the file.

'Er, I was wondering if...I could take my lunch break now?'

Damn! Why did my voice sound so weak?

His hand paused, right in the middle of flipping a page. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his eyes to meet mine.

I swallowed.

'What did you say?' His voice was deceptively calm.

'Could I take my lunch break now?'

If his stare was cold before, it was frosty now.

'Mr Linton, did I or did I not mention earlier that there is a designated thirty minute break for all employees?'

'Um, you did, sir.' I looked down at the stone floor. For some reason, it was particularly interesting.

'So why are you asking me this?' He reached to grab another file from one of the piles on his table.

'Well,' I bit my lip. 'I had another accident.'

Silence.

I risked a glance upwards. He seemed frozen, his hand still holding onto the file, save for the narrowing of his eyes by 0.000013 of a millimetre.

'By any chance,' he finally ground out, 'is this "accident" of yours similar to what happened earlier?'

'No.'

'No?'

'No.' I repeated, my throat dry. Why was this so hard? 'A worse accident. Much, much worse.'

He cocked his head. 'How so?'

'It involves my identity.'

Based on his expression, he knew what I was referring to. While I was his personal secretary during working hours, it was as Mr Victor Linton, not as my true self, Miss Lillian Linton.

A female.

'Mr Linton.' His voice was soft. Too soft. Like the momentary stillness before a hurricane. 'What. Did. You. Do?'

'I- I didn't do anything!' Why the heck was I stuttering? 'Well, not yet anyway.'

'Yet?'

It was both impressive and a bit unnerving how ominous he made just one word sound. I felt like a mouse that had been cornered by a tiger.

'What is going on?' He demanded, eyes flashing. 'Tell me!'

I bit my lip and his eyes zeroed in on the action, following my every movement.

'I'm not sure how to bring this up since you haven't been out in society much but have you heard about a woman's time?'

'A woman's time for what?'

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. This really wasn't going to be easy, was it? 'There comes a time when a girl matures into a woman. Her body undergoes some physical changes and afterwards, every once in a while, she...'

Plop.

My voice trailed off when his hand let go of the file he was holding onto and it dropped back onto the table.

His mouth was now slightly ajar and his eyes were cast downwards, scanning the contents of his desk.

'Oh.' His voice didn't sound as collected as before.

'Yes.'

So he did know about it after all. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised as I was, given what he repeated about time and knowledge and all that. But still, considering this was Mr Ambrose...

'What do you expect me to do about that?'

'Huh?'

'Don't you females usually do something to deal with it?'

'Well...yes, but—'

'So do what you need to do. Stop wasting my time already.'

'That's the issue, sir.' I snapped at him, too annoyed to focus on the fact that he had acknowledged my gender. 'I need to go home and change. That's why I asked if I could take my lunch break now.'

'Why do you need to go home? Can't you do it here?'

I nearly choked. That hardheaded, miserly head of his was really made of stone!

'I don't have any extra clothes here and what I use to take care of it is also at home too.'

He just stared at me.

I shrugged. 'I mean, I suppose I can wait until later to take my break. You'll have to risk my true identity being exposed once your workers see me bleeding all over the—'

'Mr Linton!'

Oh my. Was it just me or were his ears now tinged a bit red?

Pressing my palms into the table, I leaned forward. 'Or you could let me go home now and get this taken care of so I can get back to work sooner.'

He leaned forward as well, sea-coloured eyes clashing with hazel ones.

'Indeed, Mr Linton?' I felt his breath on my lips.

I arched an eyebrow. 'Indeed, Mr Ambrose.'

'Very well then.' He straightened back into his chair and picked up the file he dropped.

'W-What?' I blinked.

'You may take your lunch break now.'

'Really?' I stared at him in shock.

I couldn't believe it had actually worked! This was Mr Ambrose we were talking about here. I had half expected him to tell me something ridiculous along the lines of controlling my body's functions and to stop bleeding. It wouldn't have been the first time he had said something like that anyway.

'I don't like to repeat myself. Go now.'

My face broke out into a broad smile. 'Yes, sir!'

'Also, see to it that this doesn't happen again.' His stare was disapproving.

'You mean taking an early lunch break? Or are you referring to my other problem? Because I don't know how to break this to you but—'

'The clock is ticking, Mr Linton.'

'Yes, sir!' I gave a salute and left his office.

— — —

It's surprising really, what one can accomplish during a time of emergency. If you were to ask me how I was able to go back home, change my clothes and even eat an early lunch on my way back to Empire house all within the span of thirty minutes, I would tell you that I had no idea it was at all possible until today.

Maybe it was possibly due to luck? That certainly seemed to play a factor as the only people home were my uncle, locked up in his study as usual, and Leadfield, cleaning out the attic. It was a good thing too, since I hadn't bothered to change back into a dress in the garden shed before climbing through my bedroom window.

I was able to obtain some linen rags designated for times like these (part of the wonderful experience of being a female) and changed into another pair of my uncle's old trousers. I even packed extra rags in my briefcase, something I probably should have done in the first place. But eh, better late than never, I suppose.

Since I had five minutes to spare on my return back to Empire House, I was able to buy a sandwich and eat it on the way. I was starting to understand the concept of efficiency, especially after working for Mr Ambrose. Huh, it might not actually be all that bad.

Thankfully, the rest of work passed by uneventfully. Once I returned to my office, I saw that Mr Ambrose had shut the door to his own once again. He still could tell that I had returned though, for I had just sat down at my desk when I was pelted with more tasks to complete for the rest of the day, including retrieving more files. But I was determined to work even harder to make up for this morning.

By the time I took a look at my pocket watch, it was already dark outside. Eight o'clock on the dot.

Packing up my things, I was ready to leave when the door to Mr Ambrose's office opened, revealing his tall, dark figure in the doorway.

'Would you step into my office for a moment, Mr Linton?'

'Why?'

'I have something I wish to discuss with you.'

'You can discuss it here.'

'I can, But I would prefer not to.'

'I would prefer to.'

'You do not get to decide, Mr Linton. My office, now. Close the door behind you.'

I reluctantly followed him, shutting the door behind me. He sat back down in his chair, his posture ramrod straight with crossed arms.

'In regards to the matter earlier today...' He began in a low voice.

'Yes?' Did I take more than thirty minutes to return? Were there more mistakes I had made after my break?

'Are you sure that you're fit to work?'

'What?'

'Are you fit to work with your current state?'

Was he being serious right now? Judging by the expression on his face (or lack thereof), I had to say that he was.

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Given what has transpired earlier today, I have reason to believe so, Mr Linton.'

A spark of anger flared within me. 'Mr Ambrose, besides the two incidents that happened before my break, did I give you any other reason to believe otherwise?'

'Well, no.' He had the nerve to sound reluctant!

'Then yes, I am plenty fit to work.' I glared at him. 'Mr Ambrose, just because of I'm losing a bit of blood does not mean that I am incapacitated.'

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

'Furthermore, I am not weak. Women are not weak. We have been dealing with this since the beginning of time and haven't let it get in the way of doing what needs to be done.'

'I never said that you were weak, Mr Linton.'

'Then what are you trying to say?'

'I...' Something flashed in his eyes so quickly before I completely identify it. Concern?

'Nothing, Mr Linton.' That granite mask of his was back in place. 'You are dismissed for the day.'

I turned to leave but then paused.

'Thank you.'

He looked up from the papers in front of him.

'For what?'

'For letting me take my break early today.'

For being more understanding than I expected you to be.

Our eyes met for a fathomless moment. He nodded once.

You're welcome.

I gave him a small smile. Spinning on my heel, I left his office, feeling his eyes trail behind my retreating figure the entire time.

I guess that today may not have been a completely bad day after all.

— — —

Wow, that was a pretty long read. Kudos if you made it to the end. This was just my take on periods if they ever came up in the SnS world. I’m kinda sad that it never did considering this was a series about women’s rights and numerous other “taboo” topics in the Victorian era have been brought up in the books such as bathroom habits, “amorous congress” and “protection” for said congress. Oh well. I was able to articles to find 2 articles that I used for reference to write this. I’ll share them in a reblog since my post wont show in the tags due to the links. There’s not much known about periods in the Victorian Era since it was a “taboo” subject but there are some tidbits here and there that I was able to base this off of.

[we-always-hit-our-ass]

Cold Mornings, Warm Nights (Ronald Speirs x Reader)

a/n- alriiggght second fic and this is one is just an idea that i’ve had. i really like the concept and stuff and im just so happy to write it

ay yo @radiantcade​, this one’s for you 💕❤❤

Description- Who expected that the intimidating and ruthless Ronald Speirs would indulge you in tender embraces during cold nights in Bastogne. You could die happily in his arms, and you wouldn’t care. But the attitude he gives you in the morning has agitated you for a while now. You decide to confront him during one of your late-night rendevous. 

Words- about 4.5k words (oh wow)

Warnings- Vulgar language (it's speirs and it’s me who’s writing it…), fluff, and implied smut

ig just a teensy bit of angst (if you squint real hard)

and also a bit steamy but nothing too graphic, no worries

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pic’s not mine btw

-----------------------------

No amount of training could have prepared you or many others for what happened at Bastogne. You’ve earned your right to say that you have been through hell and back, but Bastogne…

Bastogne was… 

Worse. It was way worse. 

The ringing in your ears never ever really left after the German have decided to shell you guys for who knows how long. Day and night, and when you finally thought they would just leave you the fuck alone. 

There it was again. 

Brief moments of the bombs hitting the snow and even some of your fellow paratroopers flashed between your mind, and you physically recoiled when those moments would happen. But that moment when you saw Guarnere and Toye on the ground, unmoving and having lost a leg. 

You broke. What you really weren’t expecting was that Ronald Speirs was the one that mostly restored you to your past self. For a guy who was rumoured to be cold-hearted and emotionless, he just seemed so goddamn sweet to you. 

You could never thank him enough for him letting you stay in his foxhole or him visiting you in yours on those cold, snowy nights. The nights where the thoughts of your friends dying from the German artillery pestered you the most.

It’s surprising how the man would actually seem to comfort you whenever you were going through nights like this. Strong arms wrapping around your body as you cried and whimpered into his neck. 

Ron would run his calloused hands through your hair, undoing the ponytail you always put your (H/C) locks into.You, in return, would lovingly caress his face and arms. Sometimes gripping them to let you know that he was actually there. 

Soft kisses were always planted on you, and a hum of content would leave his lips whenever he did so.

The first thing that Ron would always do, was to pull down your collar and scarf to expose your neck.  You whined from the cold but immediately stopped once he’d start to nuzzle his nose on it. His strong arms would cage your body against his, his hold on you tightening every once and awhile. 

You reminisce on the times you would boop his nose, and he would respond with a soft, deep chuckle before he would once again attack your face with brief and light kisses.

One of your favorite memories were the times you would tease him, your clear giggles causing him to have butterflies in his stomach. Then he would sweep you up, bridal carrying all the way to your foxhole.

You were still positioned in his lap, warmth erupting in your cheeks and you’d skim your fingers to feel the stubble he grew in your time in Bastogne. Soft ‘I love yous’ were said until you fell asleep, a small reminder on how much you were devoted to one another. 

You never failed to pass out peacefully in his arms without an adoring grin on your face.

As you fell asleep, he would just unknowingly wrap his arms around you tighter, and he would always stay a few minutes awake just to make sure that you had truly fallen asleep. 

Ron would slowly brush away the stray snowflakes that have fallen on your peaceful face and soft (H/C) hair. He’d let his hand linger for a second too long and he would slowly observe the slight pink tinge of pink on your cheeks, his lips curling up slightly. His gaze on your peaceful gaze never falters, and another gentle smile tugging on lips as he intently watches you.

The moon shines between the branches of the trees and illuminates the bodies of the paratroopers who were trying to get as much sleep as they could before the chaotic events of war happen again. The sounds of your steady breathing lull him to unconsciousness and the grip on your hands loosens up just ever so tightly. 

The slight smile on his face still resides even as he passes out with you in his arms. On other nights, you two would have small, sweet conversations (not really since you did all the talking).

“You know I love you, right?” 

You would tired say, words muffled by his chest. He knew you didn’t need an answer, for you already knew that he harbored a bottomless ocean of love and affection for you. 

He was a man of a few words, but he repaid with his gentle and tender cuddles. They were worth more than 1,000,000,000 words to you.

That’s why all he could offer was a nod. A tiny gesture of agreement. You really didn’t mind how he would only give a small, subtle nod. No words could describe how much you loved each other. And that tiny nod was all you needed at the moment. 

While you huddled against each other, the events of yesterday’s horrible events seemed so distant when he held you. Other nights, you two would just gaze at the moon. 

“I will always love you... To the moon and back.” 

Ron would say into your neck, his soft air tickling your cheeks. His only words for tonight. Your (E/C) eyes focus on the bright moon above your heads, a smile creeping its way to your parted lips. He would wrap his arms around your waist, offering you warmth in your tiny foxhole. Warmth that no sun could offer.

You were a tad bit sad about how you couldn’t see the stars since there was too much smoke in the air from the endless shellings the German attacked you with. But you supposed the gleam and stars in his eyes would suffice. They were much better anyway.

Once again you would fall out of consciousness with you tangled in each other's arms. Your much smaller hands interlocking with his. 

-----------------------------

That was the Ronald Speirs you knew. And that’s why you were confused to see how quickly he manages to change his attitude. How come he decides to always flip his attitude in the blink of an eye? 

The moment the sun rises up on the horizon he turns from a doting lover to an absolute stranger.

Memories of those evenings seemed to be unreal in comparison to his harsh attitude in the mornings. They were the complete opposite of each other and it made your head spin just thinking of it.

You supposed that it was good for his reputation, and that it would make sure that soldiers would follow his orders. 

He verbally told you countless times that he actually enjoys the fear he projects onto others. That it helped him to command others and that by being intimidating, it would put them in their place.

Yet, you still hated it.

The icy, cold gazes he lands upon you in the morning only seem to confuse the hell out of you. Those gazes make Bastogne feel like a humid, tropical island rather than a frozen hellscape.

So you kept asking yourself, what about what happened the night before?

The night where he ever so tenderly scooped you up into his arms and whispered sweet nothings and reassurances to you until you fell asleep?You figured that he was the devil in disguise. A very, very handsome disguise.

You’d sit in your foxhole when you weren’t busy, taking off your helmet and throwing forcefully across from you, the dull thud echoing throughout the small space.

You’d ball up your fists before rubbing your temples and running your cold hands through your (H/C) hair as a feeble act to calm yourself down. As the day passes by and when the snow keeps on falling, your slight bitterness for Ron always seems to disappear when night comes.

 His icy glares also seem to melt away when the sun sets. Quiet footsteps and the crunching of snow alert you as you turned your head up to look who was approaching your foxhole. 

You knew it was him… But you always have an overwhelming urge to catch a glimpse of his face every second you get. Your gaze travels up his body as he stands at the edge of your foxhole, straight, handsome face and all. 

He silently jumps in your foxhole and you instinctively scoot closer to the dirt wall to your right to make room for him to sit by you. As he crouches his way towards you, you can’t help but notice the distinct twinkle in his eye whenever he’s around you. 

You really wanted to stay mad at him for his stupid and confusing behavior, but the way his lips stretch into that achingly beautiful smile… How could you even really stay mad at him when he does that?

Your cold, dainty fingers reach up to take his helmet off. The pale fingertips of your hand touch the cool surface of his helmet as you gently take off his helmet. Slowly pulling it up to reveal soft locks of  short, black hair. 

You’re once again mesmerized by how the light from the moon reflects on his face and body, almost giving him an ethereal glow. Your chapped lips stretch into a small, playful grin as you set his helmet down on the freezing ground of your foxhole. Ron settles in the small space next to you, instantly giving your body warmth.

Then the thoughts of the way he bumped into your shoulder without as much so as giving an apology in the morning hit you. It is only in the mornings in which he acts like this.

He acts like a prick, ignoring you when you coo his name, nudging you off his shoulder every time you try to embrace him, and telling you off every time you say adoring words in his ears.

Your soft voice would call out to him to ask him what you did wrong, but he completely ignores it and acts like he doesn’t care before walking away.  Leaving you in the forest with nothing but the trees to keep you company.

You couldn’t describe how much it infuriated you. You’ve always wanted to talk about, maybe bring it up to him just once. But when you see him crouching near your foxhole at sunset, the sky darkening and hiding you two in the cover of darkness.

Every word you were going to utter gets vaporized, and the annoying actions of his in the morning disappear as well. You are only left in utter bliss as you melt into his arms, and you’d forget how much you wanted to confront him.

Not today, though. You already had enough.

If the constant shellings and death didn’t make you snap, his ever changing attitude definitely would. You open your mouth to address how he’s been acting towards you during every single morning. 

The mornings after you’d embrace each other at night. The nights where he’d hold you in his arms until you fell asleep. But you closed your mouth in an instant, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But he did.

“(Y/N)?”

Your (E/C) swiftly glance at him before quickly looking away. You scooted a bit farther from him. You really didn’t want to deal with him right now, but you had the overwhelming urge to speak to him.

“What?” 

You quietly seethed. Your eyes widened when you realized that you accidentally made those words come out harsher than you intended.

“(Y/N)... Tell me what’s wrong. Tell why you’re suddenly acting like this.”

You didn’t hold out your annoyance on your response. You huffed and your breath became visible in the cold. You narrowed your eyes slightly as you furrowed your eyebrows to look at him.

“Acting like what, Ron?”

“Like a child.”

He really went down that route, huh? You, acting a child? (E/C) eyes widened for a second before narrowing again. Your breath hitched as he said that and you took to angrily biting your chapped bottom lip.

“How come you think I’m the one acting like a child? Considering what you’ve done, you’re the one that’s acting stupidly!”

“You’re going to wake up the whole company, hell, maybe even alert the Germans while you’re at it.”

“Don’t you dare shut me up, Ronald!”

You couldn’t give a damn if you were going to wake up every single breathing thing in the vicinity. Right now all you cared about was giving Ron a piece of your goddamn mind.

Ron still stared at you, trying his best to look indifferent. But you could see the way his jaw was clenched, with tense shoulders, and slight laboured breathing. You tried your best to look like you weren’t affected too. You failed miserably. 

You knew each other like the backs of your hands, things could barely slip by you two and every single movement was noticed. So you felt just a bit foolish when you’d tried to hide things from him.

Ron couldn’t help but notice the way you were also tense. It was obvious, the things you do.Like nervously pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Your chest heaving up and down from your outburst and small visible breaths pulling from your lips while you weren’t biting down at it.

You did your best to muster up all your courage and just hate him for the time being. You tried, you really did. 

Was loathing him a difficult task?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Your eyes would involuntarily soften for the quickest of moments before you would quickly try to mask it by narrowing your eyes once again. Ron would always catch those beautiful (E/C) eyes of yours mellowing up. Whether it would be for a millisecond or for 20 years, Ron would always catch the warmth in your eyes that was only held for him.

He goes to move towards you but hesitates for just a moment. His eyes dark back between your face and the ground. Ron’s lips purse before he looks over to your face to speak to you.

“Y/N... Bab-”

“Don’t bring up that baby bullshit with me, Ron. If you aren’t going to do that in the morning then don’t do it at all-”

“That’s what you’re upset about?”

Suddenly the thin shell that held all your pent up frustration cracked, and you responded the fastest you ever had in your entire life. 

“Of course that’s what I’m upset about! How come every night we do this, the next morning you’re giving me the cold shoulder?” 

While chastising him for his mix-matched personality, you failed to see the amused glint look flashing through his hood, onyx eyes. Ron smirked lightly and unknowingly moved closer to you with each word you fired his way.

“You cuddle me and say that you love me but it sure doesn’t damn seem like it!” 

You rant as you gesture wildly with your hands, his smug face only angering you more.You put on your highest voice and mocked the man who was literally 5 inches away from you. 

“I love you (Y/N) this, and I love you (Y/N) that. Here’s a suggestion. How about you fucking act like it?” 

You leaned back forcefully to the dirt wall of your foxhole as you roughly slam down your hands on your lap.

It was a fucking miracle that no one put up their heads and told you to shut up yet. You inhaled a couple more breaths before deciding to talk again.You took a deep breath and finally mustered up the courage to directly look in his eyes for the first time this night.

“Can’t you see that it’s driving me mad, you idiot-”

 Before you could even continue to scold him, a familiar, deep and husky chuckle enters your ears.

“So you think it’s funny,” You whisper. 

“So you think it’s funny, huh?” 

You repeated, only louder and emphasis on every single word.

“You really think it’s all a joke?” 

Disbelief was all you could feel, the biting air no longer seeming to bother you as you took in the resonating sound of his laugh he did mere seconds ago.

“(Y/N), listen-”

“No. No more excuses, I should’ve brought it up ages ago, but-

“Oh for fuck’s sake- Just listen to me, (Y/N)!”

You were used to him raising his voice, but that statement was spoken with such force and authority your lips closed almost immediately. He scoots closer to you, your noses almost touching now. His calloused hands reach up to grab your shoulders while you gazed at him intensely.

It was deathly silent, the wind whooshing and the occasional snore from one of the paratroopers were the only noises in the snowy forest. 

The firm grip he had on your shoulders loosened up and his furrowed brows and eyes soften. He drops his head down to look at the frozen, dirt ground as his thumbs stroke the tepid fabric of your uniform.

“Please…” 

That was the only word he could gather, the soft way in which he had said it showed you how desperate it was. You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding and decided to calm down to finally listen to Ron.

Seconds pass after you relax your stiff posture and your shaking hands instinctively stroke his short, soft hair. Your cool fingertips cradle his head as you trace your finger on his jawline. Your hands continue to slide against his slight stubble and chilly skin like you always did.

“Tell me, Ron… Why are you treating me bad?”

“I don’t trea- I don’t… I don’t…”

Ronald Speirs, stammering and failing to find words like a new replacement? No one would believe you if you would have told them this. The way you still held his head in his arms couldn’t have been described as nothing more than affectionate and loving, but you continued to question him.

“So how come you treat me like shit every morning? After the things we do…? After you tell me you love me?”

“It’s just that… I don’t know how to act... The men see me as intimidating and I need to keep that image up… If they see me with yo-”

“So you’re saying you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” 

Ron went stiff and his mind flew to think of a reason that would diffuse the situation. Can’t you see how much he absolutely adores and loves you with all his heart? 

“It’s not- (Y/N), you know that’s not what I think.”

“Then what do you think, Ron? Just tell m-”

And just like that Ron quickly delved down to capture your lips in a kiss before pulling away, instantly stopping you from fully asking your question. The air is once again silent, widened (E/C) stare at hooded, onyx eyes in surprise and shock.

 As you opened your lips to whisper something to him, Ron, just as quickly as before, dived to press his lips against yours. You were rigid, but this kiss was nothing you two have ever done before. It was needy, deep, and passionate.

Your body eased and pushed yourself forward to deepen the kiss. You groaned softly as he ran his skillful hands through your hair like he always does. He sometimes gently pulled at the roots, eliciting more groans into the kiss, and the air would quickly become heated.

The kiss was only broken for a few seconds before you’d start all over again. Each kiss became more feverish and vehement than the last (if that was even possible).

His hands pulled themselves out of your hair to slide its way to your hips, his strong grip making itself known as he pulled up you to sit on his lap.The never-ending round of kisses excited you and you longed to feel his soft lips on yours.  Sleep be damned, this was all you needed right now.

While his hands stroked and gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, hips, and sides through the layers your paratrooper uniform offered.

The dark fabric of your uniform felt paper thin in his touch, as you could clearly feel the warmth his hands exuded as he trailed his hands up and down your body. 

Trails of goosebumps was what he left in his wake, the fuzzy in your stomach arising from the compassionate touch.

Deciding to make use of your non-occupied hands, the once stationary hands found a way to wrap against his neck, urging him to kiss you deeper. You’d rub your hands on his neck then trailing them down and up his body in a similar fashion he caressed yours.

Mimicking his previous actions, you’d pull at the short hairs at the back of his neck, a low moan was pulled out of his lips. Encouraged by this, you’d then grip Ron’s broad shoulders, holding him still as he relished the touch and taste of your sweet lips.

Softly pulling away, you gazed lovingly into his glassy eyes as he did to yours.  Your (E/C) eyes looked down at his pink lips, slightly swollen like yours from the kissing before looking back up.

Your laboured breathing filled the empty space and the loud pounding of your heart never seemed to slow down. Minutes that seemed liked hours passed before any of you two did anything. 

Your feverish forehead was resting against his, your eyes now resting on your hands woven into his. His thumb rubbing soothingly against your palm and the thick, warm air was replaced by the cold one of Bastogne.

“Ron?”

“Shhh…”

He shushed, his pointer finger pressing against your lips. This time you let him shut you up. Ron leaned slowly this time, not at all like the heated kiss before. It was soft and slow this time, giving you time to relish the vulnerability you two shared at the moment.

You could feel everything in this kiss and it was only now that you noticed his hands were fondly touching your thighs, the pant fabric doing nothing to hide the tender touches on your body.

You reluctantly pulled away, pouting slightly at the lost feeling. His beautiful face was now focused on yours, the glazed look in his eyes still lingering.

“Ron… Promise me you won’t treat me like that in the morning anymore. I can’t take it…”

“No promises.”

“I’m serious, Ron.” 

You hardened your gaze, letting him know that you were completely serious.  Your hands dropped from their place wrapped around his neck as you placed them on his chest.

“Ron, just know that... Whether you’re being bitchy or not, I will always love you. I always do...” 

Your breath tickled his ear as you leaned in close to whisper them to him.

“Good.” 

Beautiful pink lips tug into a sincere smile as he took in your flushed features. The argument was long forgotten and pushed to the back of your heads. He pulled you into his arms once again, a touch you never see yourself getting tired of.

Warm lips press against yours after Ron pulls you deeper into his embrace and you let yourself get lost in the feeling. You could never stay mad at him for that long anyway.

-----------------------------

You sighed blissfully into the air, your chin resting on your hands as you relaxed in your wooden chair. The memories of what you two did in that foxhole on those nights still made your cheeks burst into flames.

A smile finds itself on your lips as you absentmindedly drift off to the days where you and Ron would do nothing but throw love in each other’s way. You twirled (H/C) strands of your hair idly, cheek still pressed against the surface of your palm.

Nimble fingers dance across your skin as you trail your hands to rub the tender skin of your neck and in other places too. Purple marks blossomed on your soft, (S/C) skin, and you couldn’t help as warmth spread to your cheeks and face.

The window in front of you was open, sunlight illuminating your features and making the diamond ring on your finger glitter like a galaxy. (E/C) eyes look over lovingly to your husband on the other side of the room. 

Short, black hair still messy from last night’s activities and hickies were visibly poking out from under his collar. 

He turns just in time to see your love-struck expression and a smirk was all he could offer you.

You snapped out of your daze as you hear the dull thumping of footsteps on the floor. You shake your head to clear your mind but you were only confused as the object of your affection was no where in sight.

“Ron-”

“What are you staring at, (Y/N)?”

A familiar, husky voice interrupts you and a small yelp comes from your lips as you jumped slightly in your chair, hands gripping tightly at the edge of the wooden table.

The yelp was replaced by a clear laugh as Ron picks you up to twirl you in the air. Ron looked at you in adoration, his eyes taking up the dazed look you still had in you (E/C) eyes. 

Ron loved you so fucking much. 

It was almost unbearable, but whenever Ron sees your gorgeous face, or hear your snarky comebacks and light laughs, he couldn’t help but fall in love with you again and again.

Ron repeats the action for a couple of times before setting you down on the hardwood floor of your house.You stand at the ends of your feet to place a quick peck on his lips, and your heart flutters to see a small smile blooming after the small deed.

“I’m only looking at the most beautiful being in the entire universe, Ron.”

“I think that would rather go to you.”

You raise your hands to cover your warm face, eyes watching through the gaps of your fingers to see his next move.

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

“And when have I haven’t?”

There is absolutely no possible way for a man like Ronald Speirs to exist. You weren’t complaining though. You were glad you met this stunning, yet sometimes infuriating man, even if you met in unfortunate circumstances.

Giggles fill the air as you feel strong arms lift you up to a bridal carry. His arms support the underside of your thighs as he holds you delicately. Ron’s dark eyes examine your beautiful features before heading to your shared bedroom.

“Ron- Put me down! Where are we going?”

“I believe we still have some unfinished business from last night.”

You shivered as you saw the mischievous shine his now hooded eyes. He still manages to carry you in his arms as he quietly shuts the door behind him, making sure nothing will bother you two for the next few hours.

What you were going to do without this man, you didn’t know.

-----------------------------

-----------------------------

ahhhh im finally done! im sorry if i have any mistakes, i didnt proofread lol

i honestly like this fic and im living for it, but idk if its ooc

@radiantcade​, i hope u and everyone else enjoy and like this fic 💕💕💕

i got another fic in the making, stay tuned loves

[recurring-polynya]

I hope I haven’t been sending to many of these. Also I hope this is under 500 words :

No, I don’t mind at all, this is fun!

don't tell me that we've grown (for having loved a little while)

This fic came out of rather open-ended request for an IkkaYumi love confession story. Writing requests is a different sort of animal than writing something that just pops into your head, you have to come up with something.

Probably the most emotional I ever got over IkkaYumi was one time, here on Tumblr dot com, we were talking about Ikkaku’s younger sister Shino, and how he wouldn’t let her join the Eleventh and made her go to the Academy instead. Anyway, I’m just gonna quote what I said at the time

[...] literally just yesterday I was thinking about whether Ikkaku and Yumichika had gone to the Academy and I decided they didn’t. I’m sure Ikkaku would have done very poorly, but when you think about Yumichika and the level to which he utterly phones it in, I mean… what if he actually knew what he was doing? Surely this guy could do kidou, if he ever bothered to learn. Imagine it paired with his ridiculously overpowered shikai, sucking power out of people and then smashing someone else with some level 80 hadou. He’s only Fifth Seat because he “doesn’t like the character for 4″, this dude could definitely be a captain if he gave even a quarter of a shit.  

Do not mistake me, I absolutely respect Yumichika’s position on this. Nothing good happens to you when you are a shinigami captain. He completely runs Squad 11 from behind the scenes, does whatever he wants, and is unspeakably beautiful. Who wants to wear a tacky old haori anyway?

I wonder if Ikkaku feels a teensy bit bad about this, if it feeds into his decision to make Shino go to school, even a little. Imagine Shino coming over for dinner, all excited about some new shunpo theory thing she learned, and Yumichika is chatting with her about it like a smart person, and later, Ikkaku is like “I’m sorry you gave up the chance at an education to be with me” and Yumichika is like “darling, please, you know I hate work.”

Someone pointed out to me shortly thereafter that Yumichika does cast some high level kidou during the TYBWA, which is very interesting to me, and I’m curious if he and Ikkaku made some life changes after the Pillar Incident.

Anyway, a thing I really like about Bleach is that the characters have a lot of different drives and ambitions, not everyone wants to be the most powerful person in Soul Society. Yumichika likes to espouse the values of Squad 11, but I think it’s pretty clear that he is really just there for Ikkaku and I wanted to explore that a little. I am also really interested in how Squad 11 manages to function, even a little bit, given that it is populated entirely by idiots + Yumichika.

The whole time I was writing the fic, I was salty because Renji wasn’t there and I wanted Renji to be there, but he was busy not being born yet, so I threw Iba and Matsumoto in instead. I write best when I have characters to bounce off each other. Kenpachi’s there, too, but he’s not as bouncy as Matsumoto (badum-chss). Seriously, tho, Zaraki is one of the harder characters for me to write because he defies banter which is, like, 90% of my writing.

This is very subtle and I have no idea if anyone caught this, but I very purposefully set this fic after Turn Back the Pendulum but there’s a mention of Byakuya being a hotheaded youngster over at Squad 13 (I don’t know where it came from, but I subscribe to a fanon idea I’ve seen in a few ByaHisa fics that B put in a few years under Ukitake before his dad died and he got named lieutenant of the Sixth). Byakuya and Gin became captains around the same time, which means that Iba’s mom is Acting Captain of Squad 3. “That Fourth Seat was too much to resist” WHATEVER, IBA, YOU’RE JUST TIRED OF WORKING FOR MOMMY.

[romanticrising]

Mine//JJ Maybank x Reader

Request: can you write a fic where jj sees the reader, his secret crush, flirting with someone at the kegger and he gets super jealous so they go back to one of their houses and get it onnnn from @sierra-b

Warnings: smut, basically unprotected sex (birth control doesn’t prevent STDs so use condoms, kids), underage drinking, language, teensy bit of violence, some angst, this is barely proofread so that’s a warning too i guess

......................................................................................................................

Keggers with the Pogues were, without a doubt, my favorite thing ever. They usually ended with all of us getting blackout drunk and going back to the Chateau to dick around and sleep it off. It also meant I got to see JJ drunk. I’d had a thing for him for a while, and he was a super flirty drunk. Thankfully, tonight some guy was hosting a kegger in the Boneyard. I was in my room, getting changed with Kiara so she could help me pick something out that would turn his head.

“So, how’s it going with JJ?” She asked, undoing one of her braids so she could fix where the strands had fallen out earlier.

I groaned playfully while sorting through the bathing suits I had out on my bed, trying to pick one for tonight. Since Kiara knew about my crush on JJ, she was quick to ask about our relationship whenever she could. Not that much was happening with us. We would flirt back and forth and tease each other with sly comments and semi-accidental touches, but nothing had ever happened between us.

���Pretty much same as yesterday,” I said, rolling my eyes and holding two bathing suits up against each other, comparing them. I had a feeling tonight would be good, and I wanted to take advantage of it.

“You totally have to make a move tonight,” Kiara said. “Come on, you’ve had a thing for him for so long. I know it kills you when you see him with other girls, so either make a move or give him a taste of his own medicine. And if all goes well maybe tonight you guys will—”

“Oh my God, Kie!” I threw the bathing suit top I was holding at her. 

“Hey, don’t pretend like you don’t want it to happen!” She threw it back to me. “By the way, you should definitely wear that one if you’re still trying to chose.”

“Thanks.” I dug through the pile again, looking for the matching bottoms. “Yeah, you might actually have a point. Why shouldn’t I flirt with someone?”

“Exactly! Before you know it you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger.” 

We burst into giggles as I changed into my bathing suit. The one Kiara told me to wear was a light pink triangle top that tied around my neck and at my back. The bottoms were barely there and tied on either side of my hips, showing off just enough to (hopefully) drive JJ wild.

We met up with the guys at the Boneyard as the party was already in full swing. JJ was where I expected him to be, downing a beer surrounded by people cheering him on. I made my way through the crowd, watching him as he finished chugging it and looked around. The moment he found me his face broke into his heartbreaking, boyish grin that made girls fawn over him. I knew he smiled at other girls like that, but sometimes I liked to pretend I was the only one he gave that smile to.

“Damn, L/N, you clean up nice.” He whistled, winking at me and dragging me into the center of the crowd. He took a moment to look me up and down, studying me. I’d decided to forgo a shirt and just threw on a pair of tattered denim shorts. The bikini I was wearing did wonders for my figure, especially the top, which barely covered my breasts. I watched JJ not-so-subtly check me out, his eyes skimming over the curve of my breasts, down to my waist and back up. I blushed but returned the favor, studying the way his gray muscle tee showed off the definition in his arms when he used his muscles and hinted at his abs underneath. Everything about him was gorgeous, from his messy blonde surfer hair and blue eyes, to the defined musculature of his body.

He shook his head as if to snap out of a trance and turned back to the party around us. That was the effect he had on me— no matter where we were, the minute he focused on me it was like everything else was white noise in the background. He filled a red Solo cup with beer from the keg in the center of the circle and held it out to me. 

I took it as he started a chant of “Chug, chug, chug!” Never one to pass up a challenge, I tipped the cup back and relaxed my throat, draining the sour, bubbly liquid from the cup. It burned my throat and made my eyes water as it went down, but I ignored that for the sound of the crowd, now chanting my last name. JJ laughed as I held the cup upside down over my head to prove that it was empty.

“That’s my girl!” He praised, holding his hand out for the Pogue handshake. I slapped his hand back in the pattern our crew had made up a long time ago and he laid his arm across my shoulders, pumping his free hand in the air. He let out a whoop, shaking out his hair. God, he was hot.

We made out way out of the crowd and to where John B, Pope, and Kie were sitting on some logs around a fire pit. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of JJ with his arm around my shoulder, but I shook my head. It was just a friendly gesture. He didn’t mean anything by it. Right? She wrinkled her nose in response and nodded at someone behind me. I nudged his arm off of me and turned to see who it was.

Kie had been motioning to a Kook I’d seen before but didn’t really know because he didn’t hang out with the really obnoxious Kooks like Topper and Rafe. So, he was the ideal guy to make JJ jealous. I nodded and waved bye to the boys, making my way over with the excuse of getting more beer. 

I slid my way between two girls and the Kook in question, grabbing a can of beer in the process and downing as much of it as I could. He turned around when I tapped his shoulder and didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes went straight down to my breasts. Ugh, what a douche. 

“Hey,” he slurred. Oh, great. A drunk douche. Even better. The things I do for love.

“Hey yourself,” I said, running a hand up his arm. He watched my hand, smirking. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder to see if JJ was watching us.

The Kook licked his lips. “You here alone?”

“Maybe. Would it matter if I wasn’t?”

“Babe, I don’t care if you’re dating the fuckin’ President. Let’s get outta here.”

He took my hand and led me out of the party. I looked back over my shoulder to see Kie giving me two thumbs up and JJ glaring at the guy. Kie mouthed something to me that I didn’t quite catch but I took it as support and followed the Kook into the sparse woods that started where the beach ended. He leaned back against the first semi-secluded tree he found and pulled me closer by my waist.

I wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this but nevertheless I ran my hands up his shoulders and linked my arms behind his neck.

“You know, you’re pretty hot for a Pogue.” I almost slapped him for that but I decided it wouldn’t exactly help me if I was trying to seduce him. Just this once, I let it slide.

“So are you, for a Kook,” I retorted, struggling to keep the edge from my voice. But, he was too drunk to hear the insult and just laughed instead. He dipped his head down and I met his lips with mine. I threaded my fingers through the Kook’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He tasted like beer but I could feel the alcohol I’d shotgunned earlier already fogging up my head so I barely noticed it. I broke the kiss for a moment, spinning us around so I was pinned to the tree. I caught his lips again in an open-mouthed kiss that was a little too messy to be pleasant but we separated, laughing. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place and—” He never got to finish that sentence because JJ came out of nowhere and punched him hard in the head. The Kook stumbled back from me, swearing.

“Get the fuck off her!” JJ yelled at the Kook as the Kook scrambled to get back on his feet.

“What the hell, man!” Just as he managed to get back on his feet, JJ shoved him backwards. I regained control of my senses and grabbed JJ’s arm.

“JJ, stop! He wasn’t doing anything wrong!” I pleaded with him, hoping for once he would listen to me. He tried to pull his arm away but I held on.

“Like hell he wasn’t.” He turned to the Kook who was already trying to take advantage of JJ’s momentary pause to get away. “Do you think it’s funny to mack on my girl like that?” He kicked dirt in the direction of the Kook.

“Oh my God! What is your problem? We were just making out!”

“You!” JJ finally succeeded in pulling his arm away from me. I balked at his statement. What was he talking about? “You are my problem. You can’t just flirt with me and then go mack on some Kook like its nothing!”

“So you’re allowed to sleep with any girl but if I so much as kiss another guy you go beat him up?” Everything was spinning so fast in my head, and the beer was not helping. I tried to be mad at him for his hypocrisy but I kept getting stuck on things he had said. He’d called me “his girl” twice today, once as a compliment, but just now to the Kook… that was definitely a loaded statement.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t done that in a while!”

I laughed as a reflex, trying to hide the embarrassment I was feeling. This was really not how I wanted tonight to go. I thought it was a good idea to kiss that guy to see if it would make him jealous, but it seemed like I had succeeded only in hurting his feelings. Wait a minute.

“Are you jealous?” I asked quietly. JJ froze and for a moment I got a glimpse of the vulnerable side he hid behind sarcastic humor and feigned disinterest. He quickly recovered but I’d seen all I needed to. It felt like a million fireworks were going off in my chest. He actually liked me. JJ Maybank, one of my best friends, the guy I’d had a crush on for the past two years, liked me too.

Playfully, I punched his shoulder. “I like you too, dumbass.”

JJ let out a sigh of relief and ran his hands through his hair. He caught my hand and wrapped one arm around my waist, cupping my face with his other hand. He traced my lips with his thumb, searching my face for any sign of apprehension. When he found none, he leaned forward and kissed me hard. I kissed him back, feeling like very nerve ending in my body was on fire. I pulled on his hair and he let out a low moan, pushing me against the tree. We separated for air and he leaned his forehead against mine.

“My place is closer,” I panted, running my hands down his chest. He held my face in both hands and kissed me quickly before dropping his hands again and grinning.

“Wow, didn’t know you were the kind of girl to take a guy home on the first date.” He meant it as a joke but I could tell he wanted to go back to my place just as much as I did.

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes.

“Make me,” JJ retorted, planting a kiss on my neck before lightly biting on my skin. I gasped, feeling shivers of pleasure skitter up my spine. He moved away so he could look me in the eyes. “Now you’re the one who needs to shut up. We’re not supposed to mack on other Pogues.”

John B: the world’s biggest cockblock. “Fuck the rule. Let’s go.”

I followed JJ through the woods as we made our way back to my house. It would’ve been faster but we kept taking stops when one of us would want a kiss from the other and we would stop to make out before we realized we really didn’t want our first time together to be against a tree. 

My parents weren’t home thankfully because the first thing JJ did when we were inside the door was push me against it and run his rough hands up my body. Our lips met in a passionate kiss that had me tugging at his shirt, wanting him to be wearing way less clothing. He laughed at my haste and tugged his shirt off, tossing it somewhere on my floor. I ran my hands over his chest like I had been wanting to do for so long. He trailed kisses along my neck, leaving love bites along my neck and collarbones. His hands went around my back and he pulled the string on my bathing suit, untying it and sliding it over my head. He let out a soft “Fuck” when he saw my breasts, running a hand through his hair.

I pulled his mouth back to mine, battling his tongue for dominance but not trying too hard. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the door above my head. He kissed down my chest until he reached my breasts and proceeded to bite on the skin there, avoiding my nipples. His tongue lightly brushed my nipple and I whimpered, pulling on his hands. He used his other hand to cup my other breast, massaging it and pinching my nipple as I moaned, not caring who heard. I could feel my arousal pooling in my bikini bottoms, which turned me on even more. JJ finally bit the nipple he had been teasing and I cried out, arching into him and struggling once again against his hand.

He switched which hand was holding my wrists hostage to continue his treatment on my breasts once again, kissing the one he’d been fondling before and vice versa. By the time he was finished, I was beyond turned on and soaking through my bikini bottoms. He let go of my hands and I pulled on his hair, crashing my lips into his. After I broke away, I led him down the hall to my room. I kicked the door shut behind me and pushed him onto my bed. He kicked his shoes off and chuckled as I undid his shorts, pulling them down along with his boxers. His cock sprung out, already rock hard and leaking precum at the tip.

JJ groaned as I stroked his shaft, lightly scratching it with my nails. I pressed kisses along the underside of his shaft, teasing him like he had done to me. When I got to the tip, I swiped my thumb over it to collect his precum and licked it off my finger. He groaned again, tossing his head back and clutching my sheets with his fingers. The sight of him completely at my mercy gave me pause for a moment, before I surprised him— and myself— by taking him into my mouth and slowly opening my throat to completely encompass him. He lazily bucked his hips up, forcing his dick further into my mouth and activating my gag reflex.

Tears pricked at my eyes but I bobbed my head up and down anyway. His hand fisted my hair into a ponytail, moving my head further down around him and moving his hips up to meet me. I groaned against him which caused JJ to moan out as well.

“Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” he said through shallow breaths. His voice was raspy with need and the ache between my legs throbbed with every pulse of his hips. I could feel him twitch in my mouth, so I pulled my mouth off him with a pop. He moaned in protest. With a smile, I straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss him, running my fingers through his hair. Soon enough, he flipped me around and unbuttoned my shorts, sliding them off my legs. He rubbed me through my bikini bottoms, chuckling when he realized how wet I was for him. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that Kook, okay baby?” He didn’t waste any time removing my bikini and running a finger through my wet folds, licking my arousal off his fingers like I’d done to him. 

“Please, JJ, I need you,” I begged him. 

“Shit, babe, alright. Do you have condoms?”

“Its fine, I’m on birth control.” JJ grinned at that, stroking his cock a few times before lining up at my entrance and pushing into me. We both moaned at the sensation and he gave me a few moments to adjust before he started thrusting into me at a constant pace, picking up speed as he went.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “I bet that Kook couldn’t make you feel this good.”

I moaned at his words, wrapping my legs around him to pull him closer. As soon as I did that I felt him hit a part of me that made my eyes roll back as I whimpered his name. I dug my nails into his back, leaving deep scratches that would show everyone tomorrow that he was mine. The knot in my stomach clenched as he kept up his pace and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. When I told him as much, he groaned and snapped his hips into me harder than I thought possible. I knew he was good in bed, but not this good. I’d never felt such intense pleasure.

“JJ, fuck, I’m gonna—” I never finished my sentence because my orgasm hit me almost out of nowhere. I clutched at his shoulders, kissing him as my legs shook and the tension in my stomach unraveled. He came a moment later, moaning against my lips. He thrusted a few more times as we rode out our highs, then pulled out and grabbed a towel from my bathroom. JJ helped me clean the cum off my legs and pulled his boxers back on, tossing my blankets aside as I searched my room for a pair of underwear and a large shirt. I crawled into my bed beside him and he wrapped me in his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“We should do that more often,” he remarked, rubbing my back softly.

“We really should,” I agreed.

The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was JJ’s whisper of, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

[arysafics]

Running Into You

Summary:  Clarke’s new year resolution of picking up running is made a LOT easier by her constantly running into this really hot runner who always greets her with a smile when they meet. Because she’s awkward, she has to come up with contrived circumstances to introduce herself.

Rated T, ~2.6k words

for @ragingserenity and @bellarkebingo (for the strangers to lovers trope)

Clarke doesn’t normally make New Year’s resolutions. She thinks they’re stupid. If she wanted to make some dramatic change in her life, she could just do it any time of the year. The fact that people wait until New Year to do these things only proves to Clarke that they really have no intention of seeing them through, and she can’t roll her eyes enough at all the Instagram posts tagged #newyearnewme.

She only made a resolution this year because Monty was having a New Year’s Eve party where he forced everyone to write down a resolution and put it in a jar, which he’s now keeping on the bookshelf in his living room, where it glares at anyone who goes to visit him, reminding them of the promise they made but probably won’t keep. He says anyone who keeps their resolution by next year’s New Year’s Eve party will get free alcohol from him at said party.

Truthfully, Clarke had a million things she could write down, things she wants to achieve, not necessarily this year, but just in general. She even considered writing find someone to date me, but that just felt pathetic, and also a little too out of her control.

In the end, with Monty rushing her, and all rational thought leaving her brain, Clarke had scribbled down take up running. A decision she’d sincerely regretted on New Year’s Day when she woke up with a raging hangover, her head pounding.

Still, she kept her promise, if only for two reasons – the promise of free alcohol, and all her friends telling her that she would absolutely fail to keep her resolution. She’s nothing if not stubborn, and she’s going to make it to Monty’s New Year’s Eve party at the end of the year as somebody who runs.

Except it’s day three, and she’s already ready to give up. She’s up at the crack of dawn, because she actually has to go back to work today, and she knows she absolutely will not do it if she doesn’t do it now.

She grumbles to herself as she pulls on her workout pants, and pulls a large t-shirt and a hoodie over her sports bra. There are people who actually do this for fun. People who like running are definitely psychopaths.

She’d run in the afternoon yesterday and the day before, when the park near her house had been full of people, and dogs, and children. At this time of day, there aren’t many other people around, and there’s this kind of soothing silence, the only sounds she can hear are birds and a distant hum of traffic. It’s also nice that there are less people to see her looking like a sweating, panting, mess. She’s far from in shape.

She does a lap of the lake, which is more like a pond, actually, and isn’t really that far, but Clarke already feels like she’s dying. She pulls her hoodie off as she approaches the drinking fountain, where a man is filling up his water bottle, and she’s not so fatigued not to notice how attractive he is. She notices his ass first, and it’s probably the nicest ass she’s seen in a while, maybe even ever. The kind of firm, round, ass she’d like to sink her teeth into. Which is not a thought she’s had before.

She finds herself turning red as she realises she’s ogling the stranger’s ass, and quickly raises her eyes, only to set her sights on his massive biceps that his shirt does nothing to hide. She’d been parched before, but now her mouth is watering.

He switches off the water, and turns around, putting the lid back on his bottle. He must notice her staring, or perhaps he’s just being polite, because he gives her a smile as he passes her, and Clarke feels like she might faint. She feels like one of those girls in Beauty and the Beast who fawn over Gaston.

Face still burning, she steps up to the drinking fountain and splashes water over her cheeks, though it’s absolutely freezing. It does the job though, and she feels a little less flushed as she gears up for her second lap around the pond. She’s half hoping she’ll see him again as she runs, but he must have left already. It’s probably for the best. Knowing her, she’d just manage to make a fool of herself in front of him.

 -

 She gets up even earlier the next day, and it’s not even a chore. She also maybe puts just a teensy bit of make-up on, just in case hot water fountain guy happens to be there again. She’s not going specifically because she’s hoping to run into him again, but it is an extra motivator.

She looks around as she stretches by a park bench, her imagination conjuring up a scenario where he shows up and joins her and they run together, and then he asks her on a date. That doesn’t happen, obviously, because when have things ever worked out the way Clarke wants them to?

She assumes yesterday was a one off for him, or maybe she’s missed him, or maybe he’s coming later. So she starts her run, and she doesn’t exactly forget about him, but neither is she actively looking out for him. Which is why she doesn’t notice him running towards her until he’s right in front of her face, and he smiles at her, and she almost trips over her own feet.

She doesn’t think he notices her stumble, since he’s already passed her by then, but she stops and turns to watch him go, checking out his ass again in the process.

He smiled at her. Does that he means he remembers her from yesterday? But he smiled at her yesterday too. So maybe he thinks she’s hot. Or maybe he’s just polite and smiles at everyone he passes. Or maybe he thinks she runs funny, or he’s laughing at the way her hair sticks to her sweat-covered forehead.

She takes a deep breath, and starts running again. She’s overthinking this.

She passes him again on her second lap, and he smiles again, wider this time, and Clarke doesn’t smile back, mostly because she’s puffing too hard, and running is the worst, and she couldn’t smile about this god-awful experience if her life depended on it. But she does like seeing his smile, so she does another lap, even though she’s dying, and sure enough, she’s treated to another of his breathtaking smiles.

She’s still thinking about it as she trudges home, wishing she brought her car so she didn’t have to walk the three blocks back to her apartment.

 -

 The logical thing would be to just walk up to him and introduce herself. Even if he’s not into her the way she’s into him, she could at least make a friend out of it. She’s fairly confident he recognises her by now, after five days in a row of casually running past him, or standing near him, or watching him pet an old man’s dog. And he always smiles when he sees her. Still possible it’s just because he thinks she’s weird, or he’s noticed her staring at him every chance he gets, but she’s done enough staring to know he doesn’t smile for everyone. For the old man and his dog, yes, but not for every random person running through the park at six in the morning. Just Clarke. And the old man and his dog.

But somehow, in Clarke’s mind, it’s past the acceptable point where she can just introduce herself out of nowhere. It would have been fine on the second day, or third day. But the sixth day? That’s out of the question.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Monty tells her, after she’s explained to him her current predicament, and informed him she’s in dire need of his help. “Why is there a time limit on when you can introduce yourself to a hot runner in the park?”

“There just is.”

“You’ve never had trouble introducing yourself to people before,” Monty points out. “He’s not going to think it’s weird.”

“Monty, you haven’t seen this guy. He’s so hot, okay? He’s so hot I want to die, and I just know he probably has girls fawning over him all the time, introducing themselves to him out of nowhere and trying to flirt with him. He’s probably sick of it. And if I just walk up to him and go hey, I’m Clarke, he’ll know that I’m just another one of those mindless bimbos who wants to get into his pants.”

“So much for feminism,” Monty mutters. Clarke ignores him.

“And that’s why I need your help, because I need to look like I don’t want to lick his balls, okay? Or at least look like it’s not the first thing I want to do.”

“Gross, Clarke.”

“This is what I’m reduced to.”

Monty sighs. “So you want me to what? Write you a list of conversation topics?”

“No,” Clarke says. She looks to the fat, golden Labrador laying at their feet, who immediately starts wagging his tail as soon as he realises Clarke’s attention is on him. “I want to borrow your dog.”

 -

 The plan is simple. Hot running guy clearly likes dogs, right? Clarke had watched him as he’d literally changed course as soon as he spotted that old man and his dog. And then he spent like five minutes gushing over the mutt. Not that Clarke can blame him, it was a pretty cute dog. But Monty’s dog, Einstein, is even cuter. And the Labrador could do with a workout just as much as Clarke.

She starts her run around the pond, which is even slower than usual because Einstein isn’t really capable of keeping up with her usual pace. She hasn’t seen the hot runner yet, but she’s still hopeful.

She makes it a lap and a half before Einstein has had enough. The Labrador stops mid run, almost pulling Clarke’s arm off as she tries to keep running, still holding the leash. She stops, panting, tilting her head at the dog.

“You’re worse than me,” she mutters. Einstein ignores her, and instead starts making his way towards the pond. “You’re thirsty, okay, fair enough.” Clarke follows him to the edge of the pond, but instead of taking a drink like she expected him to, Einstein keeps walking, straight into the pond.

“Einstein, no!” Clarke yells, but the dog keeps going, pulling on the leash, which Clarke hastily lets go of, lest she be pulled into the freezing water too. “Great, just great,” she huffs, watching Einstein wade through the water, gathering mud and reeds on his fur. “Einstein!” she calls. “Here, Einstein!” He continues to ignore her.

“Need some help?”

Clarke whips her head to the left, heart pounding, because she already knows it’s him, because his voice happens to be just as hot as the rest of him.

“Oh,” is Clarke’s intelligent response.

“Is that a yes or a no?” He looks vaguely amused by her situation. He’s obviously paused mid-run to help her, because he’s covered in sweat, and Clarke has never found sweat so attractive. Licking the sweat off a stranger’s body is a normal thought to have, right?

“I’m not sure you can help,” Clarke says, finally managing to find her voice. “Unless you want jump into a freezing pond to pull out my friend’s dog.”

He grins. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for that yet,” he says. “And it’s not even your dog?”

“I was borrowing him,” Clarke says. The hot stranger raises an eyebrow, and Clarke realises her mistake. “I mean, I was looking after him. As a favour to my friend.”

“His name is Einstein?” Clarke nods. “And yours is…?”

Clarke almost laughs. She ducks her head to hide her smile. So maybe her plan hadn’t worked out exactly like she rehearsed it, but he’s talking to her, and asking her name, so it kind of worked, right?

“I’m Clarke,” she says.

“Bellamy,” he returns, and then she knows his name.

“Pretty name,” she says. He laughs, and her heart squeezes. God, he’s adorable and hot. She’s so screwed.

“Yours too,” he says. “Glad I finally know it. I’ve seen you around a bit here recently.”

“Why’d it take you so long to introduce yourself then?” Clarke teases, as if she hasn’t just manufactured an excuse to talk to him so she wouldn’t have to do the same thing she’s admonishing him for not doing.

Bellamy shrugs. “Thought it might be weird. I didn’t know if you’d taken any notice of me.”

Clarke’s eyes bulge. Is he serious? “You literally smile at me every day,” she points out. “How could I not notice you?”

“You never smile back!” Bellamy says defensively. Oh. Is it possible she’s accidentally been putting out please don’t talk to me vibes?

“That’s because running is the worst,” Clarke says. “I promise if I had the ability to smile while running, I would have smiled back.”

Bellamy beams, and true to her word, Clarke smiles back.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, and she feels like she may have accidentally let on that she likes him. But seeing as he seems like he might like her too, it’s not the worst thing in the world. She’s just not sure what happens next.

Einstein makes his way back towards them then, clumsily dragging himself out of the pond, wet and muddy. Monty is going to kill her. Einstein looks very pleased with himself, tail wagging, dripping with water. And then he gives himself a good shake, sending water droplets and mud splattering all over Clarke, and to her dismay, Bellamy as well.

She grimaces. “Oh god,” she says. “I’m really sorry.” She quickly picks up Einstein’s soggy leash before he can run off on her again.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy laughs. “I have to shower anyway.”

“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “We should probably do that.” They meet eyes for a moment, and she realises she’s inadvertently implied that they should shower together. Which she does want to do, but it might be a bit much to admit to him when she doesn’t even know his last name. “Oh my god,” she says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean, you know—together.”

“I mean, we should probably at least have coffee together or something first, you know?” Bellamy says, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, not caring anymore if she sounds too eager.

“Maybe not today though,” Bellamy says, looking down at his mud-stained shirt.

“Agreed,” Clarke says. “I have to get Einstein home to Monty anyway… he’s going to be so annoyed I let his dog get all muddy.”

“Tell him it was my fault.”

“He already knows it’s your fault. I may have—borrowed this dog so I could get you to come and talk to me,” Clarke admits. To her relief, Bellamy is amused by her confession, rather than scared off.

He hands her his phone and she puts her number in, and Clarke tries to tone down her giddy happiness when he immediately texts her that he’ll see her at the park tomorrow.

One year later, Clarke is wishing she had written find someone to date me as her New Year’s Resolution—even Bellamy couldn’t motivate her to keep running for an entire year. He does, however help her write her new resolution, something a little more realistic – get a dog of their own.

[straightfacedstrangeness]

Patlabor fanfic WIP

Summary:  Shige has a cute moment with Noa.  Asuma is definitely not jealous.  Because this is SV2 and nobody ever has anything better to do, absolutely everybody gets involved.  Basically, Noa becomes the center of a (PG) harem comedy and has absolutely no idea.

Backstory:  I’ve been going through a handful of fanfic WIPs and story notes from the past few years, seeing if anything really sparks my interest / seems like it’s worth finishing up...and I really like a lot of lines and concepts in this one, but I also probably won’t ever finish it.

At the time (sometime in 2018), I never finished it because the ideas got more complicated than I felt like wrangling, and because the “she was actually just blushing over Alphonse all along” ending seemed so obvious that it didn’t feel like the shenanigans leading up to the reveal were “worth it”.

And now, I probably won’t finished it because at the time I thought Noa was in her early or mid-twenties, and that Shige was in his mid- or late twenties...but it turns out that Noa is 18 in the Early Days / TV timeline (and left SV2 by the time she was 23 in Patlabor 2) and that The Next Generation set Shige’s canon age at 59, making him fucking 45 during Early Days / TV.  8′)  Since part of the story hinges on Shige crushing on her, even though (or especially because?) it’s onesided, the age difference kinda squicks me out too much for me to want to write any more.  But again, a lot of the lines and concepts make me laugh, so I figured I might as well share.

If you like this but wish it had more terrible sex jokes and/or that it was just poorly written Shige/Sakaki smut, check out my AO3 page cus that describes the only two Patlabor fics I've finished thus far  X’D  (And I definitely won’t be offended if that’s not your cup of tea.)

And now, the story~ (+ notes)

“AHH—!”

Shige started, banging his head on the raised hatch.  It took a few moments of swearing and cradling his skull before he managed to straighten up and turn around.

Noa had her hand over her mouth, a fiery blush spreading across her face.  He hadn’t expected to see her—it was so late, and she was clearly dressed to go home.

“Oh, uh,” she fumbled, shuffling her feet a bit.  “S-sorry, I didn’t—didn’t mean to interrupt—”

Shige grinned, though the muscle movement made his head injury sting.  “No problem!  ’Sup?”

“I, uh...”

Another surprise.  The blush deepened, and—Shige had never seen her shy.  Hadn’t thought her capable of it, honestly.  Noa was the only girl he’d ever met who burped openly instead of holding it in.

Noa’s hand slowly rose up to point at—him?  Oh, no, past him, into the cavity of her Ingram’s leg.  The hatch on its shin had been opened and the curved guard over the ankle removed, exposing a tangled web of pistons and wiring.

“Hm?”  Shige blinked, then seemed to get it.  “Oh!  Oh, you’re worried about your ‘Alphonse’, right?”

“Oh, n-no, that’s not—”

“ ‘He’s’ just fine, Izumi-chan, cross my heart!  I’m just taking a peek at the ankle servos, you’ve been shifting to the left a teensy bit when you walk lately—not enough to interfere with the auto-balance, of course, but who wants to worry about maybe possibly potentially tripping over six-ton feet in the middle of a chase scene, right?  I’ll get ‘him’ back in tip-top shape in no time!”

“Ah, well, th-thank you, Shige-san...”

Shige grinned again, turned back around, bent into the leg cavity and picked up his toolbox.

Sound echoed in here.

He heard the slight whistling through his teeth as he tried to expel the tune stuck in his head, every little reverberating clink when his tools touched the mechanisms.

He didn’t hear footsteps.

More carefully this time—squatting further down instead of straightening up—Shige extricated himself and turned around.

Noa jumped, glancing away sharply, shuffling her feet again.  That pink in her cheeks looked utterly alien, but...very, very cute.

Shige swallowed.

“H-hey, c’mere,” he blustered, grin a bit more lopsided than before.  “Lemme show you.”

Noa hesitated—wow, shy was a really great look on her—but stepped forward.  There was only room for one on the awkwardly curved slope of the Ingram’s foot, so Shige slid off and gallantly helped her up, being extremely careful about the placement of his hands.  Noa’s fingers dug into his shoulder as she steadied herself, peering into the inner workings of the Ingram.

Shige pointed at things, his already-too-loud voice echoing throughout the cavern of the exposed leg.  He explained what was what, Noa nodded and “oh!”ed and asked all the right questions, her hand on his shoulder the entire time.  She glanced clumsily back and forth between the towering mechanisms and Shige, eyes bright, breath a little ragged.

It was Noa who almost slipped and fell climbing down, but Shige was absolutely dizzy.

---

“Sucks to be you, Asuma-chan~”

Asuma and a handful of the maintenance crew were crowded in the break room divvying up their Shanghai Noodle lunch orders.  He squinted skeptically.  Shige had been bursting at the seams with swagger and pride all day, and the tone of this latest remark implied a dramatic reveal.

But Asuma refused to give him the satisfaction of showing he was curious, and instead calmly dipped his chopsticks into his ramen with nothing more than an “Oh?”

“Izumi-chan’s got a crush on me.”

SSSSPPGHHHKHKG!!

Half the room jumped.  Shige crowed with laughter.  Asuma tried his best to hurriedly wipe the wet noodles off his vest and to look coolly aloof at the same time.

“So, what,” he grumbled, failing at the latter, “is this like the time you thought the mailman had a crush on you?”

“He did,” Shige retorted defensively.  Then he settled back in his chair again, arms folded behind his head, the picture of perfect smug serenity.  “But I caught Izumi-chan staring at my sexy ass while I was bent over the Ingram’s ankle servos last night.  You ever seen her blush?  Almost reminds you she’s a sweet young girl!”

“What makes you think she was staring at your ass?” mumbled one of the mechanics.

Asuma almost dropped the paper towel he’d been furiously wiping with.

“Yes.  Yes!” he blurted, then remembered he was supposed to be coolly aloof and crossed his arms (spreading the broth stains to his sleeves).  “I mean...it was probably ‘Alphonse’ you were working on, right?  ‘He’s’ the only ‘man’ she has eyes for.”

“Oh, so you think just ’cus she hasn’t jumped on you that she’s completely immune to masculine charms?”  Shige snorted, but he was already starting to go red at the ears.  “All you ever do is yell orders at her!  I’m the one taking care of her beloved ‘Pat-chan’ every day—nursing ‘him’ when ‘he’s’ sick—making sure ‘he’ always looks ‘his’ best—it just makes sense that she’d fall in love with—”

“Seriously?  By that logic, Noa’d be sleeping with the entire maintenance staff!”

All the mechanics in the room became very alert.

“Or Chief Sakaki!” added Asuma.

The mechanics instantly deflated.

“Whatever.”  Shige snapped up his bowl and dug in, pointedly avoiding Asuma’s gaze.  “You’re just jealous.”

A triumphant smirk played across Asuma’s face.  He sat back down, stain be damned.  “Aw, don’t worry about it,” he said soothingly, blowing on his own ramen.  “I get it.  You’re crazed with loneliness being cooped up with a bunch of sweaty guys day after day, right?  Of course you’ll take any smile from a girl as a—”

“I am not—”

“Shige-san!”

Both men nearly fell out of their chairs.

“There you are!” chirped Noa, though she gave a self-conscious start as she glanced around the room and saw just how many people were in it.  Asuma stared.  He’d never actually seen her blush before.

“U-um,” she went on, suddenly timid again but trying to smile through it.  “So, Shige-san...I just wanted to ask...c-can I, uh, hang out with you again after my shift’s over?  ...Like yesterday?”

“Absolutely, Izumi-chan,” said Shige smoothly, flashing a toothy grin at Asuma.  “Absolutely.”

---

Hiromi groaned.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Asuma hissed, shaking him.  Well, as much as he could shake the big man.  “You’re curious too, right?”

Hiromi groaned again.

“What?  It’s gotta be you, it’d sound weird coming from anyone else!”

Groan.

“You’re nonthreatening, man, you’re like a big teddy bear, you listen to people and care about their feelings and stuff!”

 ___

Notes:

Asuma bullies Hiromi into discreetly asking Noa cus Hiromi’s nonthreatening (like a big teddy bear)...Noa misinterprets & thinks Hiromi’s asking her out?

Ota thinks crush talk and/or dating a coworker is super unprofessional but now he can’t stop thinking about it either, is jealous that no one’s hitting on him?  Starts alternately peacocking & being really irritable? Demands Noa and Kanuka rate the men in terms of attractiveness and then immediately gets mad cus that’s so dumb?

Noa keeps hanging out w Shige after work, looking at Alphonse’s schematics...he tries to ask her on like an actual date and she’s disappointed? Goes anyways (& went with Hiromi too)?? Now everyone’s really confused??? Asuma asks her out too???

Kanuka’s stoically scornful, like “are you all that desperate for a woman?” (like they’re all crowding around Noa cus she’s one of the only girls they know, and/or comparing it to kids who don’t want a toy until they see someone else play with it)  Hiromi’s just really embarrassed and too shy to admit to Noa that there’d been a misunderstanding

Shinshi’s glad that everyone’s thinking seriously about their romantic futures

Shige & Asuma start getting weirdly competitive and start going on like trio dates where they keep one-upping each other and/or Noa thinks it’s a group hang and invites the others along

Eventually Kanuka just spells out to Noa what’s going on & she’s really surprised and embarrassed. Admits she was so shy and cagey with Shige cus she didn’t want anyone making fun if her for looking at Alphonse “naked” (since he was a mechanic, he’d understand the fascination)

[ohprettyweeper-moved]

Love/Hate

Summary: Tyler can’t stand to be around Y/N ... for a few different reasons.  Pairing: Tyler x Reader Word Count:  Warnings: FWP. (Fluff without plot. Is that a thing? It is now.)

The laugh that both made Tyler’s heart quicken and irritated the hell out of him could be heard down the hall before he even finished his coffee. He braced himself for her presence, taking a seat in a chair on the soundboard side of the recording studio. 

Y/N had a bottle of water in her hand, and the producer, Ben, was smiling as they walked in together. One of them had said something funny, apparently, but, despite her bright smile and the way her eyes twinkled in the studio lights, Tyler felt annoyed. 

“So nice of you to join us this morning,” he grumbled as he sipped at his coffee. 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Give her a break, man. I had her in the office with me, looking at some stuff for her new project. Finish your coffee, we’ll get started and hopefully wrap this up today.”

Y/N and Tyler exchanged a glance; maybe their bickering had gotten a teensy bit out of control. When they first met a few months ago, after being approached to write and record a song for the summer’s big blockbuster movie, sparks had flown immediately — and not in the good way. It was a miracle they had managed to write the song at all, though it probably wouldn’t have happened if Ben hadn’t been around to mediate their constant arguing. 

The crazy thing was, there were nice moments, too. When the song finally came together and the movie execs gave it the go ahead, they had hugged excitedly and gone out to celebrate, without arguing. There were some radio interviews, and even one of Tyler’s shows when she had shown up as a surprise guest and they had performed the song to see how an audience would react. They had celebrated with cheers and more hugs when it went over well. But, for some reason, those moments were few and far between. 

“You made it here this morning, then spaced out?” Y/N commented, breaking him from his thoughts. 

Tyler downed what was left of his coffee, held back his comment for Ben’s sake, and went into the studio with her. He picked up his ukulele while she took a seat on the stool and secured a headset over her ears. 

“No, don’t worry, I’ll get my own,” he scoffed. 

“I can still hear you.”

“Good. I meant for you to hear me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You know, for once, could we just try to have a productive day without your snide remarks? We probably could have done this in one day if you didn’t have to comment on everything I did yesterday. I’m a professional too, you know. I know what I’m doing in the studio, and this isn’t the first time I’ve written a song, either.”

Tyler looked over at her, surprised to see the hurt look on her face. He had accepted this love/hate relationship as just the way it was between them, but — were those tears in her eyes?

Tyler cleared his throat and set his ukulele back on its stand. He waved to get Ben’s attention, and asked the producer to give them a moment. 

“Uh, yeah, I’ll just, uh, grab some more coffee,” Ben spoke into the speaker before making a quick getaway away from the soundboard. 

Tyler turned back to Y/N. Her headset was rested on her shoulders and she was trying to wipe at her eyes without smearing her makeup, or letting him know that she was crying. 

“Hey,” Tyler said softly, pulling up a stool next to her, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I guess I always thought we had this back and forth, and sometimes things were good and sometimes we argue, and … and that’s just how things were. I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

She sniffled and apologized for getting upset. “I was sort of projecting then, but maybe it was everything at once, too. When Ben and I were talking — I had told him a while back that I wanted to do all the writing for my next album, but he told me today that the studio turned down the few songs I demo’d. Then yesterday didn’t go great, and today is already not going great …”

Tyler mentally slapped himself. Of course, he hadn’t known any of that, but he hadn’t meant to kick her when she was down, either. 

“You are an amazing songwriter. I know because I spent a good week writing this song with you, and your ideas are amazing, Y/N. You’re amazing.”

She chuckled through her tears. “Don’t butter me up now, Tyler. I know you can’t stand me for the most part.”

He drew in a deep breath and reached up to wipe her tears away. “That’s not entirely true.”

She sniffled again. “It’s not?”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’re funny. And you put up with my cranky, sarcastic self. Up until today, you’ve taken everything I’ve thrown at you and you either come right back or you ignore me. Not everyone does that.”

“You are kind of cranky,” Y/N smirked. 

Tyler laughed. He licked his lips and continued. “The first time I saw you, I thought — wow. So, this is what it’s like to find that person that makes you think maybe, just maybe, love at first sight is a real thing.”

“I thought our good moments were for show or something. Figured you thought I was some spoiled diva studio, and that’s where most of your cranky sarcasm came from.”

Tyler shook his head. “No, Y/N. I know you’re way more than that. What do you say we record this song, and tonight, I’ll take you out?”

“I mean, I think you owe me at least that much for making me cry.”

His smile faded for a moment, until he realized she was kidding. His hands pushed the hair out of her face before cupping her cheeks, the pads of his thumbs wiping away the last of her tears. 

“From now on, no hate,” Tyler promised. “Just love.”

Y/N grinned, agreeing that sounded like an excellent idea a second before Tyler’s lips pressed against her own.