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actuallyberriesarebananas · 1 month ago

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Just My Type

Anime/Manga: Blue Lock by Muneyuki Kaneshiro

Itoshi Rin x GN!Reader (they/them)

Word Count: 2k+399

Summary: During an approaching winter in Shibuya, the Blue Lock boys went to fetch Nagi at the arcade to enjoy their week deserved break. However, they have stumbled to see BL's manager waiting in the cold and these teenage boys had come up with some interesting theories on your type of lover.

A/N: Reader is referred as manager here. It felt odd seeing Y/N xD I can't take it seriously after the whole AOT Y/N thing.

Also, I'm not a Rin fan but I like his character and thought the plot idea suits him hehe

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Isagi thought the day at Shibuya would go by smoothly, in contrast with the incoming traffic flowing beside their walking lane.

What he didn't expect though is having a rowdy group of boys (himself included) hiding concernigly and inconspicuously behind almost transparent bushes and two tall vending machines which unfortunately didn't conceal much since Bachira and Otoya kept unintentionally nudging their heads against each other to peek at the victim who had caused this predicament.

The others did not offer much help at the situation either when Isagi dejected at the side, seeing the tallest members of the group hiding behind small bushes. "Forgive us" he muttered your name in pity.

It did not feel right to be hiding like this from Blue Lock's resident assistant manager, who is by the looks of it enjoying their time off work considering the slight smile etched on their tired face.

Heavy eye-bags evident that must be—Isagi hypothesize—the results of being assigned to handle 300 lively, troubling, and passionate strikers. As intense as he is when it comes to soccer, he commends their manager for their unwavering dedication.

"I thought we were picking up Nagi?" Isagi questioned to no one in particular as originally they were supposed to pick up their friend at an arcade.

Otoya gave a quick glance at Isagi and back at their target, "No can do! We must unravel this mystery."

"What mystery?" Isagi dropped a cold sweat.

"The person our manager is waiting for." A hand rested on his shoulder and red hair swayed softly as Chigiri's face came to Isagi's view that drew closer over his shoulder now, seemingly trying to get a better view.

"Wa-wait- you don't mean?" Isagi hitched a quick breath at the revelation.

Now everything clicked. The small and rare smiles he'd see back at Blue Lock as you tapped your phone. Sudden gifts like chocolates, flowers, and other trinkets that had now became questioningly downright romantic he'd see you hold around the base. A freshly prepared warm meal of ochazuke within your hands, a dish not commonly seen inside quarters.

When Isagi and Bachira approached you to ask about it, you simply dismissed it with a proud smirk "It's for a silly guy who overworked to sickness." You walked away after. Isagi dumbfounded at the shocking news of possible favoritism inside this establishment, and who—since the beginning—claimed to treat everyone fairly whether in the good or bad way.

Isagi wondered if Ego is even aware of this and already readied a number of complaints to be—not that he will—filed against his unfair daily natto treatment. Bachira's words came off from deaf ears as he said something of sort praying for—a name, Isagi didn't catch—full recovery.

Coming back from memory lane, his eyes landed back at you. Standing in front of a bus stop, and from his guess before you weren't finding a ride instead your behavior appeared to be waiting for someone.

Your lips pressed. A jittered hand fixing your hair from time to time even though it looked fine the way it was a second ago. A paper bag tightly held between you fingers and palm, your nails digging in to exude the cold from this upcoming winter weather.

Whoever is making you wait, Isagi assured in his mind with no offense, is kind of a douche for leaving you waiting during a time of low temp.

But it might not be a big problem for you when you still have that adoring grin that even seemed to twinkle at the wait partnered with a soft blush. Isagi is not sure if it was from the cold or a person in your mind.

Reo hummed with keen interest with the bush people "It's hasty to assume a lover." He rubbed his chin in contemplation "What if it's a friend?"

Karasu gave an abrupt laugh "Oh please, you are the last person I'd ask input about lovers and friends."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Reo incredulously looked at the crouched boy with full unidentified offense, but a gentle pat on his back from Yukimiya stopped his troubles who only exchanged a smile.

Tokimitsu at his other side added nervously, "Y-you'll get it soon, I'm s-sure."

"What-"

Yukimiya intercepted, "I truly wonder what he's like."

"Someone of superb glam if they had captured the heart of our oh so reserved manager!" Aryu theatrically posed.

"Someone shy and quiet like them?" Isagi contributed.

Reo interjected in front of Isagi, "No, no! Same attributes don't go well. It's gotta be an opposites attract thing." Isagi drooped down at his rejected assumption. Guess his puzzle piece didn't fit right.

"Of course you're into the opposites attract shit." Karasu rolled his eyes in mock, then smirked.

"I don't know what you are trying to insinuate here, but if you keep that up I'll—"

"I heard from others back at Blue Lock that manager likes short guys. Take it with a grain of salt though." Yukimiya added to Reo's claim which the violet head huffed at the support.

Reo glanced complacent at Karasu who replied in an expression of disagreeance.

"Oooh, I do see them chatting with Kurona often." Bachira tapped a finger on his chin, but a smirk crossed his face, "But actually, I know full well of their height preference. Manager is a tall guy enjoyer!" The dual haired boy exclaimed proudly with his finger raised up in confidence.

Isagi jumped at the sudden raise of volume, he bended a bit near Bachira to whisper "Bachira! Tone it down, they'll hear us." He sighed at his usual energetic friend, "What makes you sure of that anyway?"

"Huh? I told you before Isagi! Manager likes—" a smooth hand interrupted Bachira.

"Well, I think he has good personality. I asked manager about it one time and they said, they admire a guy who's patient and understanding through the highs and lows in a relationship." Chigiri gave a lopsided smile with his answer backed up from the original source. Bachira mumbled against his palm to retaliate.

Tokimitsu slumped his shoulders at this, "How did you get that info out of them?"

This instance made everyone turn their heads toward Blue Lock's princess, his hand on his hip standing as proudly as he would feel kicking a skilled goal, "With the power of hair products."

Aryu stretched out his long skinny fingers, "So manager is interested in the opposites attract trope, has a preference for someone taller than them, prefers open-communication, and patience in a lover." He pushed his index finger on his opposite as he finished enumerating all their jumbled guesses into one, "Good taste, I say."

"Oops, you caught me guys. My bad." Otoya huffed out a smug, patting his chest with both hands as if he won something, "Sorry for not letting you guys know sooner. Bae, wanted to keep it on the down low—"

Otoya shrieked when an unexpected fist hit his head "And did I forget they also said they value loyalty!" Chigiri tsked.

As hushed commotion started to incur, Isagi heard a heightened squeak of wheels. He averted his eyes towards the bus stop and his body came to a stop catching their manager's eyes widened in anticipation. Their body straightened and their hold on the bag gripped harder. Their face blooming with longing and oh no this only meant...

"Sshhh! Quiet." Isagi whispered but loud enough for everyone to hear. "He's coming."

Hearing this, the ensemble of strikers scrambled back behind their cover. Swears and complaints muttered at each other, trying to squeeze in as much invisibility they can create. Emphasize on can.

The coverage proved to be pointless anyway, when everyone poked their heads a little to observe the awaited scene. Their hearts beated expectantly. Their breaths moved in and out readying theirselves. Just who is the man that had caught a captivating grasp around the reverent heart of their reliable and caring manager. What allure did he have for you to fall deep on the flowerbed of blossoming passion of pure gentle admiration that is too complex to explain with only those words they call—love.

With beated silence, the man in mystery had came out. They assume to be the man in mystery when he stepped out of the bus and your face turned bright and jumped slightly towards him. You carefully touched his arm and your lips moved to greet.

Isagi discerned the moment in front of him quickly, similar to how he would in a match. Black slacks. Matching black leather jacket which shined from the enveloping glow of the setting sun. The guy's posture showed strong resolve that towered the other passengers exiting the bus. Striped turtle neck of white and cyan that he concluded to be quite tacky if not for the jacket. As his gaze landed to identify his identity, his eyes opened widely like saucers.

Thick bottom lashes.

Teal eyes. The same color that would pierce his soul everytime.

Dark cyan hair.

That indifferent expression.

No fucking way.

How could someone who looks so sweet end up with someone so, so—

BITTER.

Wait no, not bitter. Because the face he had now was not familiar at all.

Itoshi Rin. The Itoshi Rin is—smiling.

To what counts as a smile from him anyway. His lips was still in a thin line with only a few centimeters curved upwards. If you really paid close attention, and Isagi means close attention, it looks kinda like a smile.

In honor of Karasu, he provided the ice breaker "I'm seeing what I'm seeing right?" His confirmation only made Isagi's observation positive.

"You know. I'm actually not really surprised." Yukimiya still in kneeling position, had his arm on his chest and his other perched up by the elbow. His hand against his chin.

"They suit each other." He further said, while Rin slided a quick cheek rub then moved to push back strands of hair at the side of your head.

Otoya whistled, "Didn't know Mr. Top One had game in and out of the field."

Bachira pumped his fist in the air, "Hell yeah! See? I was right!" then inched beside Reo punching his bicep "Reo! Reo! You owe me five mil'!"

"I didn't bet you shit!"

"Aahh, my prochecy prevailed! They are absolutely the glam couple."

"I th-think they look great!"

"Hmm, not bad." Chigiri hummed your name seeming content with the reveal (Isagi corrects reveal to eavesdropping, but Chigiri only swatted him away). "However, seeing that smile unnerves me. I didn't think it'd be possible."

"This makes me feel that if our manager can make Rin smile like that. We can win World Cup." Isagi sighed with a smile of his own and Chigiri laughed as he nudged his shoulder to agree.

"Anything is possible, eh, isn't that right Nagi? Haha, wait—huh? Nagi!?" Chigiri shook his head baffled, a loud scream erupted from him at the sudden appearance causing another man crouching in front of him to trip on his hand as a bright flash dawned.

The bedhead lad grumbled in between words as he munched on some chips "Reo texted y'all were picking me up." He hung his head low as if standing was already taxing work, "It's been an hour. I got worried."

"Um, guys..." Otoya sweatdropped his phone in hand while looking dead straight in front of him.

All the boys changed their view back at the whole reason of why they were hiding behind dirty bushes and supposed discreet vending machines.

Their manager only sighed exasperatingly which funnily enough, sounded like a laugh. They patted Rin's arm to soothe the other. Unfortunately, it wasn't helping.

A cold, deep, dead stare returned at them. The embodiment of if looks can kill.

"Who took that?"

And if actions can kill then the stance Rin was giving obviously indicated that they should probably run now. (Hiding is definitely out of the options, Isagi accepted.)

A rush of wind breezed beside Isagi as Otoya leaped away first, phone clutched like it's pearls. "Ninja escape!"

"Otoya, you traitor!" Karasu screamed in betrayal, but hypocritically followed.

On instinct, Isagi grabbed a hold of Bachira and Chigiri. Determined to make a run for it. The latter two got the message, grinned, and started sprinting ahead.

"Congrats! Rin-chan!" Bachira yelled back with a wave.

"Goodness." Yukimiya could only exhale at the expected as he ran after.

Aryu jumped twirling and finger guns at the two while slowly anchoring his speed, leaving not before saying "Glam, glam!"

Tokimitsu already screeched ten steps in front of him.

As a newcomer, Nagi was about to comment to Rin and their manager when his weight shifted quickly. His steps began to walk. Reo holding him tight.

"Nagi, let's go! We can't lose to them!" Reo started to sprint pointing at their other friends way far ahead.

This unexpected hold as familiar as it can be, he never thought he'd experience it again after everything. "Okay. I'll follow you, Reo." Nagi ran.

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Additional Time!

A ping ringed in your phone. Your eyes opened out of dreamland as the sound erupted you from your thoughts.

You opened the popped out message, a glint forming in your eyes. Clicking the surface you read,

—Are you there?

You body trembled from the current cold of winter breeze as if confirming, nonetheless you closed your body for warmth in order to type.

—Yeah, I'm waiting

A notification sound rose up.

—Sorry, house got busy.

You were about to type out another reply when,

—Sae just left.

Your movements paused for a second. At the mention of his brother, you didn't know what to say that might not trigger him. You instead thought to change the course.

—I understand and stay safe : )

—Ok. You too.

—But get here soon though!

You directed your eyes to the side. Only your peripheral vision needed to see what you thought before was the cold getting to you. You sillily reminded yourself that bushes can't move on its own and vending machines don't grow heads. You grinned and chuckled.

—I think our soccer team is stalking me.

A minute passed after you sent it. You were expecting a reaction, so you shrugged it off thinking he turned off his phone for the meantime. A buzzed vibrated on your fingers.

—I'll be there in a minute.

You heaved out a quiet laugh.

His house is ten minutes from here though.

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cowboyod · 2 months ago

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Another Man's Jeans

summary - You run into Spencer at Angela's birthday party for the first time since the breakup.

warnings - a little angsty

pairing - Spencer Agnew x reader

word count - 2665

note - Based loosely on Another Man's Jeans by Ashe. Let me know if you like it! I have a little more written so let me know if you want more!

“Listen, I know you really, really don’t want to see Spencer right now but it would mean a lot to me if you could come.” Angela pleads to you. Her birthday is coming up and Chanse and her have planned a party to celebrate. You know it’ll be a ton of fun and Angela has been talking about it for ages. The performances and the karaoke and all the details planned out sound incredible but the fact that Spencer is going is a huge deterrent.

“I love you, I’ll think about it, okay? If I don’t show up I’ll make sure we do something special together, how does that sound?” You bargain with the birthday girl and she seems unsatisfied.

“Pretty, pretty please. Think about it really, really hard.”

You met Spencer on the Smosh Pit set. You were just a one off guest, invited to be a part of an episode of Try Not To Laugh by one of the producers after they saw some of your own youtube videos. You were thrilled to be invited and meet some of the cast and crew. Spencer was in the crowd that day and every time you were doing your bits on the stage, he would catch your eye. You did your best to avoid eye contact while in the hot seat and failed miserably. Little did you know that this opportunity would turn into so much more than just one fun day.

After being invited to a couple Smosh shoots, you hit it off with a few of the cast members. You and Angela became close friends and invited you out with her, Chanse, and some of her other friends often. Angela had noticed Spencer and you giving each other eyes every time you were invited for videos and he made sure he was either in the room watching the recording, or in the video when you were there. Eventually, Angela began to invite Spencer when you would agree to plans and vice versa. Then began what is arguably the best year of your life.

After about a year of dating, Spencer and you began to hit a rough patch, both becoming incredibly busy and not being able to make time for each other.

You are sitting at your desk deep in thought and frustration, looking at the near blank page in front of you. ‘Why are scripts so hard to start’ you think to yourself. You have about a thousand projects to finish and have started another one that was assigned to you by your script writing professor. You can never seem to get past that blank page without hours of frustration. The lingering editing projects and essays you also have unfinished cloud your mind and you are so visibly overwhelmed.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind your desk chair and you startle a tad. “Oh. Hey Spence, you scared me. Now's not a good time.” You say shortly, bringing him into your frustrated mind. “Why don’t you take a break? We could throw on a movie or something?” Spencer offers. “I really need to finish this, or start it I guess. I have a ton to do. I don't know if I have the time right now.” Tension grows in your voice and he squeezes your shoulder before leaving you alone.

Between school and passion projects, you never had time to do much anymore. And Spencer was drowning in his work schedule, trying to plan shoot weeks and games content and livestreams became taxing on him. The energy between the two of you began to dwindle and you would often break into exhaustion bridled arguments that always ended in one of you going back to your own apartment. The breakup made no sense to any of your friends, the two of you seemed perfect together. You were both always so supportive of each other and participated in each other’s hobbies and interests, you two were inseparable at one point. But the breakup made sense to you. You were sick of the fighting and so, so tired. It didn’t feel worth the fight anymore despite how much it hurt. Spencer hated the conversation. He loathed the fact that you gave up on fighting for him but he also felt the exhaustion of it all.

Your finger lingers on his contact name. You fight your instincts and decide to call Angela instead. “Hey, honey! Happy Birthday! I love you!” You greet after she picks up. You both talk about the day ahead of her and her party later that night that Chanse and a few others are beginning to set up soon. “Yeah, hey! I think I’m gonna come out tonight. I want to celebrate with you and I have such a great gift.”

“Awwwe babe you don’t have to!” You can hear her smiling through the phone. “I’m so excited for you to come. It’s gonna be a relatively big party so hopefully you’ll barely even see Spencer.”

“It’s not even fair for me to be upset about seeing him. Like I’m the one who broke up with him. I feel like I don’t even have a right to be upset about it.”

“Your feelings are valid. Even if you’re the one who ended it, it’s still a tough thing to get through. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

“I guess you’re right. I just don’t want him to hate me. I miss being around him. It's been months and It still hurts.”

While on the phone with Angela, she helps you pick out an outfit, landing on a casual green dress paired with your favorite doc martens. You felt pretty for the first time in months and you were excited to leave the house for once. You took your time getting ready, treating this like the event of the year. You weren’t going all out by any means but you felt good taking the time to get ready and feel good about yourself.

You take an uber to the venue just in case you have one too many drinks tonight. You’re early enough that you can help setting up the final bits of the party and Chanse puts you to work. You help set up tables and put out flowers and other finishing details and he runs off and makes sure everything else is going according to plan. People begin flooding in about half an hour later and Angela shows up not too long before the crowd.

“You look good, babe! Happy Birthday! Here’s your little gift, you can open it later if you want.” You smile at the birthday girl widely and give her hugs.

“Oh my god! Stop! This is so cute!” Angela opens the bag to find a glass olive oil container with a pretty glass floral design. You remembered her talking about wanting some cuter kitchen stuff and you found the drizzle bottle at a local craft store and thought she’d love it. Angela put it away and after talking for a little bit, she excused herself to talk to some of her friends from Starkid. You wander to the snack table to see what kind of things they have and hopefully run into someone you know so you don’t look so alone. You grab yourself a little drink to keep your hands busy and scan the room for people to talk to. Unfortunately, you lock eyes with a particular curly haired boy. Of course you find him in a crowded room, you’ve always had a knack for finding him in crowds. I mean, who else would you possibly want to look at in a room full of people? You give him a tight smile, take a sip of your drink and try to look elsewhere. No matter where you looked, your mind kept wandering back to him. You wondered if he was still looking at you, if the eyes you felt burning into your skull were his, the eyes you had grown so used to. His eyes felt so familiar but so distant. You knew coming here was a bad idea, he corroded your thoughts without being anywhere near you, of course you were going to go crazy with him only some feet in front of you. You looked around again and found out that the eyes burning into your head were not his but a mere stranger’s. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

The eyes boring into your skull draw closer to you. The man introduces himself and you can’t seem to get his name to stick. You let him stick by your side because why not have a little fun? A distraction with a name you don’t remember might be what you need. He offers you another drink and you sit around with him and talk for a long while about nothing in particular. You think he’s talking about cars, his mustang, maybe? Who cares? All you can think about is Spencer. How he’s here somewhere, maybe flirting with some other girl or maybe, hopefully, he’s thinking about you. The man snags a flower from one of the nearby decorations and offers it to you, charmingly. “For you.”

“Keep your flowers, let’s go dancing!” You offer with a spark in your eyes. He follows you to the floor as music blares through the speakers. You dance with the stranger while thinking of another. After a couple songs, the music cuts and Chanse is on stage beginning a little speech about our special, little Angela. Chanse planned out a couple show bits and after the speech, a musical number begins and the crowd is thrilled. You lean against the man you were dancing with and smile at how fun this whole thing is and how wonderful Chanse is at this whole party planning thing.

You look around and once again make eye contact with Spencer. You feel a little loopy and you can’t tell if it's the alcohol, the lights, the music, or Spencer. You give him a little head tilt and brow scrunch, confused by his almost blank expression. He looked bored almost? Maybe annoyed? He is so hard to read nowadays. Not like you see him often anymore. He looks at the guy beside you and then back at you, jaw clenched.

You look at the guy you’ve stuck around so far and decide you’ve had enough of him for now. “Hey, would you grab me a water?” He nods and walks off and you make eye contact with Spencer again. You think about going over there and talking to him but he wanders off before you get the chance. Luckily, you see Amanda across the room talking to a couple other Smosh members and decide to join them. “Hi, guys! Great party Chanse has done an amazing job!” You enter the group.

“Hey! Yeah, he’s great isn’t he? Angela seems to be having the time of her life! I’m glad you came!” Amanda greets. Shayne and Tommy speak about the party and the show before falling back into conversation about recent movies that have come out.

Time passes and karaoke is a show stopper. Everyone is adoring the silly performances their friends are putting on. Chanse and Angela do a duet and people jokingly throw things on stage. The party is lively as ever and you cheer on all your friends as they go on stage. You and Shayne stick together, avoiding actually participating at all costs but continue to clap and cheer in support. The song is about to end and you look around to see who is going on next. Spencer looks at you and nods his head towards the stage, asking if you were gonna go up. You eyes go wide and you shake your head violently, he knows you would never. He laughs at your dramatics.

Shayne sees this interaction and just nods and gives Spencer a look without you noticing. Spencer bites the corner of his lip and makes his way over to the two of you. “You guys should go up and do a duet” He laughs and you two look horrified at the idea. His laugh rings through your head. The absence of his laugh for the past few months has stung.

“Yeah not happening tonight!” Shayne responds.

“You know I’d have to be like, totally out of my mind to even consider it, Spence.” The nickname rolls off your tongue so easily it almost startles you. It’s like you’ve fallen right back into place with him in front of you. But it’s never that easy. You and Spencer stay quiet for a moment and Shayne leaves quietly to find Courtney.

“Hey.” He breaks the silence.

“Hi” you merely squeak out. You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach in anticipation for what he’s about to say.

“You look good. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been better, I suppose. How are you?”

“About the same.” Another silence passes between the two of you. “So who was that guy earlier?” his voice comes out a little bitter.

“I truly have no idea. I’m not even fully sure if he gave me his name.” You spill honestly. Spencer seems to let out a breath he was holding. “I like this shirt, is it new?” You move your hand close to his chest before moving it away, realizing your actions.

“Um, yeah, sort of.” He scratches his head awkwardly and you take the moment to stare at his tattoos. The ones you used to fall asleep tracing.

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” He looks at you with sad eyes and nods slightly, his eyes locking on something.

“Hey, you. Thought you left.” The guy from earlier comes up behind you and puts his hands on your waist. You look a little startled at the touch but you let it be.

“Hey. Um, This is Spencer.” Your tone screams uncomfortable and Spencer’s jaw tightens.

“Hey, dude.” “Hey, man. I think you’re making her uncomfortable.” You bite your lip at his bluntness and you feel the man’s grip tighten slightly. You try to slip out of his hold but he doesn’t let go. “Dude, she obviously doesn’t want you. Give it up.” The man goes to fight back but you push away again and he gets the hint.

“Sorry, man” he puts his hands up and walks away. Spencer scoffs and steps closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You okay?” Your breath catches a little and you just nod in response. “I didn’t like how that guy had his hands on you all night. He seems so annoying.” you smirk a little, catching the jealousy in his voice.

“You know, not so long ago you were the annoying one who couldn’t keep your hands off me.” You smile at him and he laughs a little.

“Well at least you could remember my name!” a moment passes and you notice how close you are, your hand on his chest. He watches your gaze move from him to your hand and back to him. “He didn’t deserve to be so close to you when you look this damn good.” His voice dropped and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Are you just gonna tell me how good I look or are you gonna show me? Make your move.” You tempt him, trying to navigate where this will go next. His brows raise in shock and he recovers quickly, moving his hand to your face and leaning towards you.

“What’s your angle here?” He’s so close to you and your brain takes a second to figure out what he actually said.

“Let’s have ourselves a little bit of fun?” You lean in further and finally meet his lips. You only allow it to be chaste and you spin around and start leading him out the door. He stays still, stunned for a moment before following you right out the door. “Hurry or I’ll be in another man’s jeans!” you tease.

#spencer agnew fic #spencer agnew x reader #smosh x reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #smosh fanfiction

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wwooyology · 1 year ago

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Rain Drops | N.RK

「pairing」 : bf!riki x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1.2k

「synopsis」 : it was a tiring day and nothing seemed to be going right, but riki was there to help make you feel better.

「genre」 : fluff, comfort

「warnings」 : riki helps reader change, mentions of mental exhaustion, riki is a gentleman and a sweetheart, petnames (dummy, weirdo, dork, love...), just a bunch of fluffiness, lmk if I missed anything!

It had been an extremely long day. Your brain didn't seem to want to work, and you had completely forgotten about a huge assignment that was due. This resulted in you begging your teacher to give you a few more days. Thankfully, she was understanding and gave you until the end of next week.

Then, when you thought things were starting to get a bit better, it started to rain outside, and you didn't have an umbrella. You stood by the window in the hallway, the noise of other students bustling about heard in the background, but you just watched as the rain poured outside.

You had debated calling your boyfriend, Riki, but you were sure he was busy, and you didn't want to bother him.

Sucking it up, you just decided to just try to make it home before you got too soaked. Sighing, you lifted your bag further up your shoulders before making your way to the entrance of the school.

You stood at the bottom step and watched all the students around you walk off campus with an umbrella or share one with one another. You didn't really have friends that you could do that with, so you had no choice but to just walk in the rain and hope you wouldn't get sick.

With a sigh, you go to take the last step, but before you get too far, you feel a tug on your backpack, pulling you back a bit. A small squeak of surprise falls from your lips, and you are about to turn and tell the person off before you hear his voice.

“What are you doing, dummy?” Riki stood behind you, an umbrella in his left hand. You looked up at him with shocked eyes.

What was he doing here? You were sure you hadn't called or messaged him. Seeing the confusion on your face, he rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I knew that you would forget it was supposed to rain today, so…” he said, opening the umbrella with a flourish. "I decided I would meet you here to walk you back to the dorms.” He smiled cheekily as he held the umbrella over the two of you.

You couldn't help the tears that had started to pool in your eyes. It had been a really long day, and being reminded how attentive your boyfriend was was a huge relief. Seeing the tears on your waterline, Riki internally panicked for a moment.

He reached over and took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. You bit your bottom lip as you watched him bring it to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Don't cry; it's okay.” He offered you a small smile before tugging you towards the school's gates. You sniffled slightly and clung onto his arm, watching as the rain fell around you.

Riki squeezed your hand reassuringly, peeking down at you every so often to make sure that you were okay.

When the two of you made it back to your dorm building, Riki shook most of the water droplets off of the umbrella as you unlocked the door. pushing it open, you walked in, letting Riki follow after you.

“I'm so exhausted,” you grumbled as you walked over to the bed and face-planted into the soft mattress.

Riki chuckled as he slid his shoes off of his feet after putting the umbrella away. He then walked over to you, grabbing your ankle softly to untie your shoelaces.

You were far too tired to care what he was doing, wanting nothing more than to just sleep after the day that you've had.

Riki slipped both of your shoes off your feet and placed them next to his at the door. Once he turned, he noticed that you were already dozing off.

“You can't fall asleep yet, weirdo; you still have your bag on.” he poked your thigh as he stood over you, but you just grumbled for him to leave you alone. Shaking his head, he leaned down to pull your body up until you were sitting up.

“Riki…” you whined as you looked up at him with a pout, hands falling in your lap after he tugged your bag off.

“Come on, let's get you changed, and we can lay down.” he offered you a smile, trying not to coo about how cute you were as your bottom lip was jutted out, and your eyes were droopy.

Sighing, you took his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He cupped your face in his palms, tilting your head up before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't help but smile softly as warmth spread throughout your body from his touch. His hands reached out to grab the hem of his shirt, balling the material in your hands.

“Did you want your normal oversized tee and shorts combo?” Riki asked, pulling away from you to walk over to your dresser. You nodded, trying your best not to flop back down onto the bed.

Riki opened the drawer that held all of your sleep shorts and oversized tees, grabbing one of each before turning back towards you.

He laid the clothes on the bed before turning back to you, taking in your confused expression.

“What are you-” you started to ask as he grabbed the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head. Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you were left standing topless in front of him.

“You can hardly keep your eyes open; you'll be lucky to put your shirt on the right if I let you.” he chuckled, reaching over to grab your night shirt and unfolding it before pulling it over your head.

You stuck your arms through the arm holes before letting him pull the fabric down your body. Your eyes stayed glued to your boyfriend's form as he helped out of your pants. Grabbing your shorts, he helped you step through the leg holes before letting you pull them up your hips while he threw your dirty clothes in the laundry hamper.

Turning back towards you, he patted down some of the stray hairs on your head, a look of adoration playing on his features.

“Are you up to eating something, or did you just want to sleep?” he asked, watching as you yawned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I really just wanna sleep, but you wanna-”

“No, we can eat later. Come on.” He shook his head before climbing onto your bed, tugging the covers back so he could get underneath them. Looking back at you, he motioned for you to join him. "Come on, dork.” He chuckled as he watched you grumble, crawling to him before just flopping down on top of him.

Riki let the covers fall over both of you as you snuggled into his chest, letting your body relax for once the entire day. Sighing contently, you let your eyes flutter closed as you inhaled his comforting scent.

Humming softly, Riki ran his fingers through your hair, watching as your breaths started to even out. His heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

“I'm sorry you had a rough day, love,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head before situating himself, closing his eyes, and joining you in slumberland.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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shinysobi · 2 months ago

Text

sleepless in busan

he's been running his whole life, and hadn't realized how tired he was.

what do you think about nostalgia?

a/n: dedicated to the wonderful people at svthub, and also to my favourite people: @gyubakeries (for tolerating all my yapping) @mylovesstuffs for beta'ing this at record speeds. also jina @facethesunflower bc shes a sweetheart and i love her genre: angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking w.c: dont even ask (12k)

hope you enjoy this, and do let me know your thoughts!

listen to the playlist

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 back to masterlist

Verse two—gukbap.

On most days, I enter the office a full hour before everyone else, a habit picked up over time as other career pursuits took up more and more of my time. Even if I can’t do overtime work, I should at least finish the work assigned to me, so that I do not make trouble for everyone else.

This morning, I get settled in, have a single cup of coffee, and I’m starting on the leftovers from the week before, when Kim, from the design department, walks in, evidently hoping to find someone else instead of me, “Editor, could you just look at the draft we sent in last night? There was supposed to be a correction that Kim needed to get to, but he didn’t really do it in time.”

“I’ll take a look,” I wave, and he slinks away, probably to talk more shit about the editing department. There are people coming in—the editor-in-chief, who spares no one a single glance as he makes a beeline straight for his office, the assistant editor who’s got way too much on their agenda, and the other people in the department, who don’t bother to care about me, in a way that’s actually impressive.

The day is slow, and I get through my tasks with frightening efficiency. By the time they call me in for an after-lunch meeting, I’m done. It’s easy, given that I don’t pay attention to my colleagues gossiping behind my back. Even at the meeting, I’m seated in a chair far away from the screen, hoping that no one calls on me to talk about my work.

The Chief, a man who rarely says anything apart from his own piece, walks in five minutes after the meeting is supposed to begin, smiling to himself as though he’s received some great piece of news that he cannot wait to share with the rest of us. There are others too—Haneul, Choi, everyone who’s already made up their minds about me as soon as I stepped foot into the Busan office from Seoul.

“Alright, we’re running late,” he says, clapping his hands to get our attention, “let’s start with the agenda for the week, shall we?”

The meeting is boring, and we take turns to talk about our designated work for the week, nothing more, nothing less. I manage to say about three sentences before mumbling a thanks and sinking back into my seat. Just ten more minutes, and you can go back.

Just as we’re about to get up, the chief waves a hand, saying, “this part of the meeting is to honour a very special person in our department, who’s managed to get recognised by a prestigious awards foundation.”

My stomach sinks. Please, god, no. already I can feel the stares at my back, people whispering is that why she took so many days off in those months? And talk about being selfish. She didn’t even tell us. I close my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this is a fever dream. I’ll open my eyes, and I’ll be back home, in the flat with a view of the sea, sipping my morning coffee, listening to that voicemail from Seungkwan. A do-over, just like I’d begged for.

“Right here,” The Chief points at me, and the room bursts out into polite, disinterested clapping, “the assistant editor, who managed to get the Daesan award, despite juggling her full workload at the same time.”

I groan internally, polite smile plastered on my face. “Thank you, sir, although I would like to thank my colleagues, who did their best to manage parts of my workload when I was off sick the previous month.”

“They were glad to do so, my girl, glad to do so!” he booms, smiling beatifically, as though he didn’t shatter the only semblance of peace I had in my work life. Fuck. Now everyone thinks I was off having fun in Seoul while they were picking up after me. “If there’s a genius like you in the department, there are people who have to make do with being second best.”

Great. Now he’s officially put the nail in the coffin of my work life. I grimace in response, and he barrels on, ignoring it, “which is why, the board of directors has taken the initiative to start our own imprint, one that will deal with fiction exclusively.”

More polite applause at this announcement, although no one really seems happy at the prospect of being saddled with more work, and the Chief amends his statement, “Of course, the work will not exactly begin until next year, giving us all ample time to prepare ourselves for a new challenge! How about it, guys?”

This time, the applause is far more enthusiastic. People shuffle out of the office as fast as they can, eager to get back to their routine work. I get up from my seat to follow suit, but the Chief stops, calling out, “Assistant Editor.”

I pause, turning back to him, “Yes, sir?”

He doesn’t waste any time getting to the point, “The board would like to use your work as the first title to be released from the new imprint.”

I squint my eyes, “Sir, we publish manuals for human resources.”

He waves a hand, dismissing all my valid concerns, “never mind about that. Just—make sure you send in a manuscript as the first title going to print.”

I repeat myself, slower this time, “Sir, we print human resource manuals. These people have no idea how to edit fiction.”

“That’s immaterial,” he waves, “why didn’t you publish with us in the first go?”

“I sent it in, actually. Through the in-house programme. Someone rejected it because it was fiction.”

He sighs, which usually means someone is getting fired, “Never mind that. How long is your contract with your publisher?”

“Five years, sir. Per usual.”

“And will you be amenable to changing companies once the five years are up?”

I stare at him, “Sir, I don’t think I can tell you that right now, given that I’ll have to talk to the company currently in charge of my publication to make a decision like this.”

The chief spends about six seconds in thought, and claps his hands, laughing, “Of course, of course—no reason why you should not prioritise one over the other.”

“After it lapses, shift your titles to the new imprint. We’re counting on you, yeah?” He’s gone, without even giving me the opportunity to say unless you pay me more than them, no. I walk out of the meeting room and back to my own station, pulling up a manual to start working on in order to kill time before I can take my leave. There’s no question of me moving my manuscripts from Seungkwan’s company to mine, unless Seungkwan is included in that package; if he moves companies, I would say yes in a heartbeat. Seungkwan is more than my editor—he knows exactly how to change my rambling sentences into coherent phrases that cut deep, and he bats for me when no one else does, has been doing so since the release of the first title. To change companies and contracts without considering him would be disloyal on my part.

There are people talking beside me. I sigh loudly, and they immediately shut up, in an impressive display of herd behaviour. Gossiping about me again, I suppose.

Are you going to say nothing, a voice tells me, someone that sounds suspiciously like my sister, needling, insistent, they’re going to badmouth you and you’re going to say nothing? Just sit there and take it like an idiot?

They’re not worth it, I reason, if they were, I would have made it known I didn’t like it. It's not important. If they get happiness from talking shit about me, they’re welcome to. No one is going to tell them anything.

You’re just going to let them walk all over you, just like that?

I shake my head, trying to distract myself. What can we have for dinner tonight? Or do you want the same meal—instant rice and a stew put together in five minutes?

Or, we could go to the diner from yesterday.

I sigh loudly, enough for the gossiping in the next cubicle to stop, running my hands over my face. Running away from the diner last night was a poor choice on my part, but when exactly have I made good choices? Worst thing about the whole fiasco was that I still owed him the money for the meal. God. Would it be okay to just drop off the money in an envelope, stashing it in front of the door? He probably has security cameras all over the front stoop. Either way, I still wanted to go back there, just for the good food; the best I had had since moving to Busan. With those skills, it was strange why no one had said anything about it in the office, especially when they all exchanged restaurant locations every week on cue.

The clock strikes five, and the Chief, ever so punctual, stands up, making his way out of the office. One by one, the people in the office also make their way out, smiling and laughing amongst themselves. Planning dinners, or something like that. I’m seated at my desk, watching people pass me by, going their own way. I still have my leftover work to get to.

The edits on human resources training manuals take a lot more time than people might think. I spend about three hours, sifting through egregious spelling mistakes that would have us recalling three hundred copies of a very expensive manual once it was sent to a company. Despite the small workforce, there were a lot of important orders coming through here, and as the Assistant Editor, it falls on me to make sure that the others are doing a good enough job. What happens after that, should be none of my business.

“Who the hell writes these manuals?” I mutter, correcting the thirteenth typo. “Don’t write words that sound similar to curses if you don’t know the proper spelling.”

The clock chimes nine, and just like that, I’ve spent about three hours working on minute edits that make no sense for any experienced editor to leave, unless of course, they’re doing it on purpose. There are two other assistant editors in the office, both of whom get to leave on time, while I am stuck here with work that should have been done by editors before me.

No. Don’t shove your responsibility onto other people. You were the one with the extended leave a few weeks ago.

I sigh, going back to my work. Perhaps it’s going to be a long night. The work is more important than you are, right now. If you do this well, your Chief might let up on getting you into the new imprint.

It’s late, when the work gets over. After the entire office has cleared out, I leave, taking my usual way across the beach. It’s already late enough for my stomach to protest, and I take the long way, walking as slowly as I can. This is the only time I have for myself, to unwind after the long day I’ve had.

Make sure to transfer the contract from your current publishing house to ours. That was a threat. A direct threat, and if I had anywhere else to go, I would have submitted my resignation. But I don’t, and so I must deal with everything—the Chief’s veiled threats, my coworkers’ disdain, the long hours that leave me with nothing but tiredness—all because I left the house, and therefore, I must survive.

My phone rings loudly, and I pick it up without even checking the caller ID. Only one person calls me right before midnight, “Yes, Mom?”

“Were you in the office?” my mother asks, “I called you before, and you didn’t pick up, so I figured you were still busy with work.”

“Yes, recruitment season is coming up, so we’re busy with writing new manuals for incoming hires,” I sigh, “never mind, I don’t want to talk about my job right now. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” my mother replies, “looks to me you’re doing fine.”

“Yes, yes, I’m so busy I can barely think of anything else,” I laugh—genuine enough that she doesn’t get the message, “why else would I be back so late?”

“At least you’re being safe, right?” she asks, worried, “you live so far away, I can’t even send you side dishes to eat.”

“Hah,” I exhale, looking at the waves crashing on the shore, “you know, Mom, you can hear the waves from here.”

“The waves?” She sounds worried. “Are you alright? You know, I’ve read what happens to the lighthouse keepers.”

“Oh my god, Mom. I’m not going to go insane like a lighthouse keeper,” I laugh, “I’ll not be going insane just because lighthouse keepers did. I live in the second largest city, not an abandoned island.”

“It sounds like an abandoned island to me,” she grumbles, “your dad worries himself every day about how you are doing.”

“Mom,” I smile, “I’ll be back home for New Years’ Eve. Could you save the interrogation until then?”

“Really?” her voice is so happy, it makes me feel slightly awkward, “I’m glad to hear that. Your sister is coming home too, with her children. Although it isn’t that much news, since they live about ten minutes away from us.”

“Still, it’s good to have one of your children be near you, right?” I laugh, and she laughs too. For a single moment, I can pretend that everything is all right in the world, that the stress of the day does not exist. “Give the phone to Dad. I haven’t heard him in a long time.”

A small shuffling noise, and my father is on the other side, gruff and stoic, “are you eating well?”

“Just had the best seafood stew at a diner yesterday,” I grin, “thinking of going back there tomorrow.”

“Seafood stew?” my father muses for a minute, “I hope they used mussels. Mussels in seafood stew is always my favourite. People don’t use mussels anymore, since they’re a bit of work.”

“They used mussels, actually,” I say, and he laughs, “it was a good place to eat, dad. Next time you come here, I’ll take you out to eat dinner.”

“Make sure they have good gukbap,” he says, serious all of a sudden, “a restaurant is never good if their gukbap is not.”

“I’ll remember that, Dad,” I laugh, before cutting the call. If their gukbap is bad, the restaurant is useless. Gukbap was easy—rice soup, made in a thousand different ways, all different, all unique to the restaurant that makes them. Easy to fuck up, if you didn’t know the exact measurements of what went into making a good soup. Clean, nothing overpowering. I remember my mother making it for me on rainy days, trying to soothe a child who would fall sick so easily it was a task to make her hold on to life.

My mother once told me I used to get so sick, so often, they thought I wouldn’t make it past my first year. Perhaps that was why they always took care of me, even in my teenage years, when all I wanted was freedom.

—

The diner is empty again tonight, devoid of customers. The owner sits at a table, writing down something in his notebook. He stands up when I walk in, all smiles, “did you forget the way here?” he asks, “it’s been almost a week since you came back.”

“Yeah, realised I was craving something,” I grin. “Do you serve gukbap here?”

“We do,” he nods, “is that all you need? I’ll be closing soon, so tell me what you want before I clean the kitchen.”

“Just that,” I take a seat at the bar—the same place where I sat the first time. “Is it always this empty, or did I just come too late?”

“The day has been a bit slow,” he explains, going back into the kitchen, “gukbap, right? It’ll be done in a minute. I don’t have pork, so you’ll have to make do, though.”

He disappears from sight, and I busy myself with my phone, looking through my notifications. It’s not as if there are a lot, but I keep seeing things pop up on my social media feed, things that I should have cut out of my life entirely. It’s not always that my failure to do anything gets me; I’ve been this way since I was a child, apparently.

You used to bottle it all up inside of you, and tell us nothing.

Perhaps that was why I ran away to Busan—a city populated enough for me to hide, and yet calm enough for me to float along it, adrift at sea, nothing more to think about, than a constant reminder of why I failed, how I failed. Is this how most people live?

The owner sets a plate in front of me, steaming rice soup with an abalone garnishing, expensive enough for me to raise my eyebrows at it, and he simply smiles in response, “Imagine waiting for someone to come by, and they ask you to make rice soup for them. It’s a request you can’t ignore, right?”

“You said you were all out of pork,” I shake my head, “and you’re serving me abalone.”

“I was out of pork, not abalone,” he smiles, taking a seat next to me. “Why did it take you so long to come back?”

“You sound like you were waiting for me.”

“I was, actually.”

I stare at him, still smiling, and for a moment, I wonder if there are hidden cameras around the diner, with people waiting for me to make a slip, popping out of their hidden corners, “Are you kidding?”

“Not at all,” He pours himself a glass of alcohol, “you remind me of myself.”

“Ah, like an old man,” I joke, looking back at the soup. “How old are you?”

“Not as old as you think.”

I shake my head, still laughing, before taking a sip of the soup, fragrant and flavourful, with the abalone providing a slight difference from the usual pork I’m used to, unlike any other place I’ve tried this at. My father was right when he said a restaurant is never good if their gukbap is not.

“They use this as comfort food here,” he explains, watching me eat, “I remember sneaking out to eat this every week when I was a trainee.”

“You were a trainee?” I look him over, and sure enough, he does look like he could be a celebrity—his features are perfect, sloping nose unusual enough for me to have taken notice the first time I walked in here, skin pale enough not to tan even under the heat of the direct rays, “you should have been a celebrity, then. Why are you working at a diner in the middle of the beach?”

“I was a celebrity, actually,” he admits. “Now I run a diner.”

“Celebrity to diner owner.” I smile, “that’s a strange path to take.”

“A good one, too,” he mutters, “it’s a pretty good job, this one.”

“A celebrity, a diner owner, and a phenomenal cook,” I count them off, “what else are you hiding?”

“What are you thinking?” he replies instead. “Since you asked me what I’m hiding, I think I should ask you what you think of it.”

“The trainee?” I chuckle, “what were you a trainee for?”

“A boy group,” He laughs, “fell through at the last minute, though.”

“Ah, is that why I never saw you online? I used to be a big K-pop fan, you know. Followed all the groups when they released new music.”

“You must know Hoshi, then?”

“Hoshi?” I pause, “He used to release really good music, but I didn’t really listen that closely. My friends do like his music a lot, though.”

He nods, and I resist the urge to run away, my friends like his music. It’s not a lie—they do like his music, have liked him since he came out with his debut single—it’s me who has been dropped from the list. If he asks about my friends, I’m not sure I could even say a single word.

“Soonyoung—I mean, Hoshi, he’s from my label,” the man explains, looking sheepish, “I mean, I used to be a trainee there.”

“Ah.” I finish the rest of my meal in silence.

“No payment, not for you.” He smiles, “I still didn’t get your name, though.”

“Do I really have to?”

He says nothing, merely grins, and waves me goodbye. On my way back from the diner, I light a cigarette as usual.

He’d looked less tired than before, less lonely, too. Did he finally have someone to talk to? He’d looked happier—serving me rice soup while I waited.

I pick up my phone to call Seungkwan, who picks up within two rings.

“Ah, noona—” he begins, and I cut him off, “Seungkwan, can I send you my pitch right now?”

“Right now?” There’s a scramble on the line. Then he’s back, “yes, tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “I go to a diner every day.”

“Huh?” Seungkwan is sceptical, as always, “what do you mean you go to a diner every day?”

“I want to write about the diner, Seungkwan,” I explain. “I don’t know—it’s just that even though I haven’t been that many times, every time I go, I come back thinking about my life differently.”

“Noona, you always think about your life. That’s why you’re the one writing, not me.”

“No—just trust me on this one, okay?” I’m begging at this point, but Seungkwan needs to be convinced, “it’s a good start, right?”

“Send me a chapter, and I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Just send me a page! God, you’re so annoying,” he huffs. “Okay, fine! I’ll do it! Just send the damn chapter before next week ends or you’ll be dealing with someone else.”

“I love you, Seungkwan.”

“Love you too.”

“Ah,” I mutter as I reach the apartment entrance. “He’s always like that, right?”

Seungkwan has always been like that, unwillingly affectionate, yet he manages to be my only cheerleader, at times. From the first day he picked up my manuscript and called me out of the blue, to our first meeting, where he said bluntly to my face, “you look sad”, and even now. He says he won’t do it, but he will. Seungkwan will move mountains for the people he loves. That’s just how he is.

My phone buzzes as I walk into my flat, with a singular message, I’m counting on you for this one, noona. Don’t fuck this up for us, please.

I smile. As if.

—

Jihoon is not particularly given to nostalgia. He hates it, has hated the feeling since he stepped out of the plane at Charles de Gaulle and felt an intense longing for the semi-basement with melon-green walls that had defined his trainee life, the boardrooms where he negotiated for his artistic freedom to an inch of his life, and even the dorms, where he lived alongside a bunch of other teenage boys, all just as clueless as him.

Until that point, nostalgia was a common feeling, the longing of a time that seemed better in retrospect, but Jihoon hated how he felt about his trainee years, and later on, his producing career. He’d thought his life had ended when the HR development team had called their group of ten boys into the melon room and announced that they were no longer moving forward with the boy group. Wonwoo had cried, as Jihoon remembers. Wonwoo had cried, Seungcheol looked furious, Minghao and Jeonghan had tried to bargain. And Jihoon—Jihoon remembers sitting down on the floor, staring blankly into the distance. He had to get up off the floor; he had to do something.

He didn’t; all he did was sit on the floor, thinking, what do I do next?

The dorm was cleared out the next week.

To this day, he hates the word, nostalgia. They’re emotions he’d rather have left behind, in the melon-coloured room which took away so much of his youth. He doesn’t hate that part of himself, just wishes he could have done it a little bit differently. He’s been running his whole life, and has never realised how tired he was. And now—all that remains of that time, are memories that he’d once thought of as commonplace.

They’d called him back from Busan three months after he’d gone back home, and Jihoon still cannot forget the hope in his heart that maybe they’d rethought the decision, that maybe he still had a shot at becoming a singer. He’d dedicated his teenage years to that dream, going to practise in Seoul when all his peers were chasing a different dream, a more attainable one, perhaps. And there was Soonyoung too, who’d joined only a month before, who didn’t really realise why they were all moving out. None of them deserved that. They’d all given up their youths, negotiated over and over with people who didn’t care about their well-being.

No one would fault you for giving it another shot, his father had told him when he was stepping out of his home, if you want to give up on this dream, that is okay, too. Remember you can always come back here.

The company had said nothing about bringing back the debut team. Instead, they’d sat him down in a room entirely different from the practice rooms and told him that they were willing to bring him on as a composer to help with Soonyoung’s debut. You’ve got to bring in a lawyer and a parent to negotiate the terms, they had said, you’re still a minor, even if you turn eighteen in a month. We can’t make a contract with a minor without a legal guardian present. Jihoon really hadn’t heard any of the words they had said, instead focusing on a single word. Soonyoung. The boy who had come in a month before the company had sent them all packing, was who they had brought back in as a soloist, apparently. For them, he was good enough, not Jihoon or the group of boys who had spent years on their craft. He’d wanted to ask them, why didn’t you bring back the debut team? We said we’d do all the producing, we said we’d help with logistics. We said we’d do all of it, so why aren’t you calling us back? Why just him?

In the end, he had accepted the terms laid out in front of him, had his father make the trip from Busan to Seoul with a lawyer to look over the contract before he signed it. Once they made sure his work was going to be owned by the company and no one else, Jihoon moved back to Busan, working on Soonyoung’s debut song in the middle of catching up with his high school assignments.

They all said he was a genius, and he was, because who else would get into a Seoul university a year after he stopped being a full-time trainee? Soonyoung debuted, and Jihoon’s name was first on the list of production credits: Woozi. He’d chosen the name before they had approached him the second time, making shit up with Seungcheol and Jeonghan on a random weeknight. They’d picked out names for each other, too—Seungcheol wanted to be called S. Coups, whatever that meant, and Jeonghan, looking at their atrocious choices, stuck with his own. “I refuse to be part of this madness,” he had said, but Jihoon wanted to keep the name Woozi. Our Jihoon, the producers and the HR development team used to call him. He wanted the name to be a tribute to the people who worked hard to make their debut possible.

Woozi debuted alongside Hoshi, and they never looked back. Jeonghan and Seungcheol both went into business administration, circling back to the same company that cut them off. Wonwoo moved courses, went into game development, and refused to look at the industry ever again. And Minghao—

Minghao had left for China the week after they sent them off, and they had all come to see him off at the airport. His eyes were dry, and Jihoon saw no sign of distress in his eyes. Minghao had moved on already.

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Minghao,” he had said, in an attempt to soothe the hurt he was going through, but Jihoon doubted they even heard any of it.

Minghao swore he’d never return to Korea. Two years later, he arrived for an exchange semester, and never seemed to leave. Xu Minghao, fashion designer. They’d all moved on in their own ways, chose to soothe themselves by doing things they never wanted to do. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and he were basically torturing themselves, working in the same company that turned them out onto the streets. Wonwoo left the industry, running as fast as he could, in the opposite direction. Minghao, who was always a man of few words, made his own path, doing something that they never really thought he would do, but he’s come back to the country he hates.

Wonwoo had once, on one of their dinners, pointed an accusatory finger at the three of them, “Why the fuck did you go back to that company? If it was anywhere else, I would have understood. Hell, I would have supported you three! But back to the same place that threw us out onto the streets?”

“Wonwoo, you’re drunk,” Seungcheol had said, mildly. “Let’s have this conversation another time.”

“No, we need to have it right now,” Wonwoo was headstrong on the best of his days, but drunk, he was stubborn to a fault, and Jihoon just stared at the man in front of him, still burdened by the experiences of his adolescence, “why the hell did you go back to the company we left?”

“They had their reasons, Wonwoo,” Minghao replies, nursing his drink, “I’m sure the decision wasn’t easy.”

“Then they shouldn’t have taken that decision,” Wonwoo mutters, slumping down against Seungcheol, “remember when they didn’t even tell us why they were disbanding the debut group?”

“They debuted Hoshi a year later,” Minghao replies, tone a shade darker, “how the hell did you manage that, hyung?”

“Huh?” Jihoon realises a bit later that the words are directed towards him, and he sits straight up, “what do you mean about that?”

“How the hell did you manage to write songs that he performed?”

“What?” Seungcheol sits up straight, looking at Minghao, “what do you mean by that?”

“I’m asking how you managed to write those songs for Hoshi, knowing the company debuted him instead of you. Instead of us.”

“Oh.” Jihoon knows he should say something, that the wounds in them run deep, even after years have passed and they have all moved on, but he really cannot. What is there to say that he hasn’t talked about? Should he tell them how he never wanted to sit in any of those meetings, where they would discuss Soonyoung’s debut single, because a little voice in his head would not shut up about the unfairness of the whole system? They were supposed to debut as a team. But they didn’t, and the company turned to Soonyoung instead, placing their dreams on the shoulders of a person who didn’t even understand the meaning of it all. Anything he said, would not hold water, not in front of the people who were hurt, whose eyes carried so much sadness. Wonwoo refused to watch anything Hoshi released, even if Jihoon was the one behind the songs. Minghao—Minghao was looking at him with such profuse betrayal in his eyes, that he knows, none of his empty words would comfort them. None at all.

Looking back at the time passed, Jihoon knew Soonyoung was suffering too, even if it never seemed like that to them. They only saw the carefully curated music stages and high-quality music videos, because it’s easier for an outsider to look in; he’d come across Soonyoung on days where the other would be holed up in the studio, not talking to anyone, focused on making everything perfect—even right up to the day before the song's release. They were jealous, they were hurting, but the experience that Hoshi was going through, that was something they could not understand.

He's still sitting in front of his work computer, when the call from Jeonghan comes through, “Did you just send in a track for a R&B song?”

“I did,” Jihoon has the sense to sound a little ashamed, “it was a bout of inspiration. I’ll change it if it’s not what you guys want.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s the most original piece of work I’ve seen you put out in a couple years,” Jeonghan’s tone is flippant, but he still sounds stressed, “I already spoke to the PDs, the concept hasn’t been decided yet. Hoshi might be releasing an indie album, or a R&B album.”

“The concept hasn’t been decided yet? Why the hell were you telling me to submit a track?”

“I need proof of life to convince them to put you on the team, Jihoon,” Jeonghan’s voice is strained, “how long do you think the people will wait around for you to show up with something other than what has been in your drafts since before you ran off?”

“That’s a bit disappointing, you know. I’m hurt.”

“You literally ran off to Paris when I was in the middle of renegotiating your contract. You can afford to take a little bit of heat.”

“That’s harsher, but it’s the truth.”

“I’m wondering,” Jeonghan says, after a beat, “what the hell gave you this much inspiration, sitting in fucking Busan, of all places. Did you have a vision or something?”

Jihoon laughs and laughs, because Jeonghan, even in his sarcasm, has hit the nail on the head; he had seen a vision. A vision of a woman in plain clothes, who carried herself as though she had a lot of weight on her shoulders. “Something like that,” he replies, “maybe I got inspiration from the waves.”

“That’s why your restaurant is smack in front of the beach,” Jeonghan laughs, “I’ll be in touch with you, and for god’s sake, call Minghao. He’s going crazy.”

“What happened to Minghao?” Jihoon’s seen Minghao crazy exactly once—when he was so angry he cursed at the staff in Chinese, throwing out all the angst of his teenage self, “what happened to him?”

“Hoshi wants to dress in his clothes for the comeback. Minghao is against it to the extent that he actually turned down every request from us to feature his clothing, and threatened me with a cease-and-desist.”

“Can you do that?” Jihoon isn’t really surprised, per se, they were all people who held grudges, deep in their hearts, and at some point, it would have had to boil over. It’s only fair it’s happening now, and not thirty years down the line.

“He says he will. A legal notice to stop us from displaying any of his work in a music video or on any of his appearances. Just talk to him once. Holding onto a grudge for eleven years seems a little bit overkill, I’m going to be honest.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him once.” Jihoon has no intention of talking to Minghao, because no matter what he says, Minghao will not change his mind once he has made it up, and he’s always been firm on this one account, “no promises.”

He sighs, and leans back into his chair. Nostalgia. Ah. It’s a word he really fucking hates.

But there was her, and she was in his mind, again, a reminder of who he was, the kind of person he had been, for the longest time. She wasn’t just someone who reminded him of the time that had passed him by, Jihoon knew her. They were the same, in fact, he still thinks they are.

His phone rings again, but this time, it’s his mother, instead of Minghao, or Jeonghan. “Hello?”

“Weren’t you supposed to come for dinner tonight?”

“Ah,” he’s looking straight at the clock on the wall, “I’m still stuck at the diner.”

“Liar.” His mom isn’t really one to mince her words, “you’re probably stressing out over your drafts right now, aren’t you?”

“How the hell did you know that?”

“I know a lot of things,” his mother sounds like she’s having fun with all of it, instead of yelling at him like she usually does, “imagine being your mom and not knowing that you smoke cigarettes, even when you’ve told everyone that you quit.”

“Mom!” he does not know how the hell she got that piece of information, but she has it, and now, he’s the one who’s in trouble, “what do you mean?”

“It’s not as if your father quit smoking either,” she says casually, “I know when someone is hiding things from me.”

Jihoon sighs, “Have you ever given police work a serious thought? You’d have become the Commissioner of Police at this rate.”

“It’s probably because I had to raise you as a child.” She replies, “come to dinner in an hour, okay? Your father has been looking forward to this for an entire week.”

Jihoon sighs, but gets up from his chair nevertheless, and slips on a jacket instead of his hoodie. His mother, who knows everything about him, was apparently too forgetful to remind her own son about the weather.

The chill settles into the air as he steps out of the car and walks into the apartment complex where his parents live, because of course they moved out of the house where they had lived all their lives, because Jihoon wanted to move to Seoul and they had no money. It’s almost uncomfortable, looking at his parents, and being reminded of why the hell they had to spend all that money, an investment that resulted in nothing but a shameful return to Busan. And they had not allowed him to give the money back.

“I’m home,” he calls out, stepping over the threshold, “why the hell did I have to come back here when I just saw you guys two days ago? Traffic was insane.”

“Your dad is sulking,” his mother greets him with a kiss on the cheek, “he lost at chess this afternoon.”

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, walking to the balcony, where his father is sitting, polishing scholar stones, “fancy a game of chess?”

“I’ve quit the game,” his father moans, and if Jihoon tilts his head far enough, he thinks he can see tears in the corner of his eyes, “don’t even mention chess in front of me anymore. I hate the game.”

“I—you used to play it for hours, dad, what happened?”

His father, full-on sniffling now, sits straight up, “that man there! Bloody Mr Kim, does he think he’s slick? I saw him cheating, I know he moved his bishop right after I turned around to wave to your mother. Why else would I lose to him when I haven’t lost a single match this past two weeks?”

Jihoon looks to his mother, who shrugs, handle this on your own. “Are you sure he swapped out the bishop’s position?”

“Yes, and I’m never going back there again,” his father announces, “he can keep his chess skills to himself.”

“Really? You mean that?” Jihoon laughs, “you said that two weeks ago too.”

“I did?” he looks up, “that doesn’t sound real to me.”

“It is, unfortunately.” Jihoon sighs, “you keep saying that you’ll quit chess, but you’re gonna go back to the park a few days later.”

“I won’t, not this time,” he grouses, “just you wait, and if I go back to the park, make sure to call me an idiot.”

Jihoon says nothing, just shakes his head, because his father will go back to the park as soon as the craving hits, because he’s never once spent more than a day not playing chess. Not to mention he’s actually great friends with Mr Kim, even if all he says is how much he hates him.

Dinner is lots of rice, and a random stew his mother put together in less than an hour, and the three of them huddle around a cooker, because his mother does not believe in the importance of letting stews cool down before making him and his father consume it. At least his father had the proper sense to put aside Jihoon’s part of the soup to let it cool down before he drank it.

After dinner the three of them clear out the table, crowding around the television, where there is a rerun of a random drama going on, and Jihoon casually pecks on a bunch of almonds. His father swipes a few of them.

“Is this Hoshi’s appearance on that variety show?” His father is pointing to the channel, where he’s changed it to Yoo Jae-Seok and Jo Se-Ho laughing on either side of Hoshi, “when did he make that appearance?”

“He shot for it a few weeks ago,” Jihoon offers an explanation, “he’s not really into giving a lot of interviews, but he really wanted to do this one in particular. He did have a lot of fun on this shoot.”

“Soonyoung seems interesting,” his mother pipes up, “why doesn’t he come by more often?”

“Because he’s too busy with a hundred different schedules, mom,” Jihoon mutters, “he has other things to do instead of coming to my house to just hang out with my parents.”

“Your other friends do.” His mother grumbles, “don’t see how he can’t, just because he’s an idol doesn’t mean he gets to ignore his friend’s parents.”

Jihoon says nothing. The last time Seungcheol came down to Busan, he’d had an argument with Jihoon, screaming and shouting at each other on the beach, fighting like they were teenagers again, this time in a parking lot instead of a basement. Seungcheol had been pissed off with Jihoon for leaving, and Jihoon had been angry with him for not understanding. They’d yelled in the beginning, and suddenly Jihoon found himself throwing punches. The fight had lasted for several minutes, and the end found them both crying their eyes out.

“How could you do this to us?” Seungcheol had said, grasping onto Jihoon’s shirt, “did you know how worried we all were? Dropping off the face of the earth with no explanation?”

“And why the hell do you care so much, Seungcheol?” Jihoon had been angry at that moment, “is it because I refused to renew the contract? Is that why?”

Seungcheol swung before Jihoon could move out of the way, screaming, “is that what you think of me? That little?”

His mother snorts, “Is Seungcheol going to get married or what? He told me was seeing someone.”

“He was seeing a therapist, last I checked,” Jihoon murmurs, “I doubt he’s got any interest in marrying right now.”

And he was right. Seungcheol had always been a little bit hot-headed, a little bit of a loudmouth. He was the one who fought with the HR team when they were disbanded, throwing one of the most impressive tantrums Jihoon had ever seen for a seventeen-year-old. To be on the receiving end of that anger was certainly an experience. He’d been seeing a therapist for it, although he still insisted that it really wasn’t such a big deal, that he was doing fine without it. Jihoon knew a bit better. Seungcheol, beneath all that bravado and bluster, was scared; just as scared as he was at that moment in time, maybe he never managed to get out of it. God knows they were all serving sentences in time, frozen in the memories of that one moment. Seungcheol and Jihoon never really managed to get out of that mindset. Seungcheol still got angry, Jihoon still deflected.

“At least he’s seeing someone,” his mother snipes, “who are you seeing, apart from your customers?”

Jihoon stills. His hesitation is plain, and his mother pounces on it like shark tasting blood, “you’ve met someone. Who was it?”

“None of your concern,” he mutters, busying himself with chewing, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s met someone nice, then,” his father laughs, “Jihoon has always been one of those people who don’t like to talk a lot about their love lives.”

“I don’t have one.”

“But you met someone,” his mother leans in, eyes glinting, “go on, who was it? Did you get her name, at least?”

“No, I did not. And she’s just a customer, it’s that she feels a lot like me.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” his father tuts, and Jihoon makes a face. I should have never even tried to lift his spirits, “he likes her a lot.”

“I don’t!”

And he does not. He’s not even interested in her romantically; he just wants to know her a little bit better. He wants her to feel a bit more comfortable, at least be a bit more comfortable with him. He wants to be the one she opens up to, because—ah fuck, he’s interested, isn’t he?

After dinner, he goes out for a smoke with his father, who refuses to smoke, but still does, taking a cigarette from the box from Jihoon, “your mother hates this, you know.”

“She still tolerates it, because you don’t have a drinking habit.” Jihoon laughs, “she hates drinking.”

“Your mother is an angel, you know that, right?” His father smiles, puffing out rings of smoke, “she’s always been empathetic, even when she didn’t really have to be.”

“She’s the one who kept at it, telling me to go to Paris when I told her I was not feeling great.”

“Both of us wanted to tell you that, you know.” His father sighs, “you used to come back home after months at a time, dark circles underneath your eyes, and we lay awake thinking what the hell was Seoul putting you through. Even during your trainee days, you never came home stressed out and tired.”

“I was going through a lot, it seems,” Jihoon murmurs, “at least I got to get out of it. I don’t think it's been that easy for anyone else.”

“I know.”

His father continues, “I know the others—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Minghao—they’re all suffering. Minghao still refuses to acknowledge the company, and Wonwoo doesn’t even put on music when he watches television. You’ve all been stuck in your personal brand of hell, ever since that day. It’s difficult, trying to move on from an experience that shaped your whole life. Hell, even your careers were impacted by this.”

Jihoon says nothing. He really thought he was hiding it well, but apparently in front of his parents, he has been able to have exactly zero secrets.

“You think I didn’t know why you three went to work in the same company? Jeonghan and Seungcheol didn’t even have to do all that, they had other places they could go to. But they went there, and chose to work with some of the very people who disbanded the project.”

“The Seventeen Project.” Jihoon interrupts, “It was The Seventeen Project.”

“And they treated ten of you boys like it was nothing. That will leave an impact, even if you’ve all moved on with your lives.”

Jihoon nods. His father is right about all that. They’re still stuck in that room, that fucking melon-green walls closing in on all of them, even in adulthood. They grew, moved out of their homes and into university, they moved on but really, had they?

“Don’t think too much about it,” his father says, when Jihoon opens the door to his car, hands full of leftovers, “just remember that it’ll be worth it in the end.”

It’ll be worth it in the end. Hah. Jihoon wants to laugh, but instead, he just nods, seatbelt clicking into place as he makes his way down the narrow street. It’s a five-minute walk from his restaurant, but his parents’ house is in the middle of a neighbourhood full of residential buildings, which means the street leading up to the house is triple-parked. Extricating any kind of vehicle is a task, and he’s trying his best to get his car out of the mess, when he sees her. This is the third time he’s seeing her, and it’s the same feeling as the first time—the same heady rush of excitement, the same feeling of déjà vu. For a moment, he’s transposed to the Jihoon of three years before, running frantically behind deadlines, without a moment to think for himself.

Without thinking too much about it, he opens the door, jumping down, “Hello.”

She merely raises an eyebrow. “Are you in the habit of making home deliveries too?”

“Home deliveries?” Jihoon stares at her, only realising that he’s still holding onto the leftovers from dinner, “ah, I was having dinner with my parents.”

She gives him a sad smile, “ah, dinner with the parents. That sounds great, actually. I’m going to have my own dinner right now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She makes a move to pass him, and he steps in front, “Ah, hold on, hold on, do you want to have dinner with me?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, and he can feel the weight of her gaze, “Didn’t you say you had dinner with your parents?”

“I did?” He’s racking his brains, “ah, yes, yes I did.”

“You did,” she raises an eyebrow, “now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She moves past him now, and Jihoon sees her walk past him, towards her house, wherever it is. He’s not interested, not at all, it’s just that she reminds him of himself. Yes, that’s what it is. She just reminds him of himself. Not interested. Her shoulders are drooping, barely holding on against the weight of the world, and he just thinks to himself, she looks so lonely.

Was that how he’d looked to the others? That lonely? Was this how the great Lee Jihoon was to others, this sad, lonely shell of a human being, whose loneliness was measurable by how their shoulders dropped when their backs were turned. He’s seized with a sudden bout of self-loathing, of course his parents worried when he looked like this.

“You never really gave me your name, you know!” He yells, fully aware of how desperate he looks, but he’s damned if he lets another person become Lee Jihoon again, “I gave you my name, right?”

She turns. And with that enigmatic smile still fixed into place, “No, you didn’t. I don’t know your name, either.”

“Ah.” Now he’s getting embarrassed. He’s supposed to be slicker than this, damn it. “Do you want to know my name?”

She laughs and laughs and laughs. It’s a different sound than what he’s used to, a mix of sad and happy, almost as if she’s fighting against her instinct. She sounds more carefree than he’s ever imagined her to be, not that he’s imagined her in any sense of that word. “You really want to tell me your name?”

“It’s Jihoon,” he stumbles over his words in his hurry. “Lee Jihoon. That’s my name. You don’t even have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

A beat. Then, “you’re right,” she says, with no sense of anger in her tone, “it’s getting late, Lee Jihoon. Go back home.”

And with that, she’s gone. Jihoon wants to hit himself on the head, but he’s sane, a sane adult who would never do anything like that, and so, instead of running away from her, he walks back to his car, and calls up Jeonghan, who answers in a single ring, “what?”

“Should I come back to Seoul?” Jihoon bursts out, “not that I want to go back, I hate the city, but I don’t think I should be living in Busan anymore. I need to move somewhere else. Jeju? England?”

“Hold on, you’re not making any sense.” There’s a lot of background noise, and Jeonghan shuffles a bit before saying, “did she reject you?”

“Who—no! No one rejected me!” Jihoon yells into the phone, putting his car into reverse gear, “I just think I should have a change of pace. England seems perfect for this. Should I go?”

“Who’s the girl, Lee Jihoon?” Jeonghan teases, “you’re never really this insistent on anything if it's not for a girl.”

“I do not do that.”

“Agree to disagree.” Jeonghan laughs, “did she reject you?”

Jihoon sighs. There’s no escaping Jeonghan, is there? “She just said she doesn’t want to tell me her name.”

“Oh. That’s got to hurt, hasn’t it?”

“Incredibly.” Jihoon is groaning into the phone, “I’ve never really met anyone like her.”

“This down bad, already? You haven’t even met her more than twice.” Jeonghan laughs, and then his tone shifts, “it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this agitated over a girl. Not until middle school, I think.”

“Ugh. Don’t even remind me of that.” Jihoon wants to die every time people remind him of that time; he should have never told anyone about the crush he’d had in middle school. Jeonghan had never let go of it, it seems, “anyway, let me know what I can do about this mess.”

“She’s a regular at the diner, you say?”

“Well, she’s only been there a couple times, so I can’t really call her a regular. But she might be one.”

“Well, Jihoon, I don’t know how to say this to you, but you’ve fucked up.” Jeonghan laughs, “at least give the girl some space before you start with your nonsense about knowing their names and telling them how much you love and adore them.”

“I have never once done that.”

“You just told me you did,” Jeonghan sighs. “Just—give them as much space as they want. You get over excited when it comes to them, just back off a bit until they approach you in the first place. No need to start going all out when you don’t even know if it’s going to last.”

“Solid advice.” Jihoon’s pulling into his own driveway, equally populated by cars and congested, “how much do you want to bet I won't be adhering to that?”

“I don’t take shit bets, Jihoon.”

—

It’s a seaside diner. One that stands alone in the middle of the wharf, serving customers from evening till they close. It’s a small diner, nothing special. They have seafood on the menu: haemul-tang, gukbap. Everything you need to make the end of an otherwise normal day, unusual.

The person behind the counter is a man, who looks at me like he knows who I am. As if my existence here is a bout of déjà vu for him, a trick of the mind. I am nothing but a long-lost memory to him, a reminder of the person that he once was, or he still might be.

If this was a romance novel, I would say something obvious, comment on how good he looks, standing behind the counter, standing as though he had been waiting for me all his life. I do nothing like that, instead walking over to a side, ordering the first dish that comes to my mind.

When he prepares the food, I look at him. His shoulders droop, his eyes close from time to time. It reminds me of a psychology lecture: when you want to know more about someone, make sure you see them once, from behind. People have barriers, walls they construct around themselves to act as shields from the world. Take a look at people when they have their backs turned to you. You might see a lot more of them than they let on.

This man is lonely. I can see that, from the way he wipes his hands on the edge of the towel, from the way he smiles at me before setting down my order in front of me, every action of his, accentuated by his long, slim fingers that seem almost ethereal. Everything tells me about his loneliness.

And to be honest, am I not lonely either? I’m having dinner by myself at a diner while the rest of my office gets off work to go back to their families. I am here, spending my time with an unfamiliar man, on a night when I probably should be with company.

Loneliness grows comforting when there is nothing else to compare it to.

I hit ‘send’ on the email, and predictably, Seungkwan calls me half an hour later. “Yes?” I pick up, “did you like it?”

“It’s great. Nothing out of the ordinary for you, but I just want to know one thing,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “are you in love with that man?”

“What?” I sputter. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“The owner!” he screeches, “you write about him in a way that makes me wonder if you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not,” I say, “aren’t you watching too many dramas nowadays? Is this what they teach you guys?”

“They don’t teach us how to write dramas. That’s on you,” Seungkwan laughs, “this paragraph right here, when you describe how lonely he looks to you, is that not a confession?”

“It’s not a fucking confession!” I’m yelling now, pacing rapidly around the apartment, “it’s nothing! I’m not even interested in him that way!”

“Really? Who is he, by the way? Just some random restaurant owner? Because I’ve never seen you write about anyone other than the people who’ve been in your life for more than half a decade, hell, you didn’t even write about Kim Mingyu, and we all know how you feel about him—’

“I’ve known him for only a fortnight, Boo Seungkwan,” I interrupt, and on the other side, Seungkwan cackles, as though he’s stumbled on the juiciest piece of gossip in a short while, “don’t even dare to take this out of context. I’m not someone who does things on a whim. And for god’s sake, stop bringing up Mingyu every time you lose an argument.”

“I don’t do that, and you know it.”

“Really?”

“Never mind,” Seungkwan laughs, “at least tell me if he’s cute.”

“He isn’t.”

“Liar.” He laughs again, and I keep wondering what exactly it is about my life that makes Seungkwan think that all of this is a big fucking joke, “I’ll give you the edits by tomorrow, but this two-page script is enough for the issue, I think.”

He cuts the call, and I throw the phone away to sit back down on the sofa. What the hell was Seungkwan thinking? Just because I wrote about that man, doesn’t mean I am interested. Hell, I don’t even know his name yet. Nothing about the two interactions I have had with him points to any degree of attraction.

But that’s not true, is it, a voice tells me, you know his name, you just don’t want to acknowledge it.

Lee Jihoon, he had shouted at me, as though we were standing on the opposite sides of a gorge instead of three metres away on an empty street. Lee Jihoon. A beautiful name, that. He looked distraught, as though he had been agonising over the decision to call my name out on that empty road.

A step forward would have been too much for him, perhaps, but I was the one who pushed him away in the first place.

It’s a funny thing, to be on the precipice of a decision. I could have told him my name, could have told him who I was, or I could have just let him know that I wasn't averse to spending time with him.

Except when I went to say my name, the same voice inside my head, which has been a part of me for so long, insisted: why are you doing this? When you know he will leave you. Everyone who knows you will leave you, so better for you to do it first. If you hurt yourself before they do it to you, then you’re not going to be affected at all. It’s better this way, so just leave it at that.

But this can’t be an excuse, can it? I can’t keep telling myself that all the time. All my life, I’ve never allowed myself to want. Truly want something. There’s so much I could have had in life, if I allowed myself to reach out and grab it, instead of stepping back, thinking what if. Fear of failure suppressed the desire to win, and the person who has suffered the most, is me.

I pick up my phone, dialling the first contact that pops up, and my mother’s voice floats through, “this late at night? Is everything okay?”

Funny, how she always asks that. Even during university, when I was going through perhaps the worst phase of my life, I never had anyone ask me, ‘are you doing okay?’ But now I am here, and my mother is asking this.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, “did you have dinner?”

“It’s almost midnight, child,” she replies, “of course we had dinner. Your father keeps asking about you, though. He’s thinking of coming down to Busan to see you next week.”

“Next week?” I make a mental list of everything I need to finish by next week if my father came to visit: I need to finish cleaning my house, something I have been putting off for weeks, put away all my clothes to make sure it’s not in piles of laundry on my chair, and finally, get rid of all the cigarette packs, because my father is not aware of my smoking habit. No one is, actually, save the people in my workplace, who all look at me like I’m some kind of alien when I join the men on the terrace to take a smoke break, Seungkwan, who’s told me to stop it so many times he’s one step away from nagging me with cancer PSAs, and of course, Lee Jihoon, who looked at me like it was a habit he knew all too well. I also need to restock my groceries, because my father likes cooking elaborate meals at home — a passion he’s turned into a hobby after his retirement.

“Next week,” my mother replies, “he’s booked the tickets already. He wants to see first-hand how you’re doing.”

“Dad never does that, though.”

“He does,” she repeats, “he’s always been a sucker for the two of you. He’s going to come by, so make sure you take him to that diner you found the other week. He’s been going around telling me he wants to have the gukbap there.”

“Diner?” I’m stunned for a moment, to hear my father act this way, my stoic father, who never really had a bout of excitement over anything save our grades, “he really wants to have rice soup at a seaside diner in Busan? Is that why he’s coming?”

“That’s not why, of course,” my mother’s tone grows pensive, “you’ve always been more closed-off than your sister. He worries, that’s all.”

“And you don’t?”

“Don’t take my words out of context,” I laugh at that, because of course I am closed-off, of course I am someone who hates talking about their feelings, of course I am all that. It's who I am, it’s a part of my soul. I cannot change it now, even if I want to, “he’s coming to see you, you know. He worries a lot. We worry a lot.”

“I’m doing fine, mom,” I sigh, “there’s really no need for anyone to come down to Busan, of all places. If you want, I can go to Seoul next week.”

Yes, this is right. This way, I can go to Seoul, and my father won’t have to be seen with the image of his youngest daughter living half a life in another city. Of all the things I know about my father, this is one I am sure about; knowing how I live will break his heart. He won’t be able to take it.

There’s a reason why I hid everything from them as a child, after all.

“No, he’s pretty adamant on going down,” my mother reasons, “at least this way he’ll get to go out of the house.”

I laugh, “When’s the last time he did that?”

“Don’t even ask me,” my mother sighs, “he keeps saying he doesn’t need the exercise, but he really does. Ask anyone, and you’ll know exactly why. He’s just being lazy.”

“He still likes playing chess, doesn’t he?”

“That’s all he does. Sometimes he’ll go out of the house to get groceries, and have the neighbour’s kid deliver it to the house while he spends hours in the park playing chess with old men. Even the neighbour’s kid is angry with us, at this point. Did you know he’s managed to establish a chess club for the retirees in the neighbourhood?”

“You always complain about him, mom, but in the end, you’re the one who keeps up with all his demands,” I sigh, “but does he really need to come by? Can’t I just come to see you both in Seoul next weekend? I can make it; it’s not a big deal.”

“Are you avoiding it?” she asks, and I want to do two things; smack my head on the nearest hard surface, or throw my phone away entirely. Of course I’m avoiding hosting my father. “No, I’m not,” I reply, “just thinking about all the things that I need to do before he lands in Busan.”

After a bit more of small talk, mom cuts the call, and I lie down on the bed, still in the clothes I was supposed to have taken off before I slept. From tomorrow, I will clean the apartment, make it fit for my father to stay over, but tonight, I want a little bit of peace.

Outside my window, it starts raining, unseasonal torrential downpours that make their peculiar noise on my window panes, and I think of that man. Lee Jihoon. The owner of the diner by the sea, with a smile that seemed to be crafted out of sadness. I wonder if he likes the rains, or if his work was affected by the downpours. Nothing would happen to the diner, I’m sure, but even the thought of it is saddening, losing one of the main reasons behind my recent small happinesses. It’s funny how this random place went unnoticed by me all these years, but now that I’ve had a meal here twice, I cannot think of my life in Busan without it.

I wish nothing happens to him, I think, before drifting off to sleep.

—

The rains are unpredictable this year, Jihoon had heard from fishermen on the coast, the rains have always been unpredictable, but this year, they seem to possess a mind of their own entirely. Jihoon isn’t too bothered by this, because as long as he’s been alive, the rains have always been unpredictable. The fishermen have always said the same things, and they have always had rains at pretty much the same time as everyone else. There really was nothing to be afraid of.

But today, as soon as he steps foot onto the stoop of his diner, the skies open, and cold drops of water drench him halfway almost immediately. He’s left standing on the stoop of his restaurant, looking angrily at the skies. Damn it, I should have heard them when they said the rains were unpredictable this year. His shirt is drenched, he’s about to catch a cold, and all he can think about is how he should have listened to the bloody fishermen. They knew better, of course they did. And he hadn’t listened, which resulted in this—him getting pelted with rain in the middle of winter.

He's drying himself off, when his phone rings, and this time it's Minghao, calling in the middle of the night. Jihoon doesn’t even remember the last time Minghao called him this late at night, after their teenage years. There hasn’t been an occasion for him to do so, after all.

He picks up the call, and before Jihoon can ask him about the reason behind this call, Minghao is losing his shit on the other end of the line, “Did you know, Jeonghan asked me if he could use my designs for Hoshi’s next comeback? He wants to have Soonyoung dress up in my designs for the showcase.”

“The showcase?” Jeonghan hadn’t told him this, of course, but Jihoon had a sneaking suspicion this was a miscommunication on both their parts, “I would have thought he wanted to put your work in the music video.”

“The context doesn’t matter, what matters is that I don’t want this to happen,” Minghao seethes, “I sent them a cease-and-desist letter, to make them stop this madness. I don’t know how to make myself clearer; I don’t want any artist from that damn company to be wearing my designs. Least of all Soonyoung.”

Jihoon sighs. He knew getting Minghao to agree would be impossible; he hadn’t realised how deep Minghao’s grudge against the company ran. “Maybe the legal notice was a bit overkill, but you’re entirely justified in not wanting Soonyoung to wear your work. Do you want me to talk to Jeonghan?”

“No, I know he asked you to talk to me,” Minghao mutters, “he knows that you’re the person with the most sense in the group.”

“Minghao,” Jihoon asks, “why don’t you let go of the grudge? It’s been eleven years already, you’re established, I’d wager. Why are you still holding on to that one moment from all those years ago?”

“Hyung,” Minghao sighs, “have you ever thought to yourself, why you wanted to run away?”

Jihoon stops in his tracks. The rain is still pelting, and his entire shirt is drenched, but somehow, at this point in time, he doesn’t seem to care at all. All that is ringing in his ears are Minghao’s words, “what do you mean?”

“You ran away from Seoul, and we all kept looking for you,” Minghao says softly, “but I used to be envious of you, really. I wanted to run away, just like you did.”

“Minghao,” Jihoon mutters, “you know why I left. Under what circumstances I had to make that decision, you know everything, so why the hell are you—”

“But were those circumstances really necessary?” Minghao’s voice is sharp now, sharper than Jihoon has ever heard it before, “if you didn’t go back to that company, hell, if the three of you went your separate ways, was it going to be necessary for you to take that long break? You didn’t even maintain contact with any of us, and that hurt, really.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything for a long time. How can he? He’s the one who left, he’s the one who forced the rest of them to pick up the pieces of a disaster that they did not have a hand in, “I’m sorry, Minghao,” he replies, after a beat, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t blame you man, not at all,” Minghao, on the other end, seems to be fighting tears, “I left for China as soon as they told us to go back to our homes. I didn’t look back either.”

“Yes, but we were teenagers then.”

“Sometimes I wonder if things could have been different, after a point. If there were any of us with you when you were at your lowest, if we had been there.” Minghao’s tone is pensive, “if we could have held you back, just for once, would things have been different?’

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He’s struck dumb by this revelation, because Minghao is not wrong, at all—he was selfish, and was an awful person when it came to his decision to leave. “I felt guilty, we all did,” Minghao sighs, “I’m not blaming you, hyung, just saying.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he laughs, but it sounds hollow to his ears, and he wonders if Minghao, on the other side of the call, can hear it too, “doesn’t matter at all.”

“I wish things were different, hyung,” Minghao says, finally, “I’m not going to retract the legal notice, but I wish things were different. Maybe in another time, I would not be sending this notice to the company. But in this lifetime—we’ve got to do whatever we can, right? I know he got what he worked for, and I’m not holding a grudge for that. I just want to understand why it seems like he’s the only one of the entire group of us, who seemed to get whatever they wanted, while we’re the ones who cannot seem to move on from a moment at seventeen.”

“Right.” Jihoon shuts up until Minghao cuts the call, and all of a sudden, the expanse of the sea rushes at him, swallowing him whole. He hadn’t realised when he had stepped onto sand, entirely soaked by the freezing water. Minghao had felt guilty, everyone had. And Jihoon had—

Jihoon had left, of course. He was the one who left, leaving everything behind.

It’s easy to cry in the rain. Your tears are obscured by the failing drops, and all you need to do is hide it as best as you can. Jihoon has realised this now—that tears are cathartic, that they are somewhat of a balm to soothe the hurt caused by his own actions.

As he crumples onto the wet sand, sobbing his heart out, he thinks back to the moments of his youth, the dorm shared with the boys, and everything they had shared, once upon a time. All those memories, now restricted to work calls and pub hangs and legal notices. Who would have thought that the five boys who never really thought beyond their dinner, would grow up to be so complicated?

He really hates nostalgia.

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crowsofdarkness · 5 months ago

Text

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Three

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

My knee bounced with nerves and I did my best to calm my breathing, unsure of what was about to happen. I had been staring at the closed door for awhile now, wondering what was taking so long in this meeting. From what I was told, it was only for Bucky to talk with Tony about funding his next project; half hour tops. So why was it nearing an hour now?

I think it was more so that I was nervous about Bucky wanting to talk with me afterwards.

“Have a great day, Mr. Stark. We will see you next month.”

I watched as Steve bid a goodbye to Tony before standing to my feet. “How bad did you get in trouble?”

He chuckled. “I think you forgot that Bucky and I are good friends. He knows that if he fires me that I would be back the next day.”

“Oh, right,” I nodded.

He motioned towards the open door. “But he does want to talk with you.”

“Great,” I muttered.

Steve gave me a warming smile of luck as I walked past him, into Bucky’s office.

He was sitting on his couch with his legs spread wide, a silent invitation to take a seat between them. I almost accepted that invitation.

Almost.

“You wanted to see me?” I clasped my hands behind my back.

Bucky pointed with his chin to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I didn’t waste another second and followed his demands; with a fire burning in my stomach.

“Can you explain why Mr. Stark didn’t receive your call?” He asked.

I let out an annoyed breath. “I already told you. I did call him and left him two voicemails. It’s not my fault that he chose to ignore them.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Y/N.”

“And I don’t appreciate being made as if I can’t do my job,” I shot back. “Also, who I flirt with, if I was, is none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed. “It is when it’s interfering with your work.”

I bit my tongue, not wanting to snap at him in fear of losing my job.

“It’s not, believe me. Unlike your and Natasha’s morning rendezvous,” I said with my arms crossed.

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, face dropping a bit. “You heard?”

I scoffed. “Kind of hard not too when you guys are not even trying to be quiet.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N if it made you uncomfortable. I told her that we shouldn’t do it here,” Bucky sighed while pinching his eyes shut.

“Didn’t sound like you were complaining,” I muttered to myself.

He was looking at me with a sheer intensity, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Sounds like you're jealous, doll.”

Heat engulfed my entire body at his nickname and I shifted in my seat, hoping he couldn’t tell how it was affecting me.

“Are we done here? Can I get back to work? Or unless I’m fired,” I asked.

Bucky shook his head. “There’s no way I could fire you. But I do have an assignment for you.”

He handed me an empty leather bag. “I need you to go to Thor’s place to receive his monthly payment. He’s late and I’m tired of waiting.”

I raised a brow while taking the bag from him. “Monthly payment?”

“I allow his men to deal on my streets for a price,” Bucky informed.

I slowly nodded, the revelation unsettling me. I knew that Bucky was into some sketchy and illegal stuff but he usually did a great job at hiding it from me. Which also confused me on why he was sending me to get this money. It seemed like something Steve or Sam should do.

“I’ll get Steve and head out,” I said while standing to my feet.

Bucky quickly followed. “No, I have him running another errand for me. Take Sam.”

“He’s out sick, remember?” I reminded him.

He cursed before nodding after a few moments. “Let me grab my coat.”

“You’re coming with?” I asked, shocked.

Bucky never ran his own errands. That’s what he paid his men for.

“There’s no way I’m sending you into Thor’s place alone.”

Fear filled me when I wondered what I was about to walk into.

“Well if you’re going, do you still need me to?” I asked, trying to find a way out of it.

Bucky opened the door, motioning me along with his head. “Think of it as time for us to get to know each other.”

The car pulled to a quiet stop in front of an older, somewhat abandoned, warehouse on the other side of town and I couldn’t help but look up towards it in slight angst. We had driven for about twenty minutes and the only words spoken from Bucky were to his phone as he had a conversation, in Russian. The arousal that itched at my core had burned between my legs the entire drive, up until we stopped in front of the building.

Asgardian Industries.

“So is Thor another mob boss? I questioned.

Bucky nodded. “He runs this side of town. Everyone thinks he’s some sort of God.”

I didn’t miss the tone of his voice; annoyance.

“You don’t think so?” I smirked.

“He’s an arrogant prick,” he stated.

“Should I stay in the car?”

He immediately shook my head. “I don’t trust this neighborhood. I’d feel a lot better if you were with me.”

Bucky told his driver that we would be back shortly and I decided on following him close, not wanting to fall behind.

I gave him a smile of thanks as he held the door open for me and continued to follow him through what I originally thought was an abandoned warehouse. The outside looked old and run down, but inside was bright and lively. Music was blasting throughout, echoing off the brick, as large groups of people danced and drank, not caring how early in the afternoon it was.

“Stay close,” Bucky breathed in my ear, his vibranium fingers gently grasping at my elbow.

Chills ran over my body at the sensation and when I felt his hand slide down to my lower back, I did my best to keep my excitement at bay.

“Woah, you know I can’t let you in there.”

A woman appeared almost out of thin air and placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, stopping him from entering through the door. Bucky’s eyes bounced from the hand to the face of who had halted us.

“Valkyrie, we’ve had the same conversation how many times now? I don’t need an appointment to see him when Thor owes me money,” Bucky sighed.

Clearly this wasn’t the first time this happened. My hands twitched nervously as I watched between the two of them.

“He’s busy. Why don’t you come back another time,” she smirked.

Bucky sighed once more and he pushed me past the woman, Valkyrie, both of us walking into the room; the protests being shouted behind us. It all seized when Bucky shut the door.

A man, a very large man, sat at the end of a long table and as he looked up from the papers in front of him, his long blonde hair wisped around his face.

“Barnes, why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by!”

Even with the smile that broke out on his face, I could tell that he was in fact not happy that we were here.

“Thor?” I quietly asked Bucky.

He nodded. “He’s probably six cups deep in Asgardian Ale right now.”

I averted my gaze back towards Thor, who in fact stumbled over his feet as he stood from the table, ready to greet us. Reluctantly, Bucky shook his hand and it quickly was in its previous spot on my lower back. His fingers pressed lightly into my body and I shivered at the feeling.

Thor’s bright eyes landed on me, a sly smirk playing at his lips.

“Who is this?” He asked with a hand extended.

I looked at it before looking at Bucky, who simply nodded.

“Y/N, I work for Bucky,” I introduced while shaking his hand.

My own felt small in the size of his and there was no warmth to it, only bitter coldness. I quickly pocketed my hands into my coat in search of warmth.

“So, let’s cut to the chase,” Bucky said while thrusting the bag into Thor’s chest. “50k. And don’t try to low ball me like last time.”

Thor ran a hand over his beard. “Did I? I’m pretty sure I gave you the correct amount.”

While they bicker back and forth about the amount, I let my eyes wander around what I assumed was Thor’s office. A large throne-like chair from where he was previously sat at the table, and a large glass case that looked like weapons shone bright in the room.

A hammer and large ax caught my attention. Thor must have noticed because he snickered.

“Mjölnir and Stormbreaker.”

My eyes fell on him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Thor nodded towards the weapons. “Those have been passed down in my family for generations. Norse mythology states that they both wield immense power, only certain men can hold them. They must be worthy.”

“You do know that mythology is basically made up stories, right?” I informed him.

Thor scoffed. “Why don’t you stay a little while and I can show you how true it is. I’m sure Bucky won’t mind if I bring you back to work afterwards.”

At the mention of his name, I peered over my shoulder and noticed he had walked to the other end of the room, bag open on the table as someone had been stuffing it full of cash. However, his attention was elsewhere, watching intently the interaction between Thor and I.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m fine,” I gave him my best smile and tried to walk away.

He quickly stepped in front of me, blocking the path towards Bucky. I sighed, annoyed.

“One hour, that’s all I need,” Thor winked.

My face scrunched up in disgust with his innuendo. “No thank you.”

We did the same dance of me trying to step away only for him to block my path once more.

“You will not be disappointed, Y/N. I promise you that.”

I went to speak, some not nice words ready to be spewed, however Bucky was back to my side with his hand on my lower back. He pulled me closer towards his chest. The safety I felt brought a small smile to the corner of my lips and I eased into him.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry I walked away. Needed to make sure I got everything I was owed.”

I waved him off, letting him know it was alright.

Thor’s eyes danced between the two of us. “I thought you were married, Barnes. To a redhead.”

My shoulders slumped but did my best not to let Bucky see.

“I am,” Bucky nodded. “But it’s none of your business.”

“So then why don’t you let Y/N stay here awhile,” Thor’s eyes glazed over every inch of me, his tongue slowly rolling over his lips.

It was as if he was imagining tasting me and I shivered at the mere thought, not liking how persistent Thor was.

“Everything alright?” Bucky’s lips brushed against the skin of my ear.

His warmth breath caused my skin to burn and I looked deep into his blue iris’. Bucky looked breathtaking this close up and as much as I wanted to nibble on his bottom lip, I couldn’t ignore the way Thor continued to watch me with hunger in his eyes.

“Can we go?” I asked quietly.

Bucky quickly nodded, leading me away with a gentle pat to my back.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Thor,” He called over his shoulder. “See you next month.”

“Feel free to send Y/N alone!” Thor yelled back.

My skin crawled at his words but it was short lived as Bucky wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, a way to protect me as we walked out of the warehouse, farther away from Thor’s hungry eyes.

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan

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laswells-ashtray · 7 months ago

Text

John never thinks too hard about his childhood, he thinks he's past it. Drunken dad who died when he was a teen, mum who died the day he was born. No point wasting time on that and he thinks he's outgrown that point in his life. Maybe Dad was a bit heavy-handed with the belt but that was more acceptable back then, no need to fuss, and when he compares it to the stories Simon let slip when they both went a little too hard with the drink, he has nothing to complain about.

He never shares any family stories, yeah, Soap will share a story about how he was named after his dad and it sparks a conversation, Kyle will explain the origin of his name proudly, Simon will offer a sparse answer and none of them will ask for any further context. John will offer some half-assed explanation about being named after his old man's old man, someone he never met and never thinks about. Kyle asks him about his mother with a gentleness that can only mean he's noticed that John never talks about her, he offers the classic "never knew her" and it isn't a lie. It isn't. Because he didn't know her, she left earth the same day he made his appearance on it, the value of his life has always been at the cost of another, it's why he makes such a good captain. And he's sick of hearing "oh, I'm sorry" whenever he mentions that he's dead. He's a grown man, he can only hear so many apologies before they become just pointless words that hold no value.

So, it doesn't bother him. Two people he knew are dead, they started the list of countless other names that he doesn't bother thinking about.

And then he comes back from a mission one day, it was a shitshow. Nothing went to plan because their intel was fucked and everyone is frustrated. Ghost had to get stitches in a wound on his arm, isn't the end of the world but it was avoidable. Gaz, the poor fucker is concussed and Soap has the fun job of waking him up every two hours to check on him, a job he was assigned by a medic after they pulled the glass out of his hand. John is almost certain his ankle is sprained, his entire body is a bruise, he lost a good fucking cigar and he snapped at Laswell over comms so he owes an apology that he's planning in advance.

He wants Nik, it might be juvenile but he's tired in a way he can feel in his bones and he wants his pilot.

He finds Nik, he doesn't have to say anything as they head back to his room. Nik knows, Nik always knows. There's the briefest of exchanges as he strips out of his kit and he heads to the shower with the slightest relief knowing that his night is going to end in lazy sex and being stuck under the warm blanket of the Russian bear of a man.

He walks out with damp hair in a pair of boxers and socks because the floor is fucking cold with the constant draft and all but collapses face-first onto his bed. He'll offer Nik a murmured apology later for being selfish but he just isn't sure he can form the words right now.

He can hear Nik kicking off his boots behind him with little care as to where they land, it's a familiar sound from nights like this. He's as relaxed as he's going to get until he hears it, the sound of someone fumbling with their belt buckle. For years it's been just a noise but for the briefest of moments he tenses up in preparation, shoulders raised instinctively to try and block the leather from catching the back of his neck. He's not sure if he's breathing and he can smell whisky, the old fucker must've lobbed the bottle at the wall again and the last dredges of Johnnie Walker red label are soaking into the carpet again. If he doesn't remember to clean it before he goes up to bed then he's fucked, the old drunk will wring his fucking neck just like last time when he-

"John?" The hand on his back is warm as it lands between his shoulder blades, it should be comforting and he should relax into it. He doesn't. He's ashamed of the way he flinches, kicking out a leg as he tries to push himself up the bed and away from it hits him. It's Nikolai. The hand belongs to Nik.

He turns to face the other man, lying on his side and propped up with an elbow. He isn't sure if the sheer mortification he feels is obvious, or the tremors in his hands. He hasn't reacted like that since he was a boy.

"Fuck, Nik. Sorry, just lost in my own fucking head- Sorry, give me a sec and we can get to it." It's humiliating, he's the one who asked for sex and a fucking belt sends him over the edge.

"No, no `getting to it`. We shall continue another night." And there he's gone and done it, his fucking inability to keep his composure has just put a dampener on their sex life.

The cautious way Nikolai reaches out for him hurts, he's being treated like some scared animal. The large hand on his shoulder does act as a source of comfort when he knows who's behind it. "John, перестань. Talk to me, captain."

"I don't- I don't know, just give me a moment." How long can he spend pleading for just a little more time before Nikolai gets sick of it.

"The belt."

He looks up at the Russian with wide eyes, mouth open as he tries to form a denial of some kind, waiting for words that won't form.

Nikolai stares down at him with a look so gentle he has to look away, he can hear the faint sigh of resignation and the following mutter of something Russian that he isn't paying enough attention to in order to translate it in his head.

He sits in silence as the other man joins him in the bed, leaving a gap between that and offering John the chance to cross it on his own time. He shifts over and plaster himself against his partner's side, face buried in his neck.

"I assumed the scars down your back were from torture, just not the military kind."

"From years ago, don't matter much now do they? Taken a lot worse than a belt since then." His body was covered in scars of varying sizes, from anywhere to the scar on his hand from slicing a bagel to the silver band wrapped around part of his left thigh from a bastard with a blade that damn near nicked an artery. He'd stuck that poor sod's blade through his own throat and left him to gurgle on his blood.

"I assume your father is dead?" The fact that Nikolai sounds hopeful isn't lost on him.

"Drank himself into oblivion years ago." John had always thought it would've been his liver that did him in, would've bet money on it. Would've lost too. The old man had asphyxiated on his own vomit, silly prick.

"Good."

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #don't know if that russian is correct #i looked into it and it seems to be the right use of no but i dont know if its too stern or forward #anyway i think i like making price suffer too much for someone who claims hes one of my favourite characters #don't know if this is great or even remotely good but the idea wouldn't leave until i typed it out

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madl-y · 11 months ago

Text

✧. ┊— you're the one that I like (I can't deny)

3 times Orter Mádl denied his affection for someone, and the one time he was too tired to defend himself.

sypnosis – the other divine visionaries are sick of seeing orter lovesick (despite being amused themselves) so they try to push him to confess. (they, mainly being kaldo and ryoh. lance was there unwillingly)

> no tw! fluff! hopefully not ooc..? beware of grammar and spelling mistakes (sorry..)

> set in post innocent zero! so mild manga spoilers :"DD

> its also been a while since i've started writing fics again! this was kind of an impulse decision ahahaha...!

> i also didn't expect this to be long! sorry :"D

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

1 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

Orter Mádl never thought he'd see you again.

This is the third time in a row that he, alongside with another person, finished the assigned mission in each class that gives silver coins. Orter glances at the side, where another student slowly walks to the front as the teacher sang praises about them. Of course never forgetting the 'lectures' on how everyone should take inspiration from the two of them. (Frankly, it was getting quite sickening to hear.)

He kept his gaze at the front, while his awareness and attention is still directed at you. You, who always managed to keep up with him in tasks and classes. You, who despite having a weak personal magic, had always excelled at other spells. It was to the point where higher level year spells and advance magic was so easy for you.

You, who Orter thought that the first piece of the silver coin you got was a fluke.

Evidently enough, it wasn't.

Finally, after a lot of unnecessary speeches and praises, Orter and you are able to go back with the rest of the class. It seems most students were willing to run away the moment the teacher announced class was over.

Orter pushed his glasses and sighed. He finally felt the weight of his pocket from the gold coins he acquired recently.

Just from looking at you, Orter knew you felt the weight too.

Its nothing new. Clearly, Easton has a lot of students that were born talented. Easton in itself is a privilege. The best and the talented are here. Orter knew he'll have to face a lot of strong magic users just to carve his path towards becoming a Divine Visionary.

He must become one. Someone needs to maintain order. He needs to punish all those who dare and try go against society. He needs to fulfill his wish—

"Orter, aren't you going?" He blinked. Surprisingly, (or not really) Orter found himself still rooted on the grass. His previous place just a few steps behind him.

Ah, right. Someone called out to him.

That someone gazed up to him. Orter got used to people having to slightly tilt their head up from how tall he is. Though, he never noticed that your height reached his shoulders.

"Orter?" You called out again.

Orter shook his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere.

Somehow, this always happens. Its always whenever the two of your interact with each other. Orter gets distracted and gods knows why!

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

It somewhat became a routine from how it always happens when Orter and you interact.

Its always you who's initiating. A simple greeting in the hallway. A simple show of respect to Orter's achievements. A simple saying of "congratulations" whenever Orter finishes first in class quizzes.

And it always follows up with an act of concern to when Orter spaces out.

Because somehow, he always ends up thinking of you. How did you keep up? What did you do? What magic spells were you able to wield so easily, yet you're own personal magic was so weak? Why were you talking to him? Did you want to become a Divine Visionary? Should he expect you as a future enemy? Why do your eyes always look like they're shining under the bright warm sun? Why—

"If you excuse me, I need to go." Orter bowed before walking away. He hasten his pace at the mere sound of your voice that stopped midway to ask something of him.

Why is it that its always you he exerts his effort to think about?

Its irrational. Its... nonsense.

Yet somehow, he couldn't help but think how prettier you are up close.

And its ridiculous to think about.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

2 - 3 : BUREAU OF MAGIC

When Orter thought that you might be working alongside with him, he didn't mean with you as just an assistant.

"You really saved me time, thanks!"

"These notes are so well organized... I should learn from you."

"I'm starting to see why the Divine Visionaries respect you alot."

"Heh..? Not bad from an assistant."

"Be nice, Renatus."

"Shut up, you stuck up hag." Sophina Biblia glared at the foul word.

"You–!"

"Would you like some honey sashimi with me?"

"With all due respect, Kaldo." You blankly stared at the Flame Cane and his abomination of a... food choice. "You're tastes in food and honey combinations are the worst thing ever." Kaldo felt an arrow struck through him. The palm of your hand raised up in front of him indicated that you were rejecting his food taste (like everyone else) and flopped to the floor in pain.

The other two visionaries sighed.

"Orter, here is your schedule for today and tomorrow. One of the chiefs in the Police force would like to schedule a meeting with you. Nerey's still clarifying who's attending though." You handed a folder to Orter while ignoring the bickering behind the two of you.

Orter nodded. "I'll take note of that. Although," He took a quick glance at the cup of coffee on your other hand. "I thought you don't drink coffee anymore?"

"Oh, this is for you."

Orter blinked, before pushing up his glasses. "I don't recall ordering one."

"What? Don't tell me you suddenly dislike coffee?" You leaned in with a teasing grin. Any outsider would think that the Sand Cane looks unamused, but working with Orter for a long time means you've known every expression of his, no matter how stoic.

"I didn't say I dislike coffee." Orter sighed.

"Yeah? Then, here you go." You lightly shoved the cup of coffee towards Orter. It looks so casual, as if its something you've done for a long time.

And it is something you've done for a long time.

Orter accepts the coffee. Gingerly taking care of the cup in his hands. His fingers subtly touch against yours.

Its always the same, and yet Orter still feels that small budding affection in him. (Not that he would show it, of course.)

A coworker calls your name. You immediately follow him down the hallway while giving a quick smile to Orter. He nods briefly as he watches your back retreating further.

Actually, Orter already drank a cup of coffee a while ago. He usually doesn't order a second one. He dislikes the feeling him palpitating in the middle of work. It only happened twice, but he refuses to feel it again.

Still, every cup you give him unknowingly, he takes it.

He licks his lips as the warm liquid travels down his throat. Its sweet.

Its sweeter than he's used to. He prefers it with less sugar, and absolutely refuses to let Kaldo brew his cup of coffee.

He takes one more sip.

Orter doesn't mind as he walks back to his office with the cup of coffee and folder in hand.

The next day, you find a freshly brewed cup of tea on your desk.

You tilt your head questioningly. This is a first that's happened ever.

You look around to see if there were someone nearby. Most of them were walking past and chatting with one another.

It tasted good at least. (After confirming that it wasn't poisoned. You wouldn't know what to feel if there was someone who wants you dead.)

Weeks pass by, and there's been at least two times that it has happened. It happens at random times so you weren't sure what the pattern was.

But clearly, the Divine Visionaries know something. Every time you ask, however, they just smile or sigh while giving you a cryptic answer.

Orter just shrugs and walks away.

"Hey-! I wasn't done talking to you!"

"Well, I am." Is what he always replies.

Soon after, Ryoh slings his arms around Orter and gives him a grin. "So... you like her?"

Orter pauses in his steps, before blankly staring at the smug Light Cane. "Her?"

Kaldo emerged from the sides. "Oh? Never thought you were the type to play dumb." His smile grows at the bristled look Orter directed at him.

"I'm not playing dumb."

"Sure."

"Its just that, she's the one you only prepare tea just right before she arrives at work. You don't do that to anyone else." Orter stares at Ryoh, who just smiles knowingly. Nothing escapes the Light Cane afterall.

"My, my, who thought that I have a rival in finding ways to charm a girl? Me, the greatest creation–" Orter shrugs off the narcissist before he can start his self narration.

Kaldo walks beside Orter, "So, you truly like her?"

Orter sighed, pushing his glasses in habit. "I don't."

Kaldo hummed in thought, "I'm not convinced." The Flame Cane frowned. "You two seem to get along well. No plans of confessing?" He tries to push further for answers, which makes Orter irritated.

"If you're not convinced, that's not my problem." Gold eyes glared sharply. "Again, I don't like her. I'm just giving back favors. I don't know about you, but I don't think gossiping is how a visionary should spend their day."

With that, Orter walks away ignoring the stares from the two.

It's natural to repay favors. You don't need to know Orter was the one brewing the tea on your desk after every coffee you give him.

Kaldo and Ryoh stared before smiling at each other.

"He likes her." Ryoh grinned.

Kaldo nodded in agreement.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

3 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

The bell rang indicating that class is finally over. Which also means that you have successfully made it through the whole day while teaching.... enthusiastic students. (The amount of headaches you've received from teaching students the most basic spells. Offense spells, especially.)

You greeted one last goodbye to the class before heading out towards the faculty.

While your main job is a secretary position in the Bureau, you were also recruited to teach at Easton for once a week. Mostly classes that are supplementary for those with borderline failing grades.

"Ah, who is more suitable than the student who excels in different spells regardless of difficulty? Am I right?" Walhberg's voice resonated in your mind.

It's been a year since you've started teaching. Right after the whole Innocent Zero world abomination happened. Can't say that you're surprised that Finn is one of your students, but he's currently doing better than you expected.

"I have to thank you for being patient with me, Sensei!" You recall Finn beaming with joy as he finally got one of the hardest offense spells to master. Safe to stay you were delighted that you had an impact to students.

Right after this class, you usually head straight towards the Bureau to take over the night shift-

A tap in your shoulder made you halt in the middle of the hallway, "Done with class?"

You come face to face with... huh.

"I didn't know you had a meeting here in Easton?" You should know, because you were in charge of handling the Visionaries' schedules. So you should know that Orter has no business here in Easton.

He shrugs, "I don't."

"Well, yeah, you don't. I should know that— I'm your goddamn secretary— but I'm assuming its an emergency?" You tilt your head in confusion. Gold eyes meet yours, his stare seemingly calculating and... hesitant?

"No." Orter replies.

Silence assumes between the two of you. You raised a questioning brow at Orter who just stares blankly at you.

"Then..? Care to elaborate oh divine one?" You add a hint of sarcasm which Orter slightly bristled at. He sends a sharper glance at you while you smile innocently.

Its not as if the two of you haven't acted that way before. Working together somehow brought the two of you closer and your relationship is somewhat casual.

Other words, you can be as annoying as you want and Orter won't shove sand down your throat.

"I don't know, you're the secretary." He raised a challenging brow back. You scoff in lighthearted annoyance while Orter seemed unfazed. That is, if it weren't for the ghost of a smile you managed to capture.

If you can be annoying as you want without consequence, then Orter will do the same.

"Okay but really, why are you here?" You question seriously while inviting Orter to walk beside you towards the faculty. He follows while keeping his gaze ahead.

"Hmm... You're headed towards the Bureau after this?"

"Oh? How did you know?" You ask with slight surprise. Nobody ever bothered to know your schedule, except for the ones that are quite obvious.

Orter sighed and sent you a dry look. "We've worked together for a long time."

A laugh escapes your throat, "Yeah, well, I've only started teaching a year ago. Until now, some forget I have to teach weekly then head towards the Bureau. I swear, its laughable at the same time such a headache. They keep on scheduling things when they shouldn't be." You sighed roughly, wondering if you should start scolding your coworkers more.

"They're idiots." Another laugh escapes your throat at Orter's words. "I'm guessing they're the same ones that accidentally added in my schedule that I'm supposed to be here at Easton." You see the way Orter's usual calm expression turns slightly irritated. Not evident that anyone from outside could see, but enough for someone like you who've known Orter since studying at Easton.

"Oh I see, that's how it is." You stifle another laugh, not wanting to irritate Orter further, but can't help the urge to tease him.

"You say its a headache when they do this, yet you're laughing? How annoying." Orter let out a huff while you grin.

"Maybe its laughable when I see others suffer." You teasingly smirk.

Orter rolled his eyes, yet he can't help but feel a minute affection at the casual interaction between you.

"You haven't answered my question, Orter."

Ah right. He hasn't.

Orter paused in his steps. Causing you two pause beside him too before facing him with a questioning smile.

Again, its the same. As if they're back studying at Easton where Orter always sees that smile of yours. Its always the same, so how come he always felt the same emotions where his stomach and chest swirl at the sight of it. At the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, "I did. I told you they sent me on accident. Messing up my schedule."

"That's true, but you could've gone back immediately." You turn your gaze towards the group of students on the field where they were practicing spells or playing around.

"You caused quite a commotion you know? It was hard to settle down my last class because apparently, a Divine Visionary is on Easton grounds." You cross your arms while a playful pout forms on your lips. "They were more focused on the fact that the Sand Cane was here. That was an hour ago, so care to explain?" You sigh in exhaustion. However, your pout was replaced by a smile the moment you see Orter's subtle shift in his eyes while he looked dejected at being caught. Again, only you could see those minute expressions behind his stoic attitude.

Orter pursed his lips, he didn't expect that his presence would be that of a commotion. To think he was confident in concealing his presence right before your class.

Huh, nothing really escapes you.

"That's.." Orter glanced away while pushing his glasses up. "Its not like it wouldn't hurt to—"

"Sensei."

"—visit you.."

Orter went silent before sending a glance to the person who had the guts to interrupt to people talking-!

His mouth opens in slight surprise at the look of one of the students he was mentoring.

Additionally, Lance looked equally as surprise to see Orter right behind you. He blinked, wondering if he interrupted something. He was pretty sure he heard another voice overlapping with his once he called for you.

"Sensei, Orter-san." Lance bows politely then turns back to you.

He sees in the corner of his eye how Orter pushed his glasses up (a tiny bit harsher) and looked away. Lance didn't have time to think about it as you call for his name.

"Yes, Lance?" You smile at the younger Divine Visionary.

"Ah, Finn wanted me to tell you that he can't go to the faculty after class to bring you his assignment. His other teacher told him to stay after class." Lance handed you a sheet of paper.

"He asked me to deliver it to you instead."

"Oh, thank you Lance! Its nice to see you taking care of Finn. Please tell him he did a great job and not to worry." You smile brightly as you felt another wave of pride for Finn. Sure he was called as the "weakest" in your supplementary class, but he's improving. A lot. Especially under your guidance.

One glance at Finn's paper, and you already knew he's going to have another high score soon enough.

"Also, Professor Claude told me to look for you. Apparently there's an emergency meeting with the faculty."

At the mention of Claude, you couldn't help but grimace. Lance didn't seem fazed at your expression, yet he also can't help sending a pitying glance at you.

Orter just raised his brow.

"And he couldn't tell me himself...?" You mumbled questioningly.

"He said he was busy." Lance replied dryly.

"Sure, he always says that." You muttered once again, not bothering to hide your disdain at your fellow professor.

You perked at the sound of someone clearing his throat. You turn to Orter apologetically. "Sorry, Orter. I forgot you were there."

While Orter didn't seem fazed on the outside, Lance could see the slight twitch on his forehead.

"I think Lance may have accidentally cut you off." You smiled sheepishly.

Lance thought so too.

"What was it you were going to say?"

Orter remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Its nothing. I was about to head back to the Bureau."

While you nodded understandingly, Orter took the chance to sharply glare at Lance in displeasure. Maybe he should teach this kid a thing or two on how to not interrupt two adults when they're having a conversation.

Lance stared back unfazed.

"Well then, I have to go! Can you do me a favor and tell anyone who asks for me that I have an emergency meeting at the faculty?"

The Sand Cane let out a sigh, displeasure thinly veiled in his expression. Orter, however, nodded while his stoic look returns. "Sure."

"Thank you!" You bowed and smiled gratefully before quickly walking away. "See you around as well, Lance!"

The blue haired nodded as he and Orter stood still while watching your retreating back.

Once its just the two of them, it seems tension has risen again between them. Despite the fact Orter is training Lance, and frequently sees him around from the fact Lance is the newest Visionary.

Still, Orter can't help but stare at Lance who, of course is one of the known people to be stubborn as hell, stares back as well.

Orter is starting to think he should say something to rid of this awkward silence.

"Are you—"

"Did I—"

Both visionaries closed their mouths.

A sense of Déjà vu passes through them.

Orter tries once more.

"Did—"

"Is—"

....If he wasn't annoyed, he'd be very astonished right now.

Lance quickly spoke before Orter could, "Did I interrupt something?"

Orter just sighed heavily, "Sort of." His shoulders dropping as he recalls that very scenario just a moment ago.

"Sorry, I actually didn't see you there." Lance said politely as he could. Rubbing the back of his neck in slight awkwardness.

"Its fine. It wasn't important."

"It looked like it was though." The younger visionary rolled his shoulders as he looks away in thought. Orter raises his brow at the comment while Lance looked as if he remembered something.

"Ah, so she's the one Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san were saying that you liked?" With the way Lance said it with such a straight face, Orter had to process the words that was casually spoken.

"...What?" Orter's face crumbled in irritation.

Lance continued to look to the side in thought, oblivious to the way Orter was seething. "So that's why your schedule changed all of a sudden. I thought there's someone who was going to attack Easton so I was on guard the whole time."

Lance glanced back to Orter. "But Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san told me not to worry about it. It was quite a headache since a lot of our classmates heard news of you in the school grounds. Although, I never thought you were the type to agree to change your schedule for someone you like—" Lance felt a magical aura out of nowhere and began to get his guard up. Ever since Innocent Zero, its like an instinct at this point.

However, he paused as he noticed Orter who looked the same as usual. Straight-faced and stoic, yet Lance could see how tense he was.

"...I see." Orter said lowly.

He began to stare ahead in thought, before bringing out his wand and turn around without glancing at Lance. "Thank you for providing information. However, I would like to clarify everything was false."

One look at Orter, and you'd think he was just as calm and composed. Lance's glance at the hand gripping his wand tightly made him think otherwise.

The other knew to not say anything further, lest he drowns with sand flowing down his throat and out his ass.

"Everything?" But of course, Lance had a stubborn streak. Maybe Mash and Dot were rubbing off him too much.

Orter replied without looking back, "Everything."

"Even the part where they said you like her?" Lance pushed. Call it curiosity, or maybe the fact that someone like Orter indeed has feelings for someone, which makes it so intriguing for Lance to find out more and risk getting buried in sand.

Orter let out a deep exhale, which got Lance tense for a moment, before the Sand Cane started walking again.

"...Yes."

The Adler student watched as his mentor rounded around a corner. He was soon left alone in the hallways.

Lance couldn't help but feel like he caused a murder that's going to happen in the Bureau of Magic.

What's more intriguing, however, was that Lance immediately knew the real answer from the quick moment of silence before Orter replied.

Lance harumphed and went back to his dorms. "...The fact he had to lie even though it was already obvious."

That day, Ryoh and Kaldo struggled to give a lot of excuses to avoid Orter before they were caught.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

FINAL : LIBRARY IN THE BUREAU OF MAGIC

Orter was getting sick of this.

Its been weeks since that awful interaction with Lance and you, yet Orter keeps finding himself victim of Ryoh and Kaldo's infuriating schemes.

What's worse, is that the other visionaries go on about their day. As if there's nothing going on.

Here, Orter is glaring at Ryoh who keeps on convincing him that Orter should get over it and just confess.

Orter would be drowning Ryoh in tons of sands if it weren't for Kaldo backing him up. "I'm getting sick of this." Orter snapped.

"Well, sucks to be you. We're getting sick of it too!" Ryoh grinned while Kaldo laughs as if Orter wasn't getting bombarded with ideas on how to flirt with someone you've like for a long time!

"It was amusing at first, seeing how you'd suddenly act so soft and caring towards her. Yet it began to look painful at how both of you were acting so oblivious." Kaldo sighed as if it was his personal problem, and the fact that Orter can't even hurt them in retaliation, because damn them and they're actually useful for protecting the citizens.

"I don't-!"

"Quit the act! You like her, she likes you back. Now confess!" Ryoh cuts him off while pushing Orter forward to god knows where.

He's actually going to kill these bastards, visionaries or not.

Of course Orter is true to his words, so he brings out his wand and glares at the two. Ryoh just smiled (even though there's a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead at the sight of Orter's wand so close to him) and Kaldo doesn't seem fazed and watches from the side.

"Oi Kaldo! A little help?"

The Flame Cane hummed playfully, "Why, you're the strongest aren't you?"

"But we're in this together!"

"If you two don't stop this, I swear.." Orter gritted his teeth. He has a meeting for goodness sake. He's busy. He's also getting tired of this bullshit of a—

"Oh? What are you three...?" You had to double take the sight in front of you. Ryoh, who's grin faltered at your voice, still has his arms wrapped around Orter's shoulder while leaning his whole body to push Orter forward. Kaldo, who's playful smile drop and is replaced with a look of surprise as he stands from the sides.

Orter on the other hand, blinks and remains still while his expression remains his usual.

That is, if it weren't for the fact that his wand was gripped tightly in his hand and pointed at Ryoh with tiny bits of sand circling around it.

You raise your brow questioningly. "I think sparring between Visionaries is better suited outside and not in the library, no?"

The three blink once before glancing up at the sign above, which shows that indeed, they're in the library.

Just like what Kaldo and Ryoh planned.

Before Orter could protest, he was roughly shoved inside the library. He managed to stop himself from colliding with you.

Curse Ryoh Grantz and his narcissistic attitude because in the end he's still a strong visionary, and Orter prays that all mirrors nearby shall break once he merely appear in front of it.

Kaldo isn't forgotten in Orter's prayers, as he wishes all stocks of honey shall obliterate.

"Well!" Ryoh claps his hands gleefully, unfazed at the menacing glare Orter is sending his way. "Orter's schedule is cleared for the day-"

"It's not-"

"It is?"

"-And he has something he wants to tell you!"

"I don't."

"You do?" You tilt your head at Orter, who inhales deeply. He can feel his patience thinning.

"I don't-"

"He does." Kaldo interjects, and Orter was one step away into murdering the two before the library doors shut.

"Also! Miss secretary, your schedule is also cleared for the day! So spend more time together in the library. I heard you like to read from Kaldo." You can hear the joy in Ryoh's voice despite it being muffled. Which makes you even more confused as you alternatively stare at Orter and back at the doors.

"There are new selections in the library! Especially that one series about the legends of magical creatures." It was Kaldo's voice this time.

"Really?" Orter looked at you in slight disbelief. From how efficient and quick you are to adapt, you sure are easily distracted at what's really happening.

So of course, Orter will use it as an opportunity to—

"Ah, but first listen to what Orter will say." You don't have to see Kaldo to know that he's smiling.

...Orter hopes Kaldo will enjoy having sand in his honey as soon as he dealt with what he's gotten himself too (unwillingly).

It was silent for a moment. This time its a truly awkward one as you and Orter stood still side by side while staring at the entrance of the library.

You blink before giving Orter an embarrassed smile, "So.. I'm guessing you were dragged here against your will?"

Orter sighed tiredly, "Yes."

"I see, but I am curious as to why they had to force you to come here. Apparently, you want to say something?" You questioned, curiosity and slight worry evident in your voice.

Did something happen? Were they hiding something? Or was it just something silly that the visionaries (Ryoh and Kaldo you're guessing) planned and somehow, Orter was on the receiving end.

You watched with slight worry as Orter continued to send daggers towards the entrance of the library. Taking a small step beside him as you examine his expression. Not knowing if he was deliberately choosing to ignore you or not.

"Orter?"

Orter's head jerk up slightly at your voice. Indeed he wasn't choosing to ignore you, but was lost in thought on how to punish his fellow visionaries (mainly the two who shall not be named).

He turned his head towards you, sensing the worry in your tone. An apology for the current situation at hand and reassurance are at the tip of his tongue, ready to reply and.. oh.

For someone with great intuition and reflexes, Orter who prides himself in having great situational awareness— its something he thinks visionaries should have— he wasn't aware you two were this close to each other.

Orter finds himself stunned. A thought he's oh so familiar with immediately floats in his brain every time he coincidentally gets a chance to be close with you.

Again, and again, and again, and again.

Its always the same.

His mind always thinks that you're prettier up close. Not that you weren't pretty if you were far away.

Orter watches your eyes slightly widen at the close proximity you two are in, despite the library being so big. Its as if a spell was cast between you two. Designated to stare at the windows of each other's soul, not wanting to look away.

You think Orter's eyes are pretty. Like sand sparkling with hints of powdered gold that's blending well.

Orter thinks your eyes are glowing. Not physically, but with emotions he himself cannot express. He always finds himself melting at your eyes.

Maybe that's what's getting him soft when he interacts with you. Maybe Ryoh is just mistaken and that anyone you interact with also unwillingly goes soft at the sight you.

Orter blinks once, as he regains his composure. He sighs before looking to the side at the moment before looking back at you.

"Uhm, well, you really don't have to say anything if... you're not ready." You let out a chuckle. "Even though I don't know anything about what you uhh, want to talk about.." A light flush blooming at the tip of your ears and across your cheeks. A rare sight even for the Orter Madl himself.

Orter looks at you closely one last time, as he felt that exact swirling emotion in his chest as he takes in your abashed expression.

He scoffs to himself, earning a confused look from you. Before sighing tiredly. He resigned to his fate that Ryoh and Kaldo put him in.

And maybe, Orter has finally come to terms that he's indeed a liar.

"...Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter walks ahead of you swiftly taking the books in your hands as he looked at them interestingly.

Your mouth gapes in both confusion and surprise. Orter turned back to you and raised a brow while holding the books. "Well? I'd rather do something productive even if two... nosy idiots decided to clear my schedule."

Orter had the satisfaction to hear your laugh. "Careful, I might get too used to hearing your composure break. Who knew the all powerful Sand Cane had a foul mouth."

The visionary tilts his head, "Hm? I wasn't the one who turned to a blushing mess at a mere eye contact." He quickly turned away but you managed to catch a small smirk on his lips.

The unexpected teasing made you scoff, this time another light blush spread your cheeks in embarrassment. "I—! That was...!"

Orter feigned ignorance as he levitated a few books to organize them to their correct spot. Still, a light smug expression grew as he watched you from his peripheral vision try to defend yourself.

He took a quick step to the side to avoid the incoming jab to his arm. You glared at him unamused before waving your wand and levitating more books, grinning in triumph as one of them managed to hit him in the head lightly.

Orter stumbled slightly as he grunted at the thud of a book against the back of his head. He glared unamusingly, "That's no way to treat a Visionary."

You shrug, "Yeah well, maybe you should be quicker on your feet."

"I am though."

"Didn't seem like it."

Its been a while since you've engaged in friendly banter with Orter. It reminded you when you two would take quick jabs at each other back in Easton.

Orter stared at you, thinking deeply whether or not if he should go along with what his mind thought of.

"Well? Did that book hit you too hard or what?"

You started to shift in place at Orter's gaze. Not knowing if you should be worried or not if you actually hurt him.

Always one to act without thinking, you lift your hand up towards his head. Hesitating slightly at the way Orter's expression slightly shifted in surprise, before resolving yourself lightly touch his brown locks while feeling around the back of his head where the book hit him.

"Did.. did that actually hurt?"

Orter who finally processed everything, let out an amused hum. He grasps your wrist gently before lowering it back to your side. His eyes, once again, examining your worried gaze.

He really can't believe it.

You thought you managed to hurt him?

Orter let out a light huff.

How cute.

"For someone who's duty is to organize schedules and meet with different kinds of people," Orter finds himself facing his body to you. He grabbed a book on a nearby shelf and raised it in the air, gently hitting your head with the spine of the book. "You still have that quick temper and sharp tongue of yours from way back." He says, and he can't help but let out a more softer tone as he meets your eyes.

Orter sighs (for what it seemed the hundredth time) and places the book back in its proper place. Satisfied at the offended reaction he managed to get from you.

"You-! I was worried and-!"

He watched as you go on and on rambling about how you were genuinely worried. About how he was an annoyance from back then until now.

He sighed, how troublesome.

Orter pushed his glasses up as he faced you. "Really, how irritating." He sighs, "Out of everyone, I had to fall for you."

You paused. Your pointer finger that was in the air that was near jabbing his chest faltered.

Once again, Orter had the satisfaction to see you caught off guard.

"What?" Your heartbeat felt like it was pounding out of your ribcage. If you could hear it, what are the chances Orter couldn't.

Both of you stared at each other, heartbeats beating as one. While silence filled the room, the minds of the two were filled with different thoughts and the sounds of their heartbeats.

Finally, Orter spoke.

"I said," he leaned in closer, bending slightly forwards so his face meets yours directly upfront.

You could see the hint of amusement and affection in his eyes.

"Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter questioned.

He smiled in satisfaction at the frozen state you are in before heading off to walk with books in hand.

If Orter had to endure weeks of stress because he was forced to confess, well, you can't blame him for wanting you to experience the same.

He did confess after all. So sue him if Orter wanted a bit of fun messing with you.

He dodges another book thrown at him, a ghost of a smile hidden from the back of his head. Yet, if only you weren't so distracted that you could see the red tints on his ears.

Don't worry though, Orter will do this seriously. He doesn't intend to mess with you for that long.

Not until Ryoh and Kaldo get what they deserve.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

well... I didn't expect this to be THIS long.. why is this so long oml im so sorry aksdlajfklashglshdf hope you enjoyed though :"D this is not proofread

#orter mádl #orter x reader #help its been a while since i've written a fic #why is this so long #not proofread #i am so down bad for this man #orter madl #mashle orter #mashle #mashle x reader #mashle x you #ryoh grantz #kaldo gehenna #lance crown #finn ames #mashle fanfic

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poweringthroughthis · 1 year ago

Text

love in three acts | kim mingyu, wong yukhei

nsfw, mdni (ftm reader)

ship: wong yukhei (lucas) x male reader, kim mingyu x male reader

(requested!)

desc: forced to act like only friends in public, (name) is sick and tired of his boyfriend's ignorance. Maybe another hot guy what it'll take to set his boyfriend straight and appreciate (name) more.

warnings: feminization, reader's genitals are referred to as pussy/tits, dirty talk, sweat, strength kink, muscle worship/kink, voyeurism, cross-dressing, manhandling, pussy slapping, pussy eating, spanking, breastplay, vaginal fingering, vaginal s*x

act i.

Life is not what it is portrayed to be in cinema. (name) learned as much now that he was well into his 4th semester of college. Society has romanticized the college experience to such an extent that one dives in, expecting alcohol, parties and an enchanting love life to be the frontrunners, while in actuality, it is assignments, exams and stressful days filling the void most of the times.

Nothing changes if you don't make it happen yourself. Your dream life doesn't manifest one day magically, and your love life doesn't become one for the books by itself either. You need to start living the way you want to. That, is the only viable form of happiness in today's world. At least that's what (name) taught himself during one of his loneliest nights, freshman year, which culminated with a self-therapy session.

Then the nerdiest, biggest pushover of a guy, (name) was now a changed man. He had the biggest glow-up: his slender curves, thick thighs and pretty eyes, putting everyone's wildest dreams to shame in comparison. He embraced his true self fearlessly, taking control of his life and living the way he wanted to. He had definitely been happier ever since then, but he believed it did little to better his dating life as he was still boyfriend to a man seemingly afraid to love him in public.

Wong Yukhei is a lot of things, but inherently smart, he is not. Which is why he doesn't understand why his boyfriend is upset with him right now. "W-what do you mean?"

"Seriously Lucas? We've been over this before. Every time I as much as I lean into you in public, you go off to do something else with your friends. It's like we're strangers in public." (name) explained, perplexed.

"It's not like that! You know I love you. It's jus-just.." Honestly, Lucas didn't know himself why he'd been subconsciously dodging his boyfriend's advances while they were out. It's not like he never indulged in PDA with his previous partners. Maybe he'd been getting too caught up with his friends that he unintentionally neglected his boyfriend each time they were in the public eye.

"You know what? I need to go. Come find me when you have an answer. " (name) scoffed dejectedly, storming out of the empty classroom, leaving the flabbergasted giant behind. (name) started wondering if he wasn't attractive enough for Lucas.

If only he knew how wrong that assumption was. Because if that was the case, he wouldn't have the hunkiest man to ever exist (besides his own boyfriend), eye-fucking him from behind. The large man traced (name)'s every movement with great intensity: the way his hips swayed as he walked quickly, the way his skirt rode up just enough to show his supple thighs, even the way his ass looked perfect as he bent down to pick up his fallen stationery.

Kim Mingyu was a lot of things. And like every other guy, being inexplicably horny at the sight of a pretty boy, was one of them. he snapped out of his daze, dashing to (name)'s side, helping pick up his belongings from the floor, without failing to catch a peek of his bra underneath the dress. needless to say, he had to physically restrain himself from popping a boner then and there.

"Hey, you okay? Looking a little sad there" he offered his charming smile, making (name) look up as he straightened himself. His gaze fell on the handsome man's huge biceps, that flexed under the weight of his stack of books, threatening to rip his half-sleeved tee that was already too tight for his massive chest. It was hard not to, when a 6 ft hunk was sizing up his body shamelessly.

"I'm Mingyu. I'm in this faculty too. 3rd year"

"(name). 2nd year." Offered he, politely.

"Boyfriend problems?" Mingyu inquired, (name) taken aback. "Just guessing", he clarified, knowing fully well he eavesdropped into the couple's conversation earlier. What? He just wanted to see for himself who bagged this hot specimen before he could. Before (name) could respond, Mingyu moved closer.

"I won't pry into your personal life, but tell you what. Any man that doesn't appreciate you enough, is a loser."

He ran his hands all over (name)'s curves, finally slipping underneath his skirt to grope his ass and lift one of (name)'s legs against his groin, making the boy gasp.

"Someone who loves the beauty that you are, y'feel me?" His breath fanned over (name)'s face, the boy feeling 50 emotions at once.

"I,I shou-"

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" the duo turned towards the source of the voice: (name)'s seething boyfriend. Lucas stomped over to them, snatching (name) from Mingyu's grasp and wrapping his bulky arm around his waist, pulling the boy flush against his hard chest.

"Not so shy touching him in public anymore?" Mingyu teased. If Lucas wasn't mad jealous right now, he'd probably wonder how Mingyu knew about the couple's fight. But he couldn't care less right now. He all but dragged (name) back to the empty classroom, heels clacking against the tiled floor and slammed the door shut.

"What's wrong with you Lucas ?"

"ME? The fuck's wrong with him? How dare he lay his hands on MY boyfriend?" Lucas fritted his teeth.

"I might as well let him. Since YOU'RE so ashamed of touching me. I bet, with his huge arms and adonis-like body, he can easil-"

"You mean, these?" Lucas threw his stupid smirk (name)'s way as he flexed his massive biceps that threatened to spill out of his half-tee.

"Lucas! W- what if someone sees us? The door has a huge window" (name) stuttered, turned on by his boyfriend's manly display.

"I don't give a fuck anymore." Lucas said, taking off his shirt over his head in one swift motion, using only one hand.

Throwing shame out the window as all coherent thought left his body, (name) ran firm hands all over the muscle mass that was rock hard under the touch. He squeezed the giant pecs as Lucas made them bounce. "You like that?" He smirked.

"So fucking much, you're so big and strong for me." (name) moaned, latching his mouth to suck on the bulge of Lucas' biceps, the giant flexing them hard in (name)'s mouth. The musky scent of sweat filled the air making (name) hornier as the recalled how hot Lucas looked playing basketball earlier, all sweaty and pumped up.

He ran his tongue over all his muscles: the abs, the meaty chest, the armpits, licking every crevice of the result of his boyfriend's hard work.

Lucas moaned, throwing his head back, grabbing a fistful of (name)'s hair as he pushed him further towards his body.

"Yeahh, worship those muscles like the good boy you are."

"You're so fucking hot, baby. Look how fucking huge you are."

Lucas growled, turning (name) around harshly, removing the string of his dress with one hand, the piece of fabric falling aside at once.

"This little pussy is mine" He landed a smack on (name)'s hole, cupping him hard through his panties, the boy shaking from the recoil of Lucas' strength. "Gonna ruin it with my fat cock, baby."

"Yes, daddy. Do it, fuck me!" (name) cried.

Lucas delivered more slaps on his clothed cunt, (name) tearing up and thrashing from the impact, but Lucas held him in place with one hand and he continued using the other to smack his pussy. "Crying already? Wait till I'm done with you. you're gonna cry harder than now, begging me to stop, but I won't."

(name) sobbed at the prospect, loving every second of it. Lucas grabbed a fistful of the boy's ass, kneading the flesh hard, digging his nails deep into his plump flesh. "You have the fattest fucking ass" Lucas groaned, slapping it hard again, and again, and again.

"I'll make sure this fat ass bounces when I fuck you."

Lucas turned him around, grabbing him by the back of his thighs and lifting him up easily.

"Ah! Lucas, fuck! You're so strong."

"Yeah? Want me to throw you around? Use my muscles to manhandle you and fuck you real hard, huh? Like this" Lucas lifted him up in the air and threw him on the desk. He leaned in, pushing his muscular body flush against (name)'s soft one.

He grabbed the boy's neck, squeezing it hard and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "I'm going to wreck you."

"Please" (name) choked out.

Lucas released his grip, sliding the panties clean off and shoving three of his fingers in.

"Look at how small your little clit is, baby. This is so cute, I'm gonna enjoy stretching it out."

He rubbed his calloused thumb on his swollen clit, teasing it in circles as he pushed his thick fingers deeper, adding his pinky.

"Fuck! Oh my god, you're so deep. I can't.

"That's right. Scream my name. Make everyone hear that you belong to me." The giant rammed his digits harder, abusing (name)'s sensitive spot. His body jerked forward and fell on the table behind him, hands scrambling for support.

"Fuck! I can't, please-ah!"

Lucas didn't relent, adding his pinky to the mix, his knuckles rubbing against (name)'s walls. "Take it! Take it like a good boy."

The taller boy continued his merciless assault, ramming his thick fingers in and out of his boyfriend. (name) felt the familiar knot in his stomach as the pressure kept building. "Cumming, please-!"

"Yeah? Gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my fingers? Cum like the good boy you are."

(name) did as told, clenching and shaking, squirting all over his boyfriend's fingers. Lucas took out his digits slowly, admiring the mess, licking his fingers clean and tasting his boyfriend's juices.

"Fuck, you're delicious. Turn around."

"W-wait, I'm sensitive-!"

"I don't fucking care. I'm gonna eat this pussy till I'm satsified. "

(name) turned and laid down, the hard wood of the desk supporting his back. Lucas grabbed him by the ankles and hooked them over his broad shoulders, spreading his legs apart. His heels almost reached the top of the man's back, but it did not deter him as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the wet slit, his warm breath fanning over (name)'s sex.

"You look so beautiful right now. Your tits spilling out of your bra, and your legs spread wide for me."

Lucas dove right in, burying his face in the boy's pussy, licking and sucking at the swollen clit.

"Ah, Lucas-fuck! So good"

(name) gripped the hair on the man's head, bucking his hips as he was sent to another realm. He felt the wet tongue prodding and sliding, the sensation overwhelming his body.

Lucas captured (name)'s labia in his mouth, suckling hard between his lips and pulling it back with a pop sound. The lewd action made (name) cry out as he was eaten out, his pussy abused and raw, the man's tongue lapping at his entrance.

"Lucas, I-I can't take it. Too much, ahh"

"Yeah? Like how I eat your fucking tight pussy?

Lucas licked and sucked his boyfriend's clit, slurping up the juices from the sensitive hole. "Fuck, I can do this all day."

"L-Lucas, wait! I can't! Please-ah!"

Lucas kept at his pace, eating (name) out, the latter feeling his orgasm approaching rapidly. "I'm-cumming! "

The giant smirked, completely pussy drunk. " Yeah? Eating this little pussy so good, huh? Go ahead and cum all over my tongue, baby. Cum on my fucking face."

(name) was a panting and moaning mess. He couldn't take the pleasure and pain mixed together, and it all culminated as he squirted all over his boyfriend's mouth, the giant swallowing it all up.

Lucas sat on the teacher's desk, pulling (name) harshly onto his lap. He massaged his tits through the bra, growing hornier and more aggressive by the second. He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful view of his boyfriend in nothing but heels, the black material covering his breasts.

"Take that fucking bra off" Lucas growled, pinching the buds beneath the fabric.

(name) reached behind him and undid the strap, the garment falling and pooling around his waist.

"Fuck" Lucas whispered as he squeezed the soft mounds in his large palms. He brought his head down and suckled the rosy buds, biting them harshly and leaving marks around the skin.

"Oh fuck! Please, more!

"Yeah, you like that? My mouth all over your pretty little tits?"

"Mmm, yes"

Lucas continued his ministrations, slurping noises filling the room as squeezed and sucked harder.

"Oh fuck, I need you, now. Turn around and show me your pretty little ass."

(name) slid off his lap and turned around, his knees resting on the wooden desk and his palms spread in front of him.

Lucas unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock, already leaking precum. He gave his length a few strokes before sliding the mushroom tip across his boyfriend's pussy, the heat of the wet flesh driving him crazy.

"Please, put it in. Put it in!"

"Yeah? This is what you wanted all along, huh? Wanted to be fucked stupid in the middle of class? Wanted me to breed you full?"

"Fuck yes, please"

Lucas didn't waste any time, grabbing his thick member and pressing the head against (name)'s sopping entrance. The hole twitched at the touch, aching to be filled. He pushed the head in and watched as the hole stretched to accommodate his size, a moan escaping his throat.

(name) whined at the feeling of being filled to the brim. The cock inside him was massive, stretching his insides and reaching the deepest parts of him.

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend's waist and rammed into him, his cock disappearing into the warm cavern. "Fuck! You feel so fucking good, babe".

The man kept his pace, his thrusts getting deeper and rougher. He leaned forward and bit the boy's earlobe, whispering filthy nothings to him.

"You take my cock so well, huh? Such a fucking good little boy.

"Ahh, please. Faster"

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you faster? Wanna feel my cock in your stomach? Wanna be fucked stupid?"

"Please! I'm so close, please let me cum!"

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend by the back of his neck and pushed his face down on the table, his hips never ceasing their movements. Lucas' strength never failed to amaze (name). He always sent himself over the edge thinking how the giant could easily snap him into two.

"Ah, I'm- I'm cumming!

"Go ahead and fucking cum. Squeeze my dick, milk me dry."

(name) shook as he squirted all over the thick cock, his walls tightening and convulsing around his boyfriend's length.

"Ah, fuck!"

Lucas slammed his hips forward, his balls smacking the boy's ass cheeks. His seed flooded the insides, filling him up to the brim and painting his walls white.

He pulled out his length and watched the cum trickle down the boy's thighs, the sight making him twitch.

(name) laid exhausted on the desk, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucas tucked his dick back in his pants and carried his boyfriend bridal style, the boy resting his head on the man's broad chest.

Lucas kissed his forehead as he left the classroom, carrying his boyfriend to his car.

Little did they know, they were being watched in this classroom, yet again.

Kim Mingyu let out ragged breaths, his head against the cold wall of the lecture halls, eyes closed and lips parted. He was sweating profusely and his jeans felt unbelievably tight. As he came down from his high and removed his hands from over his crotch, he looked down to see what the stickiness was.

He was so crazy over seeing (name) being wrecked in nothing but heels that he came in his pants.

#kpop male idol #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #nct x male reader #seventeen x male reader #male idol x male reader #lucas x male reader #lucas x male reader smut #mingyu x male reader #mingyu x male reader smut #seventeen x male reader smut #wayv x male reader #wayv x male reader smut #nct x male reader smut

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axolotl-in-highheels · 3 months ago

Text

,, Demon made man"

CoD x f! "Violent" reader

Featured characters:

König

Krueger

Horangi

141 as a collective

Note: this is very self indulgent, I only really made this because I am sick and tired of all those x reader hc where you are being walked all over by these men.

So to counteract this i bring you hc for a reader that is just a violent, selfish bastard who has no problem hurting her team-mates if it means finishing a mission.

TW: violence, sadism, bullet wounds, meanies :(, just be prepared for some nasty shit

If you like this kinda stuff let me know, i'd love to go in-deph in a possible part 2.

◇◇◇◇◇

König

At first, he didn't spare you a second glance, hell not even a first one. Just another part of an everchanging team no more no less

However, he noticed quickly that you had a problem with authority, his to be precise.

You blew him off at every given chance. Butting into his commands, going off on your own to solve the problem at hand and then take all the glory

It also didn't help that you behaved similar like his old bullies. He though about just shooting you if you weren't so god damn slippery

One of his most memorable memories were is a small russian town where you kidnapped a hostage you needed information out of

The interrogation was left to you, he was planning on you being the good cop and him the bad one

However, that quickly de-railed when you started to peel the victims skin off. Eating up every cry of pain with a sick grin

Since then, every time you are paired with him his pulse skyrockets

Sebastian Krueger

Similar to his Austrian collegue, he didn't notice you at first, maybe he'd scoff at having to drag a girl around as another weight on his boot but nothing more

But his tune changed abruptly when you two were on a solo-mission

It began on the helio to the drop-off zone. He had been cleaning one of his knives when you made fun of his technique.

Later when you entered the town, the order was to retrieve a suitcase filled to the brim with important info on the ultranationalists

It was never officially stated but you both knew that whoever secured the case would get all the glory, so you two were butting heads all the way there.

It all came to a head when you were just one room removed from the case. He had shoved you back, intending to take it himself, when all of the sudden...

You shot him, right in the back of his knee downing him. Sauntering over in the most casual way, like one would take a stroll through the neighborhood.

Oh he saw red but couldn't do much of the account of a bullet wound in his leg.

After the mission was over he was waiting to smother you in your sleep, unlucky for him you got the praise of the higher-ups and a month vacation for yourself.

The next time you saw eachother was in passing but by then he couldn't have done anything no matter how much he wanted to.

Horangi

For some more positive vibes, you got along quite good actually.

You two hit it off, albeit a bit klunky since your voices were drowned out by the loud-ass helio

Your missions together were embossed by good teamwork and a quick completion

Even then, Horangi noticed you were off, after peticularly bloody missions you were unusually chipper and in high spirits like a child who got gifted a candybar

But one assignment really cemented his suspicions.

It was in a chinese mafia den. The entire mission was already going to shit from the get go, you, Horangi and one other soldier were hiding behind a crate, surrounded by lower goons

When all of the sudden you grabbed the soldier and brutally used him as a meat-shield to advance to the offenders.

Ever since then he decided to never stand within arms reach of you. Ever.

141 Extra

You only went out with the taskforce once before their captain refused to work with you anymore.

At first the boys were quite welcoming, bit hesitant, but welcoming nontheless.

Seargent Soap and Gaz were very chatty with you, ingaging in endearing small talk.

L.T. Ghost was pretty stand-offish but that was to be expected by his reputation.

It all went south quickly after you were rounding up cartel members, shooting them down after you were given the order to leave no one alive

At the end, you encountered the son on the leader, a teenage boy maybe 15 or 16.

The 141 was debating what to do with him since they couln't eliminate a child. You however saw the foreboding danger.

The assassination of his family would undoubtedly lead to revenge, something that will be dangerous.

So, without hesitating, you killed him. A bullet point-blank to the skull.

The aftermath was ugly, first stunned silence then outrage. Soap was on you first, going on and on about ethics, Gaz quickly joining.

After much verbal berating and a lack of guilt from you cemented their disdain.

Since then, they avoid you like the plague.

_________________________________________

So, I hope you enjoyed that. Like I said it's kinda violent but I feel like that is what this fandom needs. If you are curious the reader is based off an OC if you want to know more about her or want her to be the focus of a part 2 let me know.

Let me know your opinions, good or bad in general. Construcive critisism is also very welcome.

Anyways, thank you for reading

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namism · 5 months ago

Note

🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷

little things | koby

➳ categories: college au, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 3k

➳ summary: It's no surprise when your friends' significant others swing by to drop off snacks and drinks for sustenance as you pull a much needed all-nighter for finals, but while everyone else is being looked after, who's looking after you? Enter Koby, the guy you never expected to care for you.

➳ notes: thanks for the request @mibso! ur like the best koby fan i know 🗣️

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"I... I think I'm gonna be sick."

Usopp tells you that he's on his third Red Bull as a dumb excuse for taking an unhealthy dosage of caffeine in a span of 18 hours because Nami has taken over four energy shots to power through the rest of her materials. She did it for the sake of passing Physics 189, an elective class on atmospheric physics that she stresses on too much because her love for it exceeds the exosphere, but she's starting to tweak (in Gen Z terms) because she has no fucking clue what's going on anymore.

Her head falls on the table of your study room—rightfully booked, not stolen, because your friend group is deferential compared to those study room squatters who don't even do any studying—and immediately, you and Usopp turn toward her in concern, the bags under her eyes being telltale signs of her surrender. It isn't Nami to give up on Physics 189 because she loves it more than anything, probably more than the weatherman in your local news, but in her defense, she hasn't slept in 31—going on 32—hours, and her body is giving into exhaustion despite the energy shots.

You stand from your seat across from her, reaching forward to gently shake her awake, but Nami is down like a snoozing puppy. Usopp groans when he realizes that he's going to need to carry her back to the girls' dormitories, while you thank your beliefs silently that she has finished enough of her materials to pass the exam she has to take the following morning.

"Sucks to be a physics major," Usopp mutters to himself as he pats Nami's head one last time before going back to his devices. He says that pitifully as if he isn't pitiful himself this finals week; he's a fine arts major because he likes being creative, likes putting things together, whether it be digital or traditional works of art, and if that isn't tiring enough, he also minors in engineering for fun (but maybe it isn't so bad because he has actual written exams he can study for instead of submitting a subjectively okay-tasting spaghetti due at 11:59 PM—only Sanji has to worry about that kind of shit in your circle).

Nevertheless, the grind never stops. You train your eyes back to your laptop, regaining your focus as you continue the assignment you've been working on the past hour. Once done, you hurry to the comfort room to take a quick break and arrive back at the study room to continue working.

By the time you arrive, however, more people have entered the small space, visitors from the neighboring rooms on the upper level. It turns out that they've come to visit your friends.

"Oh my god, um, is she okay?" Nami's girlfriend Vivi tries to shake her awake, causing Usopp to tell her softly that he tried to wake her earlier but to no avail. Distressed, Vivi puts down the small container she was holding and embraces Nami from behind, tilting her head toward her girlfriend's sleeping face and trying to talk her into waking up.

Usopp's girlfriend, Kaya, is the next to make her presence known by skipping over to the man, patting his head, and offering a bag of goodies and a PET bottle of lemon iced tea she got from the vending machine a few floors down. She smiles at you, and you reciprocate, not until the doors open to yet another sickly cute couple that makes you want to depressingly barf.

Sabo and Koala appear at the entrance of the study room with Sabo holding the door open for his girlfriend to come inside. She tells the two girls that study break is over, which promptly gets them moving. Vivi tells everyone that she has to bring Nami home, or else she's waking up to a grumpy girlfriend tomorrow morning, while Kaya obediently lets go of Usopp and helps him pack his things. As Sabo and Koala disappear, Usopp shyly apologizes.

"Why apologize?" you ask with a shrug.

"Because!" He gestures to the once-messy table where you, he, and Nami spent the past 15 hours studying. Now that Nami is being carried back to the dorms and he's leaving with Kaya, you'll be left alone with no one to look after you.

You shake your head. "I appreciate the concern, but everyone has to fend for themselves this season. You know the joke, 'Is it finals week or is it my final week?'" The couple bursts out laughing. "So really, you shouldn't be worried about leaving me here. I've survived the past few years in college, so this is easy shit!"

"Well, if you say so," Usopp says with a doubtful tone, but he takes it back because he's just playing with you. When he gets his things packed neatly inside his bag, he helps you and Kaya transfer a snoozing Nami on Vivi's back for a shameless piggyback ride to the dorms.

Once all is settled, your friends shuffle out of the study room, and the place is finally quiet.

Lonely and quiet.

Loneliness creeps up your shoulder as you lean back on the armchair with a sigh. Your chest feels empty, and it becomes more evident the longer you sit in quiet without the sound of Usopp's confused whispers or Nami's silent cusses. You're just alone, without your friends or any lover to bring you food to cheer you on. While everybody else is being looked after, no one is looking after you, and you'd be lying to yourself if you said that it didn't upset you.

There's always that unwanted feeling of jealousy that boils in your stomach whenever your friends and their lovers appear in front of you. They act so sweetly cute toward each other that it makes you yearn for a love as real as theirs, and now that finals season is rolling in, you need someone else's company more than ever. Kind of like aftercare, since college is kicking your ass and beating you into a pulp, so it makes sense to seek comfort. Unfortunately, you aren't graced even with the smallest bit of romantic interaction, so you just sit alone, sad, single, and most importantly, jealous.

As you wallow in silence, your stomach growls, and you realize that you haven't eaten or drunk in a while. You think back to the food Vivi and Kaya brought their lovers, and your heart sinks as another wave of loneliness crashes onto your pitiful single soul.

It feels nice to be loved, doesn't it? You think to yourself in jealousy as you look at the home screen of your cellphone.

"Shit, it's one o'clock?!" Yelling to yourself, you correct your posture on the armchair and shake your head to ward off grogginess. No wonder why Usopp and Kaya decided to leave; Kaya has strict guardians, and she only gets to hang out with a select few because she still has a curfew at her big age. It seems like she's broken that rule tonight, though.

Opening your laptop, you're notified that the battery is low. You roll your eyes as you angrily retrieve the charger from your backpack.

Unfortunately, it isn't there.

You look around your bag frantically, believing the device to be there even though it isn't. As you ransack your bag, tears of anger well in your eyes at the unfortunate event, your patience running thin by the second. You look through every pocket, hole, and nook and cranny, but the charger isn't there. When your laptop screen goes black and the stupid low battery icon flashes in the middle of the screen, your eyebrows automatically knit in fury as your hands clench into a tight fist.

Not only were you left alone, but you also can't find the one device that will get you through the night.

Having had enough, you slam your hands on the table in anger, letting the sound echo in the room and the pain settle on your skin. Fuck this shit. Fuck tonight, actually. You feel so alone and stressed by school, and to top it all off, you can't find your dumb laptop charger that you just want to—

"Ugh! I want to punch someone!"

"Okay, I'll just leave then!"

Your head spins toward the door in surprise. A guy with light pink hair peeks through the small opening like a lost dog, his hands a little shaky and his mouth forming a frown. You recognize him: Koby, one of the guys in your classes, who you got to spend a month-long group project with because the other people in your group weren't helping. Koby is calm and sweet, and you may not be close, but you vibe with him just right.

"Um, did you need something? Sorry for the noise, by the way." You sneak in an apology at the end of your question because you're not sure how Koby feels about witnessing an acquaintance-almost-stranger blare out about wanting to punch someone. Like you said, Koby is calm and sweet—it would be bad to give the poor guy a heart attack.

"I-I was going to ask if I could share the room with you since, w-well, you seem to be alone, and I saw your friends come out earlier—"

"Just come in."

Koby ignores the heavy sigh you let out in fear of ticking you off even more. Entering the room, he doesn't know why you're so stressed since you seemed to be having a good time earlier with your friends. The walls are made of glass, so he's been scouting the area like a hawk to hopefully score a vacant room to spend the rest of the night in. Helmeppo left the study hall hours ago in defeat, so he had to fend for himself alone.

Thankfully, you don't seem to be too bothered by his presence. He doesn't mean to be cocky, but maybe it's because he was a good group mate to you in the past.

Koby settles on Nami's vacant seat across from you, putting his bag down on the chair beside him. You watch him with bored eyes, and Koby swears he feels a chill run down his spine when he realizes that you're eyeing him intensely. Even then, he decides to mind his business and begin setting up his materials on the table.

Koby being Koby, unfortunately, he ends up breaking. "Sorry for the interruption," he says after feeling too embarrassed.

"It's okay. Sorry for staring," you mutter. Koby nods, disregarding your tired tone. Justifiable, he thinks. It's one o'clock in the morning, and everybody in the hall hasn't slept much besides him. He mentally pats himself on the back for deciding to sleep before coming there to study—good job.

Suddenly, he notices you groaning to yourself quietly, like a silent cry for help because you're too embarrassed to ask for it. Koby decides whether or not he should ask, seeing that you were already enraged to begin with, but he decides to just go for it because what could possibly go wrong with just asking?

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You roll your eyes. Koby hopes it wasn't meant for him.

"Yeah, yeah, I am— well, not really. No, I'm not okay. Do you have a Type C charger?"

Koby's lips open in slight shock. He's starting to get scared, like you're a ticking time bomb that can detonate any second now. Even then, he slowly nods and reaches for his backpack again to come and collect the charger you're asking for.

"Here." He pushes the device toward you, and you all but leap across the table to grab it. Koby notices your desperation when you crouch on the ground and plug the charger into the wall socket and hastily get your laptop back up and running. He gulps.

Once the screen lights up, your face brightens. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Uh, you're welcome!" Koby awkwardly replies through a nervous laugh, delighted to see that you aren't angry anymore.

"You're my savior," you tell him. "You don't know just how sad I was today. I mean, my friends are gone, and my laptop just died on me, but I didn't bring a charger and all that shit. Worst of all, I'm literally—"

Your stomach growls.

"Starving," you finish. Koby keeps the same expression on his face, lips quirked up into an awkward smile as he listens to you ramble. You place a hand on your tummy and you rest your head on the table. "Sorry, Koby..."

He's glad to hear his name, though. It's nice to know that you still remember him despite your foggy brain and tired system. Looking into his backpack again, he grabs a small pink eco-bag and pushes it toward you.

You tilt your head up at the noise. The bag is right in front of your face.

"What's this?"

"You said you were hungry, so..." He nods to the bag and almost jumps from his seat when you snatch it with your quick hands. You look inside, then you scatter the contents on the table. Koby motions to the array of snacks: yogurt, milk, chocolate bars, peanuts, coffee-flavored candies, chocolate malted powder, and two bottles of probiotics. Realizing just how much food he had with him, he scratches his nape shyly. "Um, I always have food with me, but you can have these. I think you might need it because you've been here since morning."

You blankly stare at the assortment of snacks in front of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your lips form a pout.

Koby notices and assumes that you're staring at the milk.

"Sorry," he says meekly. He's kind of panicked, thinking that he brought the wrong flavor of milk. "Do you hate strawberry?"

"What?" you ask, then later on realize what he's talking about. Oh, poor innocent Koby—he thought you were upset with the milk, but really, you're just moved by his generosity. He's so kind. Do you even deserve this after scaring the guy? "No, I was just, like, thinking to myself, that's all."

"Oh," he says. "What were you thinking of?"

"I'm wondering if you're my guardian angel." His ears perk up and his cheeks start to turn pink. You pick up the strawberry milk he was talking about and inspect it closely. Then, you hold it in front of his face and make a side-by-side comparison. "Your hair and cheeks are pink, just like the milk."

His face flushes even more.

"And now you're blushing harder," you point out. As you observe the snacks on the table, many of what Koby bought seem to be strawberry-flavored, and it warms your heart to think that he seemingly has a natural attraction toward anything pink, like his light fluffy hair (and his seemingly squishable cheeks). It then crosses your mind if his hair is all-natural or if he dyes it regularly because it's the kind of pink that doesn't look real, but at the same time does. Koby catches you staring at him longer than socially acceptable though, so you snap out of your trance to avoid the awkwardness.

"I don't want to assume and waste your study time, but it seems like you're the one all entranced now," he mutters the last part because he realizes that he isn't bold enough to be making such moves on you, so he keeps his head down in embarrassment. When you don't reply, Koby opens his textbook, fixes his specs, and reads.

Your stomach aches another time, so you grab the yogurt and eat it like you haven't eaten in years. One by one, the snacks on the table disappear as you eat in silence, giving yourself a well-deserved break.

Suddenly, it hits you. Loneliness is washed away by a feeling of comfort, and, ugh, it feels so good to feel this way. Truth be told, you're still sad that your single self doesn't have a special romantic support person like your friends do, but even if you never saw Koby in that light, his company almost feels similar to it. Maybe it's the bitter jealous pang in your chest after seeing couple after couple be so lovey-dovey during finals season, but whatever it is, it's eased down a bit because of Koby. The kind guy, Koby. The oh-so-generous guy, Koby. The pink-haired guy who might be a modern-day superhero in secret, Koby. Just how many people has he done this for? Is it just you? How kind is he to share his cute pink bag of snacks because he sensed that you were hungry? What about the charger he probably needs for himself?

As you chew on an energy bar, you realize something.

Since when did Koby look this cute?

"Hey, what are you— are you crying?! Are you okay?!"

You nod your head. You didn't even realize you were crying until Koby looked up from his textbook and pointed it out. You cover your eyes with your arm.

"I'm fine, just, um, ignore me and keep studying! Gosh!"

In panic, he reaches inside his backpack for a fresh pack of tissues. He rises from his seat and walks over to you, offering it.

"Was it the candy? What's wrong?"

You reject the tissues. "No! It's just, like, about you and stuff—"

"Wha— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"No, you got it all wrong! I'm thankful for you, not the other way around." You smile through your dramatic tears. "You're just so sweet to me. You lent me your charger and gave me food when I needed them most."

He blinks slowly.

That's it?

"W-Well, I'm glad that you're... happy... about it... I guess..." he replies questioningly. "Do you still need...?"

"Tissues? No, I'm okay." You wipe your tears with your hands and shake your head. You feel energized. "Thank you, Koby..."

...for being here.

There it goes again: the slight shock on Koby's face has a hint of confusion as he tries to make sense of your actions, but he's more understanding than judgmental given your circumstances. He doesn't know what got you all annoyed in the first place, but if you're okay as you claim to be, then that's good enough for him.

Koby smiles at you genuinely. As he goes back to studying, you make a mental note to befriend him once this is all over.

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starsenha · 11 months ago

Text

COMFORT / N.R

Pairing ◊ reader x idol!riki

Genre ◊ toe curling fluff, established relationship

Warnings ◊ talk about sickness (yn's mom is sick in this), kinda sad, talk about anxiety and feeling overwhelmed, riki is just the perfect boyfie in this, cuddling

Word count ◊ 3,2k

Summary ◊ You called riki like usual tonight, but he saw there was something wrong. When you started crying during the call, he knew he had to come to see you and be there for you, even if it meant nearly missing his schedule.

a/n: not proofread, enjoy!

You stared at your phone screen, anxiously waiting for the familiar video call tone to ring. Tonight, the usual excitement and anticipation were replaced by a heavy weight in your chest. College had been overwhelming lately—assignments, exams, and personal issues all seemed to be piling up at once. You didn't want to burden Riki with your problems. His schedule was already packed with rehearsals, recordings, and performances. But despite your best efforts to hide your feelings, Riki always seemed to know when something was off.

The phone rang, and his face appeared on the screen, immediately brightening your dimly lit room. His smile was infectious, and you almost forgot your worries for a moment.

"Hey, baby," Riki greeted, his voice warm and cheerful. "How was your day?"

"Hey," you replied, trying to muster a smile. "It was okay, just the usual college stuff."

Riki's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your face. "You sure? You look a bit tired."

"I'm fine," you lied, not wanting to worry him. "How was your day?"

Riki's face lit up as he launched into a story about his bandmates. "Oh, you wouldn't believe what happened today! Heeseung hyung was trying to teach Sunoo a new dance move, and he ended up tripping over his own feet. It was hilarious! He blamed it on the slippery floor, but we all know it was just him being clumsy."

You forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to your own ears. Riki's expression softened, and he leaned closer to the screen as if he could reach through and hold you.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle. "I know something's up. You can talk to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the day's stress pressing down on you. "It's just... everything feels overwhelming right now. College, personal stuff... I don't know. I didn't want to bother you with it."

Riki's eyes filled with concern. "You're never a bother to me, you know that. I care about you, and I want to know when you're feeling down. Tell me what's going on."

You took a deep breath, finally letting the floodgates open. "It's just been really hard lately. I have so many assignments and exams coming up, and I feel like I'm falling behind. And there's this whole thing with my family... it's just a lot to handle,’’ you confessed, feeling the tightness in your chest intensify as you spoke.

Riki's eyes softened with concern. "I'm sorry you're going through all that, baby. Fuck, I wish I could be there to help you."

The tears you had been holding back started to spill over, staining your cheeks. "I just feel like I'm drowning. There's so much pressure from school, and things back at home aren't any better. I don't know what to do, and I feel so alone," you said, your voice cracking.

Seeing you cry broke Riki's heart. He reached out towards the screen as if he could touch you, his eyes filling with worry and helplessness. "Oh, baby, please don't cry," he pleaded. "I hate seeing you like this. I wish I could hold you right now."

You tried to wipe your tears away, but they kept coming. "I'm sorry, Riki. I didn't want to dump all of this on you. You already have so much to deal with."

"Don't apologize," he said firmly. "Your feelings matter to me. You matter to me."

Riki was silent for a moment, his mind racing. Then, with a determined look, he grabbed his jacket and began to gather his things.

"What are you doing?" you asked, sniffling.

"I'm coming to see you," he said simply.

"No, Riki, you can't," you protested. "It's too risky. What if you get caught? You could get in serious trouble. And don’t you have early practice tomorrow morning?’’

"I don't care," he said, his voice resolute. "You're more important to me than any rule or schedule. I can't stand to see you like this and not do anything about it."

"But—"

"No buts," he interrupted gently. "I need to be with you right now. You need me, and I need to be there for you."

You watched as he quietly slipped out of his dorm room, his phone still in hand. Your heart raced with a mix of fear and relief. "Riki, please, you don't have to do this. I'll be okay."

"I want to," he replied, his voice soft but firm. "I need to see you, to hold you. You're everything to me, and I won't let anything stand in the way of that."

The journey seemed to take forever, and you stayed on the call, your tears gradually slowing as you listened to his footsteps and the occasional whispered reassurance. When he finally arrived at your dorm, he gave a gentle knock on your door.

You opened it, and there he was, his face a mix of worry and determination. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

"I'm here now," he whispered into your hair. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here."

You clung to him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace. "Thank you, Riki. I don't know what I'd do without you.’’

"You'll never have to find out," he promised, kissing the top of your head. "We'll get through this together."

For the first time that night and since days, you felt a sense of peace. He was your comfort person, and at that moment, you were so blessed to have him in your life. Riki guided you gently to your bed, where you both sat down. He held your hands, his thumbs gently caressing your knuckles as he looked at you with tender concern.

"Tell me everything," he urged softly. "I'm here now. I want to know what's going on."

You took a deep breath, feeling a lump in your throat. "It's my mom," you began, your voice trembling. "She's been really sick lately. She was diagnosed with a serious illness a few weeks ago, and it's been really hard on my family."

Riki's eyes widened with worry, but he kept his grip on your hands steady. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I could have been there for you. You shouldn't have had to deal with this alone."

"I didn't want to burden you," you admitted, tears welling up again. "You already have so much on your plate. I didn't want to add to your stress."

Riki shook his head, pulling you closer. "You're never a burden to me, you know that. I care about you so much. You should have told me. I want to help you through this."

You leaned into him, finding comfort in his embrace. "It's not just my mom. My younger brother has been acting out because of everything that's happening. He's been getting into trouble at school, and my dad is always at work trying to pay the medical bills. It's like everything is falling apart."

Riki's arms tightened around you, holding you securely against his chest. "I'm so sorry, baby. I wish I could make everything better for you. But I'm here now, and I'll do whatever I can to support you."

You buried your face in his shoulder, the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart grounding you. "Thank you, Riki. Just having you here makes a huge difference."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. "You're not alone in this. We'll get through it together. Whenever you need to talk or need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you."

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. "It just feels like everything is so overwhelming. I don't know how to handle it all."

"One step at a time," he whispered, his voice calm and reassuring. "We'll take it one step at a time. And remember, it's okay to lean on others. You have me, and I want to help you carry this burden."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes filled with unwavering support. "I'm so lucky to have you," you said softly.

"And I'm lucky to have you," he replied, his lips curling into a small smile. "Now, let's just take a moment to breathe. We don't have to solve everything tonight. But I'm here, and I won't let go."

He shifted slightly, lying back on the bed and pulling you with him so that you were nestled in his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. Riki held you in his arms for a while, letting you feel his presence and his unwavering support. Then, he gently pulled back and cupped your face in his hands, looking into your eyes with a determined expression.

"Alright, enough sadness for tonight," he said with a small smile. "I know exactly what will cheer you up."

You gave him a curious look as he reached over to grab your laptop from your desk. He opened it and quickly navigated to your favorite streaming website. Within moments, the familiar theme music of "Harry Potter" filled the room.

"Harry Potter?" you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

"Of course," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "It's your comfort movie, right? Thought it might help distract you for a bit."

You nodded, touched by the fact that he actually remembered. "You remembered."

"I remember everything about you," he said softly, kissing your forehead. "Now, you stay here and get comfortable. I'm going to make us some food."

Before you could protest, he was off the bed and heading towards your small kitchen area. You watched him with a mix of amusement and affection as he rummaged through your cupboards, finally pulling out a couple of packets of instant ramen.

"Don't laugh," he called over his shoulder, grinning. "I know I'm not a great cook, but this is something I can manage."

You chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "Ramen sounds perfect, 'ki. Thank you."

As he prepared the ramen, you settled back against the pillows, the familiar scenes of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" playing out on your laptop. The comforting music and the sight of Hogwarts brought a sense of nostalgia and peace.

Riki soon returned with two steaming bowls of ramen. He handed one to you, then climbed back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged beside you. "Here you go, freshly made by yours truly."

You took the bowl and inhaled the savory aroma. "It smells great. Thanks."

"Anything for you," he said with a wink, then started eating his own ramen. "So, what's your favorite part of this movie?"

You smiled, feeling more at ease. "Probably when Harry first arrives at Hogwarts. It's so magical and full of wonder."

Riki nodded, slurping his noodles noisily. "Yeah, I get that. It's like stepping into a whole new world."

As the movie played on, Riki continued to chat with you, making funny comments about the characters and the scenes. "Look at Snape. Always looks like he just drank sour milk," he joked, making you giggle.

"And Draco Malfoy," he continued with a dramatic flair. "Always acting like he's the king of the castle. What a drama queen."

You laughed, feeling your spirits lift with each of his playful remarks. "You know, you could give him a run for his money in the drama department," you teased.

"Hey now," he protested with a grin. "I only use my dramatic skills for good, like cheering up my beautiful girlfriend."

Once you finished your bowl –he of course made sure you ate every single bit of the ramen– he set them on the floor next to your bed and settled in bed with you, cuddling you. Before you knew it, you had drifted off, your head resting gently against his shoulder.

Riki noticed your breathing slow and deepen, and he looked down to see you fast asleep, your face relaxed and peaceful. A soft smile spread across his face as he watched you sleep, feeling a swell of affection and love that made his heart ache in the best way possible. You looked so adorable, cuddled up in his arm, and he couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have you in his life.

He carefully adjusted his position to make you more comfortable without waking you, his arm securely around you. The movie continued to play, but his attention was entirely on you. Every once in a while, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, marveling at how serene and beautiful you looked in your sleep.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He carefully fished it out, making sure not to disturb you. The screen lit up with a message from Jungwon. Oh, he was so fucked.

[Jungwon hyung] Where are you? You’re not at the dorm. We have practice early tomorrow.

Riki sighed quietly, knowing that he would likely face some serious scolding tomorrow. He glanced at you, still sleeping peacefully, and felt a surge of protectiveness. None of that mattered right now. What mattered was being here for you.

He replied as quietly as possible, not wanting to risk waking you.

[Riki] I’m with y/n. She needed me. I’ll be back in the morning.

A moment later, his phone buzzed again.

[Jungwon hyung]: You know this isn’t allowed, Riki. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. And I swear if you are late, I’ll beat your ass.

Riki muttered a soft curse under his breath, his gaze shifting back to you. He turned off his phone and placed it aside, focusing on the feeling of having you close. The warmth of your body against his, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed—it all made him feel more certain than ever about his feelings for you. He knew he was deeply in love with you, so much so that nothing else seemed to matter.

The night continued, the room filled with the soft glow of the laptop screen and the steady sound of your breathing. Riki watched over you, his heart full, feeling more content than he had in a long time. In that moment, all the pressures and responsibilities faded away, leaving just the two of you, together and safe.

As the credits of the movie rolled, Riki carefully adjusted the blanket over you both, making sure you were warm and comfortable. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. With you in his arms, he closed his eyes, savoring the quiet moments of peace.

The room was dark and quiet when Riki's alarm went off, the soft chime barely breaking the stillness. He stirred, groaning softly as he reached to silence his phone. It was really early, the kind of early that made everything feel surreal and dreamlike. He blinked, trying to shake off the sleepiness and remember where he was.

You were still nestled in his arms, your head resting against his chest. Riki carefully untangled himself from you, moving slowly to avoid waking you. He slipped off the bed, grabbing his jacket and shoes as quietly as possible. But despite his best efforts, the slight rustle and movement stirred you awake.

"Riki?" you mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

He froze, turning to you with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to wake you."

You sat up, blinking in the dim light. "What time is it? Where are you going?"

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's really early. I have an early practice to get to, and if I'm late, Jungwon will kill me. Well, he's probably going to kill me anyway for not being at the dorm last night."

You frowned, still half-asleep but worried. "Are you going to be okay? I don't want you to get into trouble because of me."

Riki leaned over and kissed your forehead. "Don't worry about me. It was worth it to be here with you. You needed me, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

You reached out, grabbing his hand. "I don't want you to get in trouble, though."

"I'll handle it," he assured you, giving your hand a squeeze. "Right now, I need to sneak back to the dorm without getting caught. I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left."

You nodded, still worried but knowing he had to go. "Thank you for everything, Riki. You really helped me last night."

He smiled, his eyes soft with affection. "I'm glad I could be here for you. Just remember, I'm always just a call away. Anytime you need me."

You watched as he quietly finished getting ready, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his jacket. He moved towards the door, then turned back for a moment, his eyes lingering on you.

"Try to get some more sleep, okay? And take care of yourself today," he said softly.

"I will," you promised. "You take care too. And good luck with practice."

He chuckled quietly. "Thanks. I'll need it."

With one last, lingering look, he slipped out the door, carefully closing it behind him. You lay back down, feeling the warmth he left behind in the bed. Despite the early interruption, you felt comforted by his presence and his words.

Riki moved quickly but quietly through the early morning streets, the city still mostly asleep. Thank god, he thought, he couldn’t run into an engene or anyone right now. He navigated his way back to the dorm, his heart pounding not just from the rush but from the thoughts of you. He knew there would be consequences, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision.

As he approached the dorm, he checked the time. He was cutting it close, but he might just make it. He slipped inside, moving as silently as possible, hoping to avoid any early risers.

Just as he thought he was in the clear, he bumped into Jungwon, who was standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, looking none too pleased.

"Riki," Jungwon said, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. "Do you know what time it is?"

Riki scratched the back of his head, giving Jungwon a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, hyung. I had to take care of something important."

Jungwon sighed, his expression softening a bit. "Look, I understand if it was important, but you need to communicate. We have schedules to keep, and the rest of the team relies on you."

"I know, I know," Riki said, nodding earnestly. "It won't happen again. I promise."

Jungwon gave him a long look, then nodded. "Alright. Get ready for practice. And next time, just let me know what's going on. I hope y/n is okay

Riki smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Jungwon. I will. And she’s better now."

As he hurried to get ready, Riki couldn't help but think about you, knowing that no matter how much trouble he got into, it was all worth it to be there for you when you needed him most.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen jay #enhypen scenarios #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #nishimura niki #enhypen niki fluff #niki fluff #riki fluff #enhypen riki fluff #nishimura riki fluff #nishimura niki fluff

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