#im particularly fond of x reader

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back. 

so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

#im a lil unsure how to feel abt this piece i feel like it lost its flow pretty quickly 😔👉👈but i rlly did have fun writing it hehe #my baseline for yan!gojo is basically; a kind man who’s so in love w u that he’s willing to compromise his own morals to keep u safe #he’s not particularly possessive or even obsessive?? to him violence really is just . a necessary means to keep u happy #this is almost definitely the only yan piece ill ever write bUT im very fond of this gojo … he’s a tortured little meowmeow <33 #cw yandere #yandere gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #tw yandere

[mangoisms]

superposition ━ miyuki kazuya in which miyuki isn't the fool in love with his childhood best friend. it's you.

━ completed

━ wc: 27k

━ warnings: none

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

You met Miyuki Kazuya when you were eight-years-old. You didn’t know how to feel about him.

You were introduced to him simply because he was the same age as you and you happened to live a few houses down from each other. It had been an attempt to get you to socialize more, as the move from your home country had severely jarred you. Here you were, in an entirely different city and country with strange new customs and environments. The small, eight-year-old you didn’t like it very much.

The move had all been done in favor of the bakery your parents ran, recipes based on traditional dishes you grew up with. The bakery was right next door to your home and always seemed to be busy. Your father was almost always there, running around, making sure customers were happy while your mother played the entertainer.

They must’ve gotten tired of having to split their attention between you and the bakery because that morning before the bakery opened, she dragged you into the yard, where a short boy with brown hair and glasses waited.

“This Miyuki Kazuya. He lives down the street with his father. Go on, say hello,” your mother tried to coax you out from behind her legs, but you stayed there stubbornly, the fabric of her skirt balled up in your small hands. Your strength was no match against hers, though, and she pried you off her skirt, leaving the two of you in the yard of your house alone.

The boy peered cautiously at you. You realized he was smaller than you and relaxed slightly. Smaller kids were easier to deal with, right?

“Do you know how to play baseball?” he asked suddenly, watching with wide, amber eyes.

You pursed your lips. “Not really. It’s hard.”

Miyuki blinked in surprise. “Hard? No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you countered stubbornly.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Can you throw a ball?”

You stopped, confused at the sudden question. “Of course I can,” you huffed, now affronted. What kind of question was that? Who didn’t know how to throw a ball?

“Then you can play. Come on, let’s go. I left my glove at my house.” He turned and began walking down the street, not bothering to wait for you.

He was annoying, you thought, but you were a little curious, so you followed him down the sidewalk to a two-story home a few houses down from yours, right next door to a factory.

“Wait here,” he instructed then dashed into the house, giving you no time to protest. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. Who was this boy? He was so demanding and know-it-all. And you barely knew him, who was he to tell you what to do?

While you were tempted to not listen to him, you stayed there, waiting impatiently for him to return. You glanced around. The factory next door had the sounds of work going on, but you couldn’t see anything and the windows were far too high for you to see. You squinted to read the sign. Miyuki Steel. Did his family own a business, too?

You looked back to the door as he dashed out of the house, baseball glove and ball in hand. He held up a hand, signaling for you to wait as he ran to the factory and popped his head into the doorway.

“I’ll be home in a little while, Dad!”

There was no audible response, but he turned back around anyway, walking back towards you. He tossed you the ball, which you clumsily caught with a scowl on your face.

“Does your family own a business, too?”

“My dad,” he corrected. “He makes machines. It’s cool.”

That was kinda cool, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you agreed.

“Are you gonna work there, too? When you’re grown-up?”

“No way. I’m gonna be a professional baseball player.” He turned to grin arrogantly at you. “Hey, hurry up. We need to get a good spot at the park.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you muttered, mood souring quickly at his bossiness.

Miyuki shrugged. “That’s what catchers do for their pitchers.”

“I’m not a pitcher,” you protested, following him reluctantly across the street after you glanced both directions, something he’d totally failed to do before crossing. “I wanna be a doctor.”

“That’s boring.”

You scowled, stopping on the sidewalk and dropping the ball unceremoniously onto the ground. “I don’t want to play, then.”

“Fine, then.” He continued walking towards the park, barely sparing you a glance.

You stood there for a second, casting a glance at the baseball still resting at your feet, then at your house that was quite a ways back. Squinting, you could see the bakery right next to it, the door swinging open and closed as people entered in quick succession. You recalled your mother’s words before Miyuki came over.

“Honey, please . . . Try to make some friends, okay? Kazuya is a good kid. He’ll grow on you.”

Initially, you’d been confused. Shouldn’t she have said something like ‘you’ll like him’ instead of that? But now, you understood. He was infuriating.

Yet, you remembered the loneliness of the first few days, stuck inside the house with nothing to do. Your older sister was always in her room, not willing to play with you. Apparently, she’d outgrown you, which didn’t make much sense. Sisters were always there, weren’t they?

Then, there was the situation with your parents and the bakery. On top of that, they were also preoccupied with your mother’s pregnancy. Rather, your father was constantly worrying about her, even though she was only six months pregnant. The baby only came when she was nine months pregnant, so why was he so worried about it?

You frowned, staring at the red stitching on the baseball. Miyuki’s bossiness . . . Well, it could be something you worked on, right?

You picked up the ball and ran after him.

“Wait up!”

You decided that he may not be the ideal friend, but he was there, and that was all that mattered.

Your younger brother was born two months later in the winter of December on a particularly cold day. By then, Miyuki had stuck to your side like a parasite, always asking for you to pitch to him, always asking for you to help him out if he ever got scraped up. And you did it, not necessarily because he was being annoying about it — which he was, but you were beginning to grow immune to his pestering — but because it was fun.

(Well. Disinfecting bloody knees wasn’t fun, but the cringe you’d get out of him when you poured hydrogen peroxide over the cut was always satisfying. Served him right for running around like an idiot.)

For your little brother’s one-month anniversary, friends and family were invited over. Aunts and uncles preened over you (“You’re growing up so fast!” and “You look exactly like your mother!”). It was horrible, so you managed to sneak Miyuki in and made a getaway to your room to play video games.

As you walked down the hallway, his attention was grabbed by your little brother currently napping in his nursery. (You didn’t understand why the party still went on even while he was asleep. This was all for him, wasn’t it?)

“He’s not that cute,” Miyuki muttered as he looked over the bars of the crib.

You nodded somberly. “He isn’t. He looks like a wrinkled grape. Mom said that’s just how little babies look, though.”

“So, you looked like that at one point, then.”

You scoffed. “So did you.”

“Of course I didn’t. I was a cute baby.”

“Sure.”

He reached out to tug on a piece of your hair and you batted his hand away with a scowl. “I won’t pitch for you anymore,” you said warningly.

“Fine, fine,” Miyuki snickered. “Come on. I wanna play Mario Kart today.”

You two snuck out of the nursery and into your room to play games for the rest of day, at least until he had to go home. Or until your mother discovered him.

Your name is called, just as your mother opens the door, in the middle of saying, “— come downstairs we’re all going to have din —"

She stops, blinking in surprise at the sight of Miyuki on the floor. “Hello, Kazuya.”

He stood up quickly and bowed.

She smiled, but it looked strange. “Would you like to join us for dinner? Perhaps you want to invite your father as well? Oh, does he know you’re here?”

Miyuki nodded but didn’t say much after that. You took over.

“He’ll stay. You should invite your dad, too. If he’s not working.” Both of you knew the answer to that, but your mother was still watching you two interact, a curious look in her eyes.

“Well, you know where the house phone is. Come down in a few minutes, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shut the door. You look down at him. “Working?”

He nodded. “All day.”

You shrugged, pulling yourself off your bed. “That’s okay. You can be with us.”

“Let’s play catch afterward.”

You rolled your eyes as you two exited the room. When you passed your brother’s room, the crib was empty. You could hear your family members cooing downstairs and figured he must’ve woken up.

“Thought you wanted to play Mario Kart?” you huffed as you walked down the stairs.

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

For the last few years of elementary school and your first year of junior high, you two were joined at the hip. Junior high also meant that Miyuki was getting serious about baseball. He’d received his first catcher’s glove from his father for his birthday that year. Not that using the one from the school hindered his performance anyway.

Being on the team meant he constantly got into fights with the older boys, so you slowly transitioned from cleaning up scrapes he received from rolling around to bandaging and icing bruises he received from fights.

You’d been making your way to the baseball field to catch Miyuki. You’d already heard of his loss from the other students part of the medical club and worried about his well-being, but when he dashed up the hill, he was grinning widely. Your eyes immediately went to the cut on his face.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked, gaping as he ran up to you, baseball gear over his shoulder.

“Never mind that. I can’t believe you missed today’s game. It was so good.”

“Miyuki, didn’t you guys lose?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Their catcher outplayed me!”

You surveyed him carefully. “Did you get a concussion?”

“What — No, I’m fine,” he shook his head, his cap moving precariously with his rapid movements. “You’re not listening to me right now. He was some foreigner, I heard his dad was in the Majors here after coming from America.”

“And this is good because . . . ?” you trailed off, confusion clear in your voice.

Miyuki’s grin turned competitive. “I finally have a challenger.”

You scrutinized him for a few more seconds, long enough for his grin to fade and for him to fidget under your gaze. Finally, you clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Is everything a challenge to you?”

“How else am I supposed to be the best?”

You scowled. “Maybe not get hurt? Also, how did you get that cut? Are you the boys beating you up again? They better not be.”

“I tripped and fell on my way up here.” As usual, he looked utterly unashamed. You had to wonder: did this boy even feel shame? You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning on your heel, setting off for the school.

“Dummy. Come on, let’s go.” You didn’t wait for him, knowing he’d keep up with you without any protests.

“Those fights were never my fault, either,” he disagreed. “Age doesn’t matter on the field and I was just saying it like it is.”

You rolled your eyes, though you agreed. You’d never been fond of the way his older teammates pushed him around; even if Miyuki could be painfully blunt sometimes, you didn’t think there was any reason to get violent with him. And even then, sometimes he didn't even need to say anything for them to get pissed off.

You really didn't like his teammates.

He never fought back, either; said everything should be resolved on the field. You agreed, but the other boys would never think like that. They’d only continue to beat him up because they felt insecure, or he said something about their performance — something that was probably true. He could be brutal but he wasn't cruel.

“Also,” he continued as you two reentered the school and walked to your locker where you held a first aid kit (specifically put there because of Miyuki), “there was a scout there today, from Seido High School.”

You unlocked the locker, rummaging through it for the kit. “And?”

He told you about his encounter (you snorted when he recalled her comment about his height) with her and when he was finished, leaning against the locker as you tended to his cut, he looked thoughtful.

“You think he’d go to Seido?”

“Who’s this kid again? Do you have a crush?”

Miyuki puffed out his cheeks, glaring slightly at you. “No way. He’s my competition. I can’t like the enemy that way!”

You laughed, reveling in this brief moment where you were the one annoying him. “Alright, alright. I don’t know, Miyuki. Seido’s a good school, I think, especially if you wanna get serious about baseball.”

“Should I go?”

You pressed the gauze to his cheek, shooting him an apologetic look after he winced from the pressure. After, you began cleaning up and putting the kit away again. He was awaiting your answer still, watching you with analytic eyes. You shrugged.

“It’s up to you. Seido’s a powerhouse school, so I think you’d be fine, especially since you’re so damn competitive. I just thought you meant you’d challenge him from another school, assuming he went to Seido,” you told him honestly. “But also, we’re barely first years.”

He nodded, but he still looked thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

You shut your locker and shoved him forward, making him stumble on his feet.

“Hey, what was that for?” he yelped indignantly, catching his balance and readjusting the bag on his shoulder.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you replied. “Hurry up. You need to shower because you stink and my mom wants to try out a recipe with you.”

“You’re picking up too many of my habits,” he said, mock-disapprovingly, as you put on your backpack again and fell in step beside him.

“Is Miyuki Kazuya admitting he has flaws?”

“Never mind. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In your second year of junior high, your brother turned four-years-old. You also finally hit fourteen, along with Miyuki. With that, many changes came. Odd changes. Body changes. You wouldn’t lie. It was weird.

The counselors seemed to notice the sudden plight you all had. Girls stuck closer to each other, gossiping about boys and the like. Boys were suddenly coming in wearing heavy cologne, trying their hardest to appeal to others. You thought it was stupid. So did Miyuki.

That didn’t mean you two were exempt from the mandatory conversation with the counselor about the ‘changes in your body’ and the ‘strange way you may be feeling,’ whatever that meant. Truth be told, it was almost scarring.

“Tell me, have you noticed a change in your feelings to other boys? Perhaps even girls?”

You blinked demurely. “Not really.”

The counselor wasn’t satisfied, her lips turning down for a split second before she fixed into a proper smile. “No to the girls?”

“No to both of them,” you corrected politely. “I don’t really notice or care about those sort of feelings. They’re not necessary.”

“Not . . . necessary?” She asked, confusion as clear as day on her face.

You shrugged. “That’s what my older sister says.” Your elder sister had graduated high school last year and stayed home to help out with the family business, apparently finding some happiness in the kitchen baking pastries. You weren’t so keen on staying here, at least not in this part of Tokyo.

Your mother and father would probably have you stay back happily, too. As your third and final year of junior high grew closer, teachers and parents were suddenly awaiting your decision on a high school. You wished they’d just leave you alone.

“Alright,” she conceded warily. “But what do you think?”

What did you think? Now, that was the million-dollar question.

You shrugged again. The counselor was beginning to look annoyed.

“Well, regardless of that, you should know that some of the . . . urges you may get aren’t things you need to act on.” . . . Wait, what?

You stared at her. “Uh . . .”

“I’m sure you know what sex is —”

You blanched. “Sensei!” That was what this was about? No, you already knew about that, probably too much. The other girls in your grade hadn’t hesitated on divulging private details about their close encounters with other boys and it was far too much information you ever wanted to know about anybody else. You didn’t judge on what they were doing, that’s not it, it’s just — too much information.

“I already know about that stuff,” you hurried out, feeling your face begin to heat up. “A-And I know I shouldn’t do any of that until I’m older. I know.”

She scrutinized you and you wondered if this was what Miyuki felt like whenever you gave him that look. If so, you were going to stop. It felt like she was seeing right through you.

Finally, she sighed and nodded. “You have a good head on your shoulders, so, I trust you’ll know what to do if you’re ever faced with something like that. Remember, though, you can always say no to unwanted advances, alright?”

You nodded firmly, finding familiar ground. Yeah, your father had given you that particular talk, too.

“Girl or boy, you always ask consent and they should, too. Don’t be afraid to say no and don’t be afraid to get out of there if they don’t agree.” You weren’t a pushover. Hell, you couldn’t be one if you had to deal with someone like Miyuki. But even he seemed more aware of the kids that were suddenly looking at you with renewed interest.

“They ought to keep their eyes to themselves,” he’d muttered, stepping around to your other side to block you from the wandering eyes of a group of third years.

You only sighed, burying your nose deeper into the book on medicine you’d been obsessed with at the time. Oh, you could definitely take care of yourself and if need be, fight for yourself, too, but if Miyuki was willing to be your defender for now, who were you to deny him? It wasn’t like you doubted your ability to defend yourself. But he was already there and you weren’t going to waste that opportunity. Basic strategy in your opinion.

“Alright, then, we’re done here. Send Kazuya in, won’t you?”

You nodded and scrambled out of your seat, desperate to get out of that situation. Your face still felt irritatingly hot but you ignored it. You exited the office, spotting Miyuki in the waiting area, a sports magazine in his lap.

“You’re up, Miyuki,” you said, stealing the magazine off his lap, much to his chagrin.

“Hey, I was reading that —” he made a grab for it but you stretched your arm behind you, holding it at a distance. He stood up and you were momentarily surprised, stunned if you were being honest. So surprised you let him pry the magazine out of your hands.

“There’s a good article in here about the catcher that the SoftBank Hawks just recruited, I want to take a picture of it. You have your phone?” He held out his hand expectantly and you had the briefest of common sense to hand your phone over to him. His fingers brushed against yours and you pulled back, as though you’d been electrocuted. He didn’t notice.

You stared at him. When . . . When had he gotten so tall? Only last year he’d been the about the same height as you, if only a few inches taller, but it hadn’t been noticeable. When you’d been kids, you’d always been the one taller than him, but you kept growing and seemed to have stopped now.

Miyuki, though . . . He was easily five to six inches taller than you. What would that be? Five foot nine? Maybe even five foot ten? When had this happened? Was this recent? Or had it been gradual and you just hadn’t noticed?

“I’m gonna need to use your phone later to read this. Thanks. Hey, what does she want, by the way?” He’d handed you your phone back without glancing back and set the magazine back down on the coffee table, but once he’d turned around, he stopped and frowned at you, saying your name. “You good?”

You snapped out of it. “I’m fine, sorry. Just got distracted.”

“With what?” Of course. Miyuki Kazuya never knew when to drop something. He eyed you with barely-hidden suspicion.

“It’s nothing. Have you gotten taller recently?” Curse your loose tongue. You couldn’t help it, though. You had to know.

“Have I . . . ? Oh. Yeah,” he grinned, looking smug now, but there was something different because now you had to look up at him. It felt weird. Strange. “Five foot nine and half, last time I checked. Had to donate almost all of my pants. What about you?”

You scowled, your strange feelings disappearing as quickly as they’d come. “Shut it. Hurry up before Otsuka-sensei comes out here and beats you up.”

His obnoxious laughter followed you out of the main office. “She wouldn’t! I’ll see you in class, don’t eat lunch without me!”

You paused to look back at him. “What if you take too long?”

He grinned in a way that irritated you. “Guess you’re not eating lunch!”

You scowled deeply, swallowing down the curse words you felt compelled to throw at him, only holding back because of the receptionist currently eyeing you two in disapproval.

Prick, you mouthed.

He winked. Bastard.

Saying others didn’t have high expectations of you would be a lie. You were one of the top students in your grade, well-known for taking excellent notes and passing all your exams. Of course, others merely assumed you were just naturally intelligent, but it didn’t work that way.

There were far too many times when you had to split time between working register at the bakery and studying for a test. And many more times when you had to turn Miyuki down for some time to yourself. Honestly, though, you were sure you’d have run yourself into the ground if it hadn’t been for Miyuki’s pestering sometimes.

“I need to study, Miyuki,” you grumbled, switching between reading your textbook and taking inventory behind the counter. He was leaning over it, glove and baseball in his hand with his hat worn crookedly as per usual.

“You’ve been studying for the past three days. A break won’t kill you.”

“It might.”

He huffed petulantly. “You’re ignoring your best friend in favor of school? How cruel.”

You sighed shortly. “Don’t pull that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure your little brother would be more than happy to pitch to me —”

“You realize he has the arm strength of a toddler, right?”

“Or maybe Mei would be willing to do it. He has been begging me to catch for him recently . . .”

“Narumiya . . .” you grumbled out, mood souring further. Narumiya Mei was from downtown Tokyo, living it up in the more expensive districts at his junior high where he dominated as the ace. Apparently, Miyuki and Narumiya had gone head-to-head during a game in the first semester of your second year and Narumiya liked Miyuki’s style of catching, even though your junior high’s team had lost phenomenally.

“I’m sure he won’t mind taking the train here . . .”

You clicked your tongue, flipping to the next page of your textbook. “Miyuki, you and I both know you can’t handle him for long periods of time. It’s literally impossible.”

He cracked a genuine smile. “Give him more credit.”

“No,” you refused stubbornly. Narumiya could be so condescending sometimes. The first time you’d met him, he hadn’t hesitated to throw an insult at you and worse, Miyuki hadn’t felt the need to defend you from it. That had been your first serious fight.

“Yes, Miyuki, I can defend myself, but I hardly knew him. Why couldn’t you step up for me? Just that once?”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends defend each other, especially best friends, so what the hell?”

“If that’s all you’re going to talk about, I really don’t want to play with you, then.”

You had thick skin. You had to, being friends with Miyuki and all. And okay, fine, you were hurt when he had dismissed you so easily. Sure, maybe you were making this a bigger deal than it should’ve been, but nothing had quite hurt as much as it had when you learned that he’d went to catch for Narumiya after you had abandoned him. (Or rather after he’d abandoned you.)

Your older sister had been pissed to find you sniffling about it later on that day, vowing to kick his ass. You only barely managed to restrain her. Miyuki wouldn’t like someone else coming to speak or fight on your behalf. You both were mature enough to discuss it. Or so you hoped, anyway.

One week of no contact between you two had you almost caving and giving into him, but to your pleasant surprise, he approached you first. More specifically, he’d taken the painstaking time to jump the fence into your backyard and toss pebbles at your window until you finally opened it, almost taking a well-aimed pebble to the face in the process.

Of course, he didn’t outright apologize. Instead, he’d asked: “Can we play catch?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“It is,” he agreed, then held up his glove and ball. “Please?”

You’d sighed, turning back into your room to change out of your sleeping clothes into something more suitable for going out in the muggy July night. It was easy to sneak out, your parents and siblings all fast sleep and immune to any quiet noises you might’ve made on the way out. Miyuki was waiting for you on the sidewalk in front of your house when you exited; you shut and locked the door quietly behind you.

Silently, you two began the trek to the park down the street. You found yourself tensing whenever a car would pass, ducking your head to hide your face. When the third one came round, you finally spoke. “What exactly am I breaking curfew for, Miyuki? My parents would kill me if we got taken home by a police officer.”

You lifted your head once the car was out of sight and turned to look at him. He had a pensive frown on his face. “I . . . I’m sorry.” He didn’t make eye contact with you. (In the present day, you distantly wondered if he’d been taller than you at the time, too. He had, but only by a few inches, not as tall as he’d been during the talk with the counselor.)

You were speechless. Miyuki Kazuya didn’t . . . apologize. Quite honestly, you were beginning to think you had made a bigger deal out of it than necessary. But perhaps that had been a trick on your own part, anything to try and talk with Miyuki like normal again. Up until now, you two had been close, though baseball was starting to take up a lot of his time and the medical club at school had begun helping third years find good high schools with medical curriculum programs so you were constantly staying after school.

He continued to avoid your eyes. “I should’ve defended you. You were right. Mei was being an ass and you don’t deserve that. Only I can be mean to you.”

The last part almost sounded like a defense mechanism, a way to stop this conversation from becoming too heavy. You appreciated it more than you thought you would.

You elbowed him in the ribs. “Is it physically impossible for you to say something nice?”

“Yes.” Miyuki nodded unabashedly. You scowled, but there was no heat behind it.

“Fine, I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too. I did kind of make a big deal.”

He shook his head, adamant now. “I was being a dick. You were right.” He looked at you, a little more meaningful. He elbowed you back. “Now, come on, I’ve been missing my favorite horrible pitcher.”

“Keep saying stuff like that and I won’t pitch for you.”

His laughter echoed off the houses, his eyes looking golden underneath the tawny glow of street lamps —

“— attention to me. Hey!”

Tan fingers snapped in front of your face, making you jump as you were abruptly brought back to the present. Right. Studying, an annoying Miyuki (as usual), the impending end of course exam for your English class. You regained your bearings, finding a frowning Miyuki in front of you. The furrow of his brow told you he was concerned.

“Sorry. Just got lost in thought for a little while,” you chuckled, a little embarrassed. Despite yourself, you noticed how the warm glow of the setting sun accented the golden flecks in his eyes, which were studying you seriously. You tried for a reassuring smile, but he clearly didn’t believe you.

He called out to your mother. “I’m going to be taking her out for a few! She’s been working hard!”

You gaped at him and barely managed to slip a bookmark into your textbook before he shut it and slid it underneath the counter. Your mother popped her head out of the kitchen, smiling in that perceptive way of hers.

“Of course, Kazuya. Be back by six. You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and bring something to your father if he can’t make it.”

He grinned at her, in that charming sort of way he always did for your mother and older sister. “Yes, ma’am!”

You sighed, taking off the bakery apron and reaching for your own baseball cap. You both had gone to a SoftBank Hawks game for his twelfth birthday and bought matching caps for it. It was one of your favorite memories.

You didn’t truly care for baseball — definitely not like he did — but it made him happy, so you never really minded playing a good game with him.

By no means were you a legitimate pitcher, and as you two grew, you worried that your horrible pitching would hinder his performance since you didn’t provide a true challenge, but he had constantly said he liked playing with you for fun.

“Competitions are fun, too,” he’d agreed with your initial argument. “But I don’t have to be strategic or hard-working with you. It’s always been better with you.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, as you’d see the way his eyes lit up whenever he was out there on the field, hitting home runs, calling pitches (honestly, baseball was the perfect sport for him to show off his bossiness; you always pitied the pitchers assigned to him).

But, as you two walked to the park, you listening to him ramble about some baseball game, you figured he’d been playing catch with you this long, hadn’t he? That had to count for something.

Third year meant picking your high schools, pulling all-nights to study for entrance exams and most importantly, keeping up your grades — all the while dragging a reluctant Miyuki right behind you.

“What if you can’t get a scholarship? What if you do get one but it’s only for baseball? They’ll really be paying close attention to your grades then, you know,” you’d lectured him for the umpteenth time since the first semester began. “Having good studying habits won’t hurt you.”

“Yes, it will,” Miyuki grumbled petulantly from his spot next to you on your bed, laying down with his arm tossed over his face. You rolled your eyes, picking out a pencil to use for your assignment that you were about to do.

“You have no problem swinging three hundred times a day but when it comes to notes, what is it? You can’t read now?”

“I’m illiterate.”

You climbed over his legs to retrieve your notebook from your backpack on the floor, then threw it onto his stomach, making him jump at the sudden impact. You climbed back over to your spot against the wall. “Read those. I dumbed it down for you.”

“Thank you!”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. He was a real loser sometimes.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the sound of your little brother’s laughter from downstairs. He was probably watching one of his kid shows again. When the bakery began to get busier with the new school year, TV had become a fixation for him, a surefire way of keeping him in one place.

You unfolded your legs out from beneath you, resting them over Miyuki’s legs. He didn’t protest. Not that he ever did, really. Much to your pleasant surprise, Miyuki could be incredibly affectionate, always wanting to maintain physical contact with you. Whenever your class was taken on long field trips, his head always found your shoulder, though you knew it had to be uncomfortable for him because of the height differences between you two. He frequently draped an arm over your shoulders, if only to lean heavily on you and cause you to stumble — much to his amusement.

It was strange. He’d done those things often when you were kids, and they’d only increased in frequency as you’d gotten older, but . . . Why exactly were you noticing? Who cared? Miyuki sure as hell didn’t.

Maybe it was because sometimes, on those long field trips, when the hum of the engine, the feeling of his warm body next to yours put you to sleep in an instant, you’d wake up with the phantom warmth still lingering, finding yourself missing it. Or when you couldn’t help but notice the pleasant scent of something sweet and a little spicy whenever he’d lean on you and it’d be so overwhelming — his weight, the warmth, the scent — that your knees felt a little weak.

You pressed your mechanical pencil harder onto the page, finding your heart beating at what seemed like an unhealthy speed. That wasn’t good. Why was your heart doing this now? All you’d been thinking of was Miyuki.

“The heart should always be beating steadily. The only time it doesn’t is when you’re high on adrenaline, you’re exercising, or —”

“What about when you have a crush, Miss?” You couldn’t recall who had asked that, but it had probably been some annoying underclassmen. A few of the other kids present giggled while the upperclassmen rolled their eyes.

The nurse smiled indulgently. “Or if you like someone.”

“Have you thought about what high school you’re going to?” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your internal strife. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, desperate for that distraction. You turned your attention back to your assignment since you’d neglected that, too. Then, you realized what he was asking.

“Not really.”

You had.

Miyuki hummed quietly. You could see him glancing at you in the corner of your eye.

You wrote down the answer to an equation. “You?” you asked.

“Sort of . . . I think I might head to Seido.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised. That guy — Chris, you’d learned his name was — had really gotten Miyuki going, a “potential rival” to keep him on his toes.

“Oh?” you asked, feigning surprise.

“Yeah. I got an offer from them. Full ride for academic and baseball.”

“Studying pays off, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a school in mind already,” he said, ignoring your jeer. He laid the notebook flat across his chest and turned his eyes up toward your ceiling. “What have you been doing in the medical club all this time?”

You snorted. “Helping the last third years get into good high schools. I don’t know, Miyuki, I just haven’t really thought about it that much.” Now, you were blatantly lying to him. Oh, you’d given high school a lot of thought. The idea of going somewhere far away — such as Hokkaido — detested you, and you knew Miyuki would love it if you’d go with him to Seido. In fact, any moment now —

“Why not Seido? They have a great academic program, you know. They’re always in the top ten national rankings every year for academics.” He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but you could hear — and understand — the message under his words. Let’s do this together.

Your grip on your pencil tightened. The idea of being away from him was painful.

But was that the best idea?

You managed to stave off his questions, only promising to tell him your choices when you managed to find a few good schools. He left after dinner, taking a plate for his own father and your notebook, promising to read them. (You didn’t believe him.)

When you went back up to your room, you went over to your dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. It was the one with undergarments — one that Miyuki would never touch since he knew what was where. You brushed aside the articles of clothing and took out the thick envelope.

Mimayama School for Medicine and Science

It was in Kyoto, a huge campus that spanned an entire block and was the height of a skyscraper. It was a well-renowned school, one that had perfect statistics and scores in all subjects. The ideal high school. But it didn’t have a baseball program. Not to mention that there was a three-hour train ride from here to Kyoto.

Your grip on the envelope tightened, denting the thick cardstock. The fact that you’d been invited there was something to celebrate, but you hadn’t told your parents, having managed to steal the envelope before they could see it.

Maybe you would’ve celebrated if you lived a different life. One where Miyuki wasn’t there.

You felt guilty for thinking like that, but your sister’s words echoed in your head.

“Don’t allow feelings to influence important life decisions. Don’t think about those sorts of things. You don’t need them.”

You’d been a first year when she’d said that to you, strangely enough. It’d been the same thing you’d repeated to your counselor during that horrible conversation about puberty. And you’d firmly believed it, though there was one exception.

Don’t let others influence your feelings. Except Miyuki.

He was your best friend, after all. You’d be cruel to not feel anything.

What were you going to do, then?

Your answer seemed to come sooner or later. More specifically, the day Miyuki got into a fight.

It had been a cool October day, baseball season already over for Miyuki so he had no choice but to hang around the campus after school while you went to your regular club meetings.

The meeting had been adjourned earlier than usual so Miyuki wasn’t leaning against the wall like he usually would. The last text he’d sent you said that he was in the library, so you began walking over there. As you neared the doors, you passed a few girls, talking rapidly to each other.

“. . . fight. That’s so weird, I’ve never seen him lose his temper.”

“I know! He’s almost always antagonizing someone else, I can’t believe Tanaka was able to get Miyuki so riled up.”

You froze and turned to them, recognizing them as a few fellow classmates.

“Wait, what happened?” You stepped toward them, drawing their attention. They became fidgety and sheepish under your eyes, avoiding eye contact.

“Um . . . Miyuki got into a fight with Tanaka a few minutes ago outside the library.”

What?

Miyuki didn’t fight. He couldn’t fight. Well, no, you were sure he had a few good moves on him, especially since baseball kept him in prime shape and there were his unfortunate experiences with his more violent seniors on the team but they were long gone. Since he was a third year now (and considerably taller and more muscled), no one would dare to mess with him. Especially because he’d proved his worth on the field, that he had a right to say the things he did. It’s just that you knew he hated being at the tail-end of those confrontations. Having to take the hits, while refusing to say anything to any of the adults because they wouldn’t do anything. The violence of it. Violence has no place in baseball, he’d once said. Anything someone needs to say can be done on the field.

More than that — he couldn’t fight without risking expulsion. It would look horrible on his record and — he wouldn’t be able to go to Seido.

“Why?” you recovered quickly, not caring that you were being demanding now, probably too harsh if anything.

“We don’t know . . . We just heard it from some other kids.”

“Where is Miyuki now?” He probably wouldn’t answer your texts. If anything, it’d be exactly like him to hide this from you.

The girls shared glances again. “Um, I think he went to the boy's bathroom by 3-B.”

“Thanks,” you told them shortly, then turning on your heel and heading towards the hallway for third years. You made the decision to not retrieve your first aid kit. You’d lead him back to your house instead. He didn’t need to be around the school with visible injuries.

Once you were at the boy’s bathroom, you hesitated. What were you supposed to do? Could you go in there? Would he allow you to even see him? Maybe you could wait. He had to come out eventually.

You leaned against the lockers next to the wall, wondering what on earth happened. Even disregarding his dislike of violence and the huge risk that comes with fighting, like those girls had said, he wasn’t someone who got riled up easily. He was the one riling people up. But the fact that it’d been Tanaka made some sense; Ichiro Tanaka was the asshole in your class, always finding someone to pick on, always making unwanted advances on girls.

Miyuki may be an asshole in the sense that he could pick you apart and annoy you to death, but he had honor. (Plus, he’d never shown any interest in any girls or boys in your class ever.)

You rubbed your forehead tiredly, pulling out your phone to text your mother that you might be home earlier than usual. Just as you’d sent off the text, the door to the boy’s bathroom opened and Miyuki stepped out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, still not noticing your presence until you’d reached out to tap his shoulder.

You could see him tense, muscles stiffening. He was hesitant to turn around and you were about to call him out on it, but he turned before you could say. Your eyes widened as you took stock of his injuries.

“Are you okay?” you gasped, any thought of scolding him thrown out the window at seeing the busted lip, the cut on his temple, and the blossoming bruise on his cheek. A quick glance at his hands showed you the cuts on his knuckles, though they were only on his left hand. You knew he caught and threw with his right. At least he’d had that foresight. “What happened?”

He avoided your eyes. “I may have gotten into a fight with Tanaka.”

You huffed, glad to see he was acting normally. Well, as normal as Miyuki could ever be.

“No shit. I know that part already — though I don’t know why — but what did Tanaka do to you?” There was the underlying question in your words, one you wouldn’t outright say because it would probably appease him. Did you win?

Miyuki picked up on it anyway, smirking but then wincing at the pain he was probably feeling on his lip. “I won.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You — I can’t believe you. Come on, let’s do this at my house. We don’t need someone seeing you.” You two began walking towards the exit. You shot him a worried glance. You couldn’t imagine the potential repercussions this could entail. You didn’t want Miyuki to be stuck here. You wanted him to leave, to go to Seido and become the best damn catcher to play high school baseball.

As if sensing your thoughts, he spoke. “No one’s going to say anything. Tanaka’s looking for a volleyball scholarship at some school in Hokkaido and his lackeys have their own scholarships they need to worry about, too. It was an unspoken agreement.”

You sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to throw away your chances at a good baseball career, Miyuki. Especially not over a fight, which, speaking of, is very unlike you. So, regardless of that . . . what on earth happened?”

He stayed silent. You pursed your lips and led him to your house. It was easy to sneak past the bakery, where your parents and older sister would be preoccupied with the dinner time rush. The house would be empty, too, since your little brother was over at a friend’s house for a playdate.

You ushered him up to the bathroom on the second floor, dropping your bags off in your room beforehand. You shut the door behind you and locked it for good measure, then opened up the window to let some fresh air in. Miyuki was still silent, appearing introspective. For once, you were unable to find out what he was thinking.

You made him wash his face and hands first, taking his glasses and setting them on the counter behind you so they wouldn’t get wet. Once he was finished and resituated on the closed toilet seat, you began tending to his wounds, first going back downstairs to grab an icepack and wrapping it in a towel so it wouldn’t be too abrasive against his face. You worked on disinfecting the cuts on his knuckles, which weren’t too bad. You had one hand cupping his, the back of his hand facing up as your fingers pressed against his palm to spread out his hand.

He grimaced at the burn of the hydrogen peroxide but didn’t say anything. When you moved to wrap up his knuckles, you closed your hand around his fingers, trying not to focus on how the calluses rubbed against your skin. You moved on to the gash on his temple, murmuring a soft “sorry” when he winced from the burn. He had to keep his glasses off, but his eyes were on the floor.

You’d been applying an ointment to the cut when he spoke again. “Tanaka said something . . . Something I’m not repeating.” You paused, your eyes briefly flickering to his bandaged hand in his lap that clenched into a fist. “I couldn’t let it slide. I know . . . you know how I feel about fighting but . . . it was about you. And I’m not going to let him, of all people, talk about you like that.”

He sat up straighter, his eyes meeting yours. You froze, golden irises searing into you in a way that made your heart race. The lack of glasses made it all the more intense, your stomach doing flips in nervousness.

“Miyuki . . .” you muttered, feeling your face heat up. “I —”

“Don’t say you don’t want me fighting because of you. I did it because you’re my best friend and no one gets to speak about you that way. No one.”

Miyuki was passionate about baseball. About his cooking. About the SoftBank Hawks. But never about you. Yet, here he was, speaking so strongly that you felt a little weak at this display of anger and . . . touched.

You pursed your lips, breaking eye contact with him to turn to the sink and take out a bandaid to put over the cut. You carefully covered the wound then took out another disinfectant wipe to use for his lip. You actually hesitated before you started your work, but it had to be done.

You brushed his chin with the back of your hand, avoiding grabbing it. He turned his head up with no qualms, but his eyes stayed on your face. You attempted to disinfect the cut on his bottom lip, but it proved to be more difficult than you thought. It could also be because your heart was racing and your face was itchy with heat. You swore silently and grabbed his chin with your hand to better clean.

You hated this. Here you were, close to his face, staring at his lips as you cleaned them. At least you had an excuse to stare, though.

You caught your train of thought and almost swore out loud. Where was that even coming from? When had you begun thinking of him like that? Yeah, Miyuki was good-looking, almost unbelievably so, but it wasn’t anything new. So why now?

You realized far too late that you’d stopped moving the wipe on his lip, the white cloth blossoming red from the blood still leaking. He winced from your grip and you wrenched your hand back, uttering a soft “sorry” again. You turned back to the sink to grab the ointment, only squeezing out a small amount so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

With shaking hands, you pressed your fingers to his jaw to angle his face once again, concentrating on anything but the feeling of his smooth skin underneath your fingers. You spread the ointment over the cut, trying your best to be gentle but also ensuring that it wasn’t showing.

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself and to break hold from the heavy atmosphere you’d found yourself in, you lifted your head to look at him again, but before you could even think to speak, the look in his eyes made you stop. Your brain short-circuited at the look he was giving you, whether it was on purpose or not, you didn’t know. You stood there frozen, still invading his personal space for the most part.

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped. His eyes looked warm underneath the light coming in from the window, casting shadows over the curve of his nose, making him look so much more older and — and handsome.

Then, like a warning siren, your sister’s voice echoed in your head.

“Don’t let feelings cloud your judgment.”

You sighed shortly, the loud noise shattering the moment. “Honestly, Miyuki.” You shook your head, turning around to toss the q-tip into the trash along with the other used supplies. You heard him make a surprised noise at your sudden movements.

You picked up his glasses off the counter and handed them back over then took a few steps back, leaning against the wall opposite to him, putting a respectable amount of distance between you two.

“I appreciate what you did,” you said, managing to keep the shakiness out of your voice. He’d put on his glasses again, his eyes now impossible to read. “But, god, I don’t want you to not be able to go to Seido . . . That is where you decided to go, right?”

He shrugged. “Probably. Don’t worry. I mean, I don’t regret what I did. Not at all. But I do understand what you’re saying and I’m not planning to make this a regular thing.”

You scowled, feeling the atmosphere around you lighten up. “I sure hope not. You don’t need to be batting with cut up knuckles like that, you dummy.”

“I know,” he said quietly, before trying for a smirk, though it came out more like a pained grimace. “Besides, you’re here to fix me up, aren’t you?”

You huffed, turning your nose up at him. “You’re so annoying, Miyuki.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up.”

But even as he began talking about the studying he’d managed to accomplish before he’d left the library and ended up face to face with Tanaka, you thought about your plans for high school. These feelings . . . Whatever they were, they weren’t needed. Not right now. Not right before you two were picking out your high schools. You couldn’t allow them to cloud your judgment.

At the same time, though, going to Seido with him . . . That seemed amazing. Another three more years seeing him, going through all the high school experiences, cheering him on at baseball games, it was all too dangerous. Far too dangerous.

It was dangerous because here you were, at risk of feeling something more than platonic feelings for a boy you’d known since you were eight, where you already know your feelings will never be returned.

First semester of your third year wrapped up quickly after that. With the start of your second semester, you received many offers from different schools all over the country. Your parents and sister were proud.

“That’s our girl,” your father had grinned, reaching out to ruffle your hair, much to your displeasure.

“Hey, make sure you choose a good school,” your sister said, giving you a severe look. You fixed your hair, not meeting her eyes.

“Wherever you want to go, honey, we’ll support you.” There was a heaviness in your mother’s tone, as though she didn’t want you to go far. You’d gotten an offer from the high school in this area, but you weren’t satisfied with the curriculum. Staying here would mean ending up like your sister (no offense to her, of course, since she was happy). You wanted out of Old Town Tokyo.

Miyuki had gotten a lot of offers, too. Schools everywhere wanted him as their catcher. The powerhouse schools, like Inashiro, Teito, Seido (of course), even several schools from Hokkaido. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make it as a pro. You were proud.

But he was set on Seido, and he was pressing you for your own decision, too.

“I have to start planning. It’s going to be busy when we start up,” he’d told you, trying to convince you to spill which schools had sent you offers.

“I’m still thinking,” you’d lied. “But if you really want to know, I’ve gotten one from Sakurazawa High.”

“Oh, I know them. They’ve lost in the first round of the West tournament for like, twenty consecutive years.”

You shot him a glare. “Is that all that matters?”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “They have great academics, don’t they? But, you know . . . I’m fairly sure that Seido is equal in terms of national academic ranking . . .”

That was another thing. You knew Miyuki wouldn’t ever hold you back, just like you wouldn’t hold him back. It felt like some sort of crime to ever try and stop him from pursuing his interest in baseball and vice versa for him and your desire to be a doctor. But you knew, just like he did, that Seido was a powerhouse school in both academics and athletics. Going there wouldn’t hinder your performance nor his. Not to mention, you two would be together, right?

Except, it sounded horrible. The past few months had been stressful, because not only did you have to deal with the looks your mother was giving you about choosing a school way outside of Old Town Tokyo, but you also had to stave off the counselors who wanted your decision, along with Miyuki. Then there were your feelings for him. You weren’t sure what they were, but you knew they weren’t good. They were the type of feelings to inhibit you.

You couldn’t be a good friend to Miyuki if all you were thinking about is how much you wanted to hold his hand and have him tuck you under his arm like so many other couples did. If all you thought about was how happy he looked whenever he was talking about baseball or talking about Seido and competing for starting catcher. If all you thought about was how pretty his eyes were and how handsome he looked whenever he genuinely smiled.

You weren’t being a good friend. And you needed to fix that.

That night, you mailed the application to Mimayama. Two days later, you received your acceptance letter.

“Mimayama? That’s so cool!”

“Wow! You’re serious about being a doctor, aren’t you?”

It had meant to be a secret. You’d only wanted your family to know and no one else. You’d tell Miyuki when you had to. Preferably right before he left to Seido, or maybe when he was there already. Clearly, that had been too tall of an order.

You’d notified your counselors of your acceptance and subsequent admittance into Mimayama, much to their happiness. Apparently, no such thing as student-to-administrator confidentiality existed because your homeroom teacher found out immediately and after publicly congratulating you, a group of girls had approached you, gushing over your acceptance.

Luckily, not many people had been there yet, though a few of your other classmates had eyed you curiously. Miyuki was running late, something or another about sleeping in. You didn’t know — didn’t care, since that meant you had time to do damage control.

“Listen,” you began, trying to look as serious as possible. The girls leaned in eagerly. “Keep it to yourselves, alright? Don’t tell Miyuki or anyone else. I don’t want to start unnecessary rumors. It’d be horrible if people thought I was boasting about it.”

They nodded, agreeing immediately. “Of course! But why not tell Miyuki?”

They were looking harder at you now, more analytical, more perceptive. It reminded you too much of your mother and sister. You came up with a quick lie.

“It’s a surprise for him. I’ll be telling him later on. We’re going to different schools —” those words left a bitter taste in your mouth and a numb ache in your heart “— so I’m trying to prepare, you know?”

They soaked it up. Of course they did. Miyuki was popular with girls and they’d always wondered about your friendship with him. Saying all this to them was probably enough gossip to last for the rest of the year.

“Totally! We’ll be quiet, promise!”

You smiled at them, glancing over at the door just as Miyuki stepped into the room, looking like a total mess. The girls turned back around and began whispering to each other, sending occasional glances towards him then to you.

You ignored them in favor of watching him shuffle over to the desk in front of yours. He collapsed dramatically into his seat, laying on top of your desk instead of his own. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you done?”

“I’m tired,” he muttered. “Exhausted.”

Now a little concerned because a tired Miyuki wasn’t a good thing (though he was absolutely adorable), you leaned forward. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

He lifted his head and you clicked your tongue at the circles underneath his eyes. His hair was messier than usual, leaving you to contemplate whether or not he’d actually brushed it. “I was finishing the application to Seido. Mailed it off this morning.”

“When was the deadline?”

“Tomorrow.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “Miyuki . . . You’re so lucky you don’t have baseball anymore.”

“Not until next year.” He yawned and you tried your best to not think that he looked so adorable all sleepy and tired. This was a bad thing. He needed his sleep. “It was worth it. Hey, Mei wants to talk to me today after school. D’you want to come along?”

You pursed your lips. Well, you still weren’t fond of Narumiya, even after he’d begrudgingly apologized to you. He was Miyuki’s friend — sort of — and you’d wanted to lead Miyuki straight to his house so he could take a nap after school. This would just have to be done before, then. “Sure, but after, we’re going back to your house and you’re taking a nap.”

He grinned lazily at you. “Thanks.”

You turned away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks. “Whatever. Try not to fall asleep in class.”

He did end up falling asleep. And of course, you covered for him despite your earlier words. You had to wonder. If these feelings weren’t there, would you have done it? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as you two made your way to the park. (After school, you’d dropped off your bags at his house since his was closet and began towards the place that Narumiya wanted to meet up at.) He yawned again, something he’d been doing frequently today, and you decided yes, no matter your feelings, you would gladly take cover for him.

Maybe that was where the problem had started.

Miyuki had always been the best in baseball, striving to work hard and prove himself, calling for aggressive plays and focusing even if something hadn’t gone his way. Despite his tendency to laziness when it came to exams and such, he was a diligent student.

In some ways, you wanted to be like him. Charismatic and charming when it counted, quick-thinking in difficult situations. After all, that was how doctors needed to be, right? They needed to be decisive, no hesitancy in their movements. You had someone’s life laid willingly into your hands and you couldn’t disappoint.

Had this admiration planted the seeds for your feelings?

You didn’t know and you didn’t have time to think it over as you came to the park. You fell a little behind as you realized there were other boys present, all from different leagues, though you knew they were part of Narumiya’s friend group. If Miyuki noticed you partially hiding, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Well, well, what’s with the gathering of the all-stars?” he asked, announcing his presence to them, in that conniving way of his. The boys turned to him, a few curious eyes glancing over to you, but you resolutely stood silent with your arms crossed, not offering your name. Thankfully, Miyuki didn’t offer to introduce you either.

He began listing off their names and leagues (you wondered briefly how he knew that, but of course, if it was baseball, it was important). When he finished, hands still casually in his pockets, he turned to Narumiya. “Did you call them all here, Mei?”

Mei grinned. “Yeah. And you, Kazuya. If you come with me, I can form my ultimate team.”

You raised your eyebrows. Well, you were surprised at this turn of events, but it wasn’t exactly far from something Narumiya would do. Miyuki laughed, sounding surprised as well.

“I don’t really care if you’re not the catcher, but Narumiya wants you,” the one named Shirakawa said, probably trying to help Narumiya convince Miyuki but it just sounded like he was bored and would rather be somewhere else.

“Inashiro invited you, too. Right, Kazuya?”

It was strange. You’d never been the possessive or jealous type. Miyuki had his fangirls — of course — but he’d never paid attention to them. Hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name made you tense. Miyuki, you could understand — he called everyone by their first name, whether it was welcomed or not and you’d been calling him by his last name for as long as you could remember, more by habit now rather than respect. He’d never asked you to call him by his first name, either, so that’s the way it’d always been.

But here was the ever-so-condescending Narumiya Mei, speaking so casually with your best friend. It made you uncomfortable, but you pushed that away. This wasn’t the time nor place.

“So, why don’t we make the ultimate team together? If we all get on the same team, we could take nationals.” That was what this was about then. Barring your brief discomfort at hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name, you felt a little proud that even such a self-centered pitcher like Narumiya and the others knew how valuable of a catcher that Miyuki was.

“Inashiro’s coach has a lot of experience under his belt and they have the best equipment in Tokyo. It’s a great environment, too,” Kamiya added.

“Not to mention, you won’t have to play against Narumiya. You’re in, too. Right, Miyuki Kazuya?” Shirakawa, as much as you hated to admit it, had a point. You’d seen Narumiya pitch. He was head and shoulders above a lot of the pitchers in your year. That was probably why he was so arrogant. But the guys made it sound like Miyuki would actually be averse to going head-to-head with Narumiya, when in fact —

“I’m sorry, but I already got an invite from Seido a while ago. I can’t join you guys.” His hand came up to his neck, a sign that showed he was a little uncomfortable being cornered by so many.

“What? Are you being serious right now?”

Narumiya stood up from his crouch. “Seido, huh? They’ve only gone to nationals once since their old coach quit. Compared to what Coach Kunitomo has achieved, Coach Kataoka is just way too green.”

You shifted on your feet, turning your eyes back to Miyuki. He scratched his neck in a shifty movement. It was coming any moment now. “Well, it’s not really about that,” he began. “Inashiro’s a team with a bunch of all-stars like you guys, right? So . . . I want to face you as an opponent.”

Of course. While the others were visibly shocked, you bit back a small smile. You’d seen it coming from a mile away. Sure, Narumiya could probably prepare a team to take nationals on with Miyuki and his other friends, but Miyuki wasn’t like that. He didn’t want the easy out. He wanted to work for it. You recalled his words from first year, after his loss against that second year catcher, Chris.

“How else am I supposed to be the best?” How else, indeed. There would be no better way than to face Inashiro than on a different team, still at a powerhouse school with a competent team where Miyuki would fit right in.

“Are you stupid?”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“It’s not a compliment!”

“Kazuya.” Narumiya didn’t look too surprised. Well, you could give him props for trying. “I’m gonna ask you one last time —” and for being so annoyingly persistent as well.

“Sorry. No.” Miyuki didn’t sound too apologetic.

Narumiya looked a bit irritated and his eyes shifted to you. “You’ll regret it, Kazuya. Is it because of her?” He calls you out, by your first name. “Are you going to Seido as well?”

You glared at him. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name, Narumiya. And let it go.”

Shirakawa and Kamiya snorted as an affronted look passed over Narumiya’s face. “Hey, you’re always so mean to me —”

You turned your nose up, ignoring him. He didn’t know when to quit.

Most likely in an attempt to defuse the situation, Miyuki took a step back and said his goodbyes, then turned around and guided you away from the park.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he confessed when you two were a reasonable distance away from the park, well on your way back to your own neighborhood. “But it was a very Mei thing of him to try.”

“Exactly what I thought,” you agreed. “He is right, too, you know. You’d probably be able to take on nationals without any problems.” Miyuki opened his mouth to protest but you elbowed him in the ribs, continuing with a small smile. “But I know. Challenger. I get it. It’s a surprisingly level-headed decision coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” You coughed to hide your snickers at the look on his face.

His house was empty as usual, his father most likely next door in the factory working on whatever project that needed to meet its deadline soon. You’d never asked about Miyuki’s mother, but you never had to. You’d seen the picture frame of a handsome, younger Toku Miyuki and a beautiful women standing next to him, a small bundle in her arms, standing in front of the factory. It didn’t take a genius to know that his mother had probably passed when he was younger.

Upon the entrance to his room, you went to his drawer where some casual clothes of yours were kept — purely for practical reasons since he had his own clothes in your dresser, too, along with many sweaters you’d kept. When you came back from the bathroom, he was already sprawled out on his bed, changed into comfortable clothing.

You went to take a seat in his desk chair, but his tired voice stopped you. “Hey, what are you doing? Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You two had slept in the same bed when you were kids every now and then, but it had stopped when you’d gotten older. Well, you had gotten more aware of it every time you had shared a bed — of him right next to you. Evidently, he’d never cared because he had no problem taking a nap whenever he crashed your room.

You climbed over him so you were next to the wall. His bed wasn’t big, only a full-size, so it was enough for you two but no more than that. He stretched, yawning quietly. You hesitantly laid down next to him, facing him with a reasonable amount of space between you two. He turned to face you, blinking sleepily as his face was pressed into the pillow, probably putting the edges of his glasses into his face uncomfortably.

“You’re gonna break your glasses,” you muttered disapprovingly, reaching out to pluck them off his face. He squinted, readjusting to the absence of his glasses as you leaned over him to place them on the nightstand. You made sure that you didn’t touch his body as you did so.

He hummed quietly, drawing up the blanket to his waist. You abstained from it. He radiated enough body heat on his own, plus your internal temperatures were always high when you were in close proximity with him.

“You never said.”

His sleepy voice brought you out of your thoughts. Miyuki was clearly having a hard time staying awake, so you indulged him. “Said what?”

“Where you’re going. When we saw Mei. You didn’t deny it, but you’re not going there, are you?” His eyelids fluttered and you found yourself enraptured with the way his eyelashes just barely ghosted his cheeks. “I’m not going to be mad if you don’t, if that’s what you think.”

You tensed. He scooted closer to you. “I . . . Well, Seido’s a great school, Miyuki.”

His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes finally shutting, but he didn’t drift off. “You’re confusing.”

“What . . .?”

“I don’t want to hold you back from a good school. That’s what you deserve, especially for putting up with me this long —” your heart broke just a little at that admission. Did he think he was a burden to you? “— so I won’t be mad. Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I . . .” I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you why. I’m leaving, not because it’s a good school, but because I need to leave you. I can’t be around you. If I tell you now, I just might back out and go somewhere near you. “I’m still weighing my options, to be truthful.”

He hummed again, a sign he was still listening, so you pushed on. “I got an invitation from Oya, too, in East Tokyo. They’re a public school and they have a good academic program. If I remember correctly, they went to Nationals five years ago.”

“Not bad,” he mumbled. “Make a decision soon, though. I take it that means you’re not going to Seido, then?”

You were surprised that he was still managing to make logical conclusions despite being on the verge of unconsciousness. “Yeah, probably not. It would’ve been great to be with you, though,” you lied. It wouldn’t have been great. You would’ve suffered from your unrequited feelings, having to see him make it big in high school baseball, watching the entire nation fall in love with him.

He nodded, eyes still shut. “That’s okay. Just tell me where you’re going soon, okay.”

“I will.” Another lie. You were on a roll today, weren’t you?

He drifted off after that. You knew when he’d fallen asleep because you could feel the bed dip as he became dead weight, utterly relaxed, his breathing deep and steady. Your eyes roamed his face as you become more relaxed, finding comfort in being so close to him.

That fight had left an unnoticeable scar on his temple, usually hidden by his glasses, then the cut on his lip had healed up finely so there was no trace of it — at that point, your eyes lingered too long on his lips — and the cuts on his knuckles weren’t that noticeable either, probably something he could blame on his gloves.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as he shifted even closer to you. You had nowhere to go, your back pressed against his wall. You sighed quietly, shutting your own eyes to take a nap of your own. Whatever. These last few months were ones you had to treasure because the likelihood that you’d see him during high school was little to none. Really, the chances of him wanting to see you would probably make it even lower.

You fell asleep, weighed down by your decisions and restless for what the future might hold for your friendship with Miyuki.

(Those thoughts really didn’t bother you when you woke up lying on his chest and he had his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You were mortified, though.)

Graduation from your junior high had come and gone with no problems. You were in the top ten, sitting comfortably as number two while Miyuki sat as number ten; you weren’t surprised by his rank, by any means.

You’d avoided packing your own things, too. You would need to be in Kyoto by April 10th. They started the school year much later, for whatever reason, but it just meant that you’d be seeing Miyuki go off on March 28th, three days before the first day of school. And you’d managed to avoid telling him your final decision.

It all seemed to be catching up because the walk to the station was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Miyuki had said his goodbyes to his father and your family, your little brother strangely sad at the disappearance of his “Miyu.” (A nickname that had you rolling in laughter when he’d come up with it and always managed to make Miyuki’s face turn red.)

His train would be leaving in ten minutes. You both sat down on the bench at his platform.

“So,” Miyuki prompted. “Which is it?”

When you looked at him, his eyes were hard. He was irritated. Rightly so. You’d been dancing around your own leave for several months now and here he was, about to leave to Seido and he still didn’t know. You’d briefly contemplated allowing him to stay mad at you. Let him blow up. Perhaps it would give you the shock you needed. But he didn’t deserve that.

You sighed softly, guilt eating away at your insides. “Mimayama.”

You felt him tense up beside you as he made a strangled noise. “In Kyoto?”

You nodded, turning your eyes to the ground. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you clenched your hands into fists, ducking your head lower.

“That’s a good school.” His voice was leveled, cool and indifferent. Somehow, it hurt more than having to hear anger. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

You hummed softly.

He sighed shortly. “I don’t — what the hell? Why did you . . . What did you even gain from that?”

There it was. You turned back to look at him, then balked at the hurt on his face. “I . . . didn’t want to worry you.”

“You worried me more by not telling me,” he replied shortly. “That’s so far away.” Are you going to be okay?

That was more than you deserved. You’d been such a shitty friend for the past two years. Here he was, still trying to be a good friend.

You tried for a smile. “It’s not Hokkaido or anything, Miyuki. I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry . . . I just — I didn’t know. I don’t know.”

He stared at you. You met his eyes head on. You had to show him that you’d be fine. This was what you needed. You had the reckless urge to transfer back to a school here in Tokyo, if only to be close to him, but it was muted. Doing this was for the best of your friendship.

“I’m still mad.” Understandable. “And I’m leaving now. Baseball starts up immediately so I won’t have time to talk to you, especially since you’ll probably be busy with school, too. Solving this won’t be as easy as it was when we still lived here, you know.”

Would it even be solved?

“We’ll figure out a way,” you said, despite yourself. Something had changed. Your distance in your friendship had been noticeable. A child could notice. Whether it had been conscious or unconscious was up to debate. Evidently, though, it had hurt Miyuki and that was the last thing you wanted.

. . . Right?

You were moving all the way to Kyoto for the sole purpose of burying those feelings for him. Focusing on school. Rebuilding . . . Rebuilding your friendship. Right, that’d been a priority, too. But could it be done? You’d messed up.

“Well, let’s not spend our last few minutes together arguing or mad at each other.” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. He stood up, holding out a hand for you. You accepted, trying to imprint the feeling of his calluses and the way his palm felt against yours into your mind.

He wouldn’t give up on your friendship, though, would he?

The train pulled in, the draft carrying stray pieces of your hair, hydraulics hissing loudly as it eased to a stop. You were stunned as Miyuki pulled you in for a hug. It was tight, almost painful, but he was so warm and that sweet and spicy scent was overwhelming you in the best possible way that you couldn’t help but hug him back just as tightly.

“Don’t forget about me over there,” he murmured into your ear, warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. You suppressed a shiver.

“I-I won’t.”

He stepped away, sighing softly as the doors unlocked and popped open for the cabin in front of you. He picked up his bag. “I’ll see you later. We’ll talk.”

You nodded. He hesitated to leave, a strange look passing over his face as he fought with himself over something, but then it was gone just as quickly as it had come. He turned away and there was something foreboding about seeing him walk away from you. A cold feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.

This wouldn’t be the last of him. You’d go to school in Kyoto, get over your feelings and rekindle your friendship with him. Things would get better. They would.

They had to.

Interlude: start

Miyuki wasn’t sure what was going on.

You’d been distant for the last few months, clearly having something on your mind and he’d waited patiently for you to come to him. But you never did.

Instead you sent him off, finally telling him where you were going. To the Kyoto Prefecture, of all places. Was he mad? Yes, and he sort of had a right to be.

He had to wonder. Had all those times he’d pestered you for your answer, had you lied to him? Applying to Mimayama and getting accepted wasn’t a last minute choice. Prestigious schools like that always had application deadlines earlier than other private and public high schools.

So, why hadn’t you told him?

It was something that plagued him for the entire train ride to Kokubunji, even when he made it to Seido High and received his dorm number.

Had you . . . figured it out?

He’d tried his best to hide his feelings and he felt that he’d been largely successful. You’d acted normally as you would and this felt like too much of a secret for you to hide if you knew. You weren’t one to hide what you were thinking, especially when it came to him. But falling in love with your best friend wasn’t normal, was it?

He couldn’t help himself. He’d never say it, but you’d stood beside him for the past six years, you were always so supportive, so patient even when he didn’t deserve it. So how could you even possibly begin to feel the same way? He wouldn’t openly admit this either, but he had more flaws than he had strengths.

Sure, he was . . . conventionally attractive and he was great at catching, but what else was there? It wasn’t like he’d be the type of guy to shower you with gifts or anything. Compared to so many other people, he wasn’t good enough.

He sighed heavily, continuing to unpack his things. His roommates were two third years but they were out, probably practicing. For once in Miyuki’s entire life, he didn’t feel the urge to practice.

Despite himself, despite wanting to give you the benefit of doubt, he wondered, had you attended Mimayama in an attempt to run away? From him?

Immediately, he felt guilty for thinking that way. Mimayama was an excellent school within itself, one you’d thrive in. He couldn’t be so selfish to assume that you’d gone there just to avoid him. You were trying to get a good curriculum. He was trying to get better in baseball. You both had your own agendas.

It wouldn’t be like you to allow your feelings to influence your decisions. Especially when it came to such an important decision.

His previous question came up again. Why wouldn’t you tell him? Were you scared he’d be mad? Or were you trying to protect yourself from something else? Did you think he’d try to convince you to stay?

His frown deepened. Well, that was a good question. Kyoto was so far away . . . If you’d stayed in Tokyo, it would’ve been easier to see you but now that you’d be all the way in Kyoto, the chances of seeing you were slim to none. You’d probably only see each other during winter break.

Regardless of that, though, he was sure he wouldn’t have tried to stop you.

Did a small (or very large if he was truthful) part of him want you to go to Seido with him? Yeah, but things don’t always work out. Friends don’t always get to stay together. Apparently, you had realized that sooner than he did and taken advantage of it.

But your reluctance to tell him was what had gotten on his nerves. He deserved an answer from you. (Right?) One that hadn’t been last minute, one where you two could discuss it. One where he could begin to make plans to see you, arrange methods to talk during the school year. But here he was, sitting on the barren side of the dorm with no real plans to see you again until December, irritated at you.

Until he had a proper answer from you on why you’d done it (because he deserved that too), he’d give you the space you needed to sort out your thoughts.

Besides, come April 10th, there would be three hundred miles between you two. Space would come easily.

Interlude: end

Things seemed to be fine for the first few months. You and Miyuki kept up moderate contact, calling and texting when you were able. There would be odd bouts of absence on his part, something he’d blamed on baseball practice and you could understand. As far as you knew, Miyuki had been able to secure the position as starting catcher with little to no problems. The way he felt about it was a different story.

“Chris . . . He injured his shoulder. He was removed from first string. I took his place.”

You pursed your lips. “That stinks. I’m sorry, Miyuki.”

Going to Seido to get that spot as starting catcher had been Miyuki’s main goal. And he’d already achieved it within three months of being there.

You knew he’d wanted to go toe-to-toe with Chris to properly fight over the spot. It probably didn’t feel too good to have it conceded to you.

“Starting catcher is starting catcher, I guess. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just have to get to Nationals and win.”

“You can do it,” you said, putting as much encouragement into your words as possible. You absently read over your textbook, waiting for his reply.

“So . . . You must have come up with a good reason for not telling me about going to Mimayama, right?”

Surprised, you dropped your pencil, his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t necessarily forgotten about his promise to figure things out between you and you were fully prepared to apologize, but explaining why was an entirely different ordeal.

You had been silent for too long, because he sighed shortly on the other line. “Come on. Did you think I’d be mad? That I’d try to stop you?”

You tried to think, tried to formulate an adequate answer. Would lying save you? Could you continue on in your friendship after lying to him about it?

“I just . . .” You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected him to bring this up. But of course, in classic Miyuki fashion, he would want to catch you off guard. Make sure that you wouldn’t be able to lie. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he scoffed. “It’s not that hard.”

You bristled. “Well, damn Miyuki, you said you wouldn’t have gotten mad and maybe you wouldn’t, but look at you now.”

“I have a right to be mad now,” he replied waspishly. “You lied about it for how long? How many times had I asked you? I know Mimayama has the earlier deadline for applications because it’s a private school. You made this decision and you didn’t tell me about it. I thought we told each other everything. I mean, that’s what best friends do, right?”

“Since when have you ever cared about how other friendships function? You’re only doing this because you’re mad. You’re not thinking straight.”

Miyuki laughed suddenly, in a callous manner he’d never used with you. “I’m not thinking straight? Well, we both know the answer to that,” he sneered. “Me and you are best friends just like anyone else, but now that I have a genuine problem with you lying, suddenly I’m the one who’s needlessly comparing ourselves to other people, right? I’m the wrong one here, yeah?”

“I didn’t say you were,” you disagreed. “It was just — I don’t know. I didn’t tell my family for a long time, too.”

“I get it. It’s a personal decision. But lying to me about it is where I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to!” you snapped, finding yourself fed up with his attitude. “It was . . . a personal decision, just like you said. I had to come to terms with it myself, too, you know.”

It wasn’t a lie, by any means. The day after his fight and after you’d filled out the application, you had stood by the mailbox so long, envelope in hand, the next door neighbor had come out to ask if you were okay.

“You could’ve told me that you’d made a decision. I was worried you’d end up stuck there with how much you were pushing it away. I would’ve respected your boundaries, you know.”

His voice had quieted considerably and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. Did it mean he was calm now? Understanding? Or was his anger and hurt phasing him so much he couldn’t muster the energy to be loud? You hated this. You hated not being able to see his face, being able to gauge what he was feeling. Relying on his tone was getting you nowhere.

“I . . . know.” Maybe it’d been irrational, but your decision had been the one thing he hadn’t known about. You could be so weak when it came to him. If he even knew that you had made a decision, it felt like he already knew where you were going, as though he could see right through you.

You and Miyuki could read each other like the back of your hands, unwillingly or willing. You knew his ticks, his dislikes, his fears, and vice versa. Alongside your feelings, the choice to attend Mimayama had been one of the few things you’d ever kept from him.

“Then why do it? That’s all I’m asking for. That’s it. Just an explanation and we can be done here.” He sounded almost desperate. It was disconcerting. Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t desperate; he didn’t beg. He was above that. But his voice —

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling shakily. This was too much, it was all too much. You’d regret it later on, maybe, when you finally got your head back on but you couldn’t stand it right now. He couldn’t know.

Under no circumstances could he know that you were in love with him.

“I can’t do it.”

Miyuki was silent, for one, two, three seconds, then —

“I guess we’re done here.”

You tried again. “Miyuki, I — ”

The call ended abruptly as he hung up first, not even sparing you a chance to talk. You stared at your phone. Maybe that was what you deserved, though. You weren’t being the greatest of friends, but you just wished he would let it go. Why was it so important? Did it truly both him that much? Regardless of whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be letting it go anytime soon — that much was apparent.

The abrupt hang-up had hurt a lot more than you thought it would. (You certainly wouldn’t admit it out loud, though.) Miyuki wasn’t exactly the gentlest person and he could be mean, but he’d never been that way with you.

Something told you that this was only a small dose of what he could do, that he wasn’t completely shutting you out. Not yet.

You tossed your phone behind you, not minding the rough thump that came after. You dropped your head onto your textbook, sighing heavily. There was the slightest of stinging behind your eyes, but you shook it off, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. It wouldn’t do well to be crying. Dinner would only be in thirty minutes and you didn’t want to explain to your classmates why it looked like you’d been crying.

You dug into your nails into your palm, the pain relieved you from the burn in your eyes. The urge mercifully passed.

You sat back up, taking a deep breath. This would have to be dealt with later, you promised yourself, turning your eyes back to your textbook in a vain attempt to start your assignment again. All you two needed was space, some time to cool off and regain your bearings. Then, you’d solve this.

You didn’t solve it.

Baseball took up a handful of his time, so when you sent a wary text to him three weeks after your phone call, you didn’t receive a reply back. You then found out that that exact day, Seido had been at a game and had won, qualifying them for quarterfinals. Of course he wasn’t going to reply. He was probably busy basking in that afterglow of victory.

So you let it go.

But then, Seido was eliminated. You got that news from your classmates, a girl who apparently had a cousin attending the opposing school. When you’d asked, she had said proudly, “Inashiro.”

It felt like too much a cruel joke. But when you returned to your dorm and looked up the game, sure enough, Inashiro had won. The game had been four to three. Narumiya was their star — their ace. If you hadn’t had any real reason to dislike him before, you certainly had one now. You sent an apology to Miyuki, trying your best to be comforting.

His reply — albeit cold — had been relieving. Things weren’t as bad as you’d thought they were.

But then he didn’t contact you for the rest of the summer. And that was where the space between you two grew. It wasn’t only physical anymore — he’d stopped contact with you completely.

Summer passed and you descended into autumn, where temperatures dipped and the trees began to lose their leaves.

There was still no contact between you two.

You sent him the occasional message, just a random update about this or that, fooling yourself into thinking that he was just busy. The fall tournament was coming up and if they made it, they’d have a spot at the Spring Invitational. It was another chance for Nationals. But your messages stayed silent, save for the messages coming from your family.

Seido lost during the semifinals at the fall tournament; you sent him a text.

i’m sorry about the fall tournament… you guys played a really good game. text me back when you can.

Maybe he felt your desperation, somehow, through the screen and even though hundreds of miles separating you two.

You sat up abruptly as the little words underneath your message changed from Delivered to Read. You waited, your heart racing in your chest. But no message came.

You tried to rationalize. He’d just lost. Their ticket to Nationals was a pipe dream once again. He wouldn’t be up to talk immediately after, right?

It sounded foolish, even to yourself.

As though your problems with Miyuki weren’t enough, you got into an argument with your mother.

She had apparently believed that once you graduated high school, you’d come back home to work in the family bakery. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

Summer break had been an awkward affair because of it. You had envisioned summer break as time away from working and from the stress of high school, but your mother had other plans.

You were forced to be the cashier, much to your displeasure. Your father had patted your shoulder consolingly, while your older sister told you to stop complaining so much. Your younger brother — already seven-years-old — could only giggle at your predicament while he went to his friend’s house to spend the night. You were almost envious at his freedom.

You had no idea if Miyuki was back in the neighborhood since he wasn’t taking the time to answer your texts. You knew that if he had come back, he had no business to be outside of his house, either, so you decided that you would probably never know.

The fifth day of summer break started bright and early with you on the cash register. It had been slow, though, the heat of the sun discouraging people from walking out and about. The wall-length windows of the bakery did nothing to hide the sun, either, and the air conditioner was mostly focused on the table area rather than behind the counter.

The heat had started to make you sleepy but before you could actually doze off on the job and piss off your mother, the bell above the door rang, signaling a new customer. You straightened up, trying to blink the sleepiness away.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to try too hard, because the newest customer turned out to be Miyuki Toku.

“G-Good morning, sir. What can I get for you today?” Your voice was steady, thankfully.

He stared up at the menu, dark eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He was dressed in work clothing, grease staining various spots, a black baseball cap tucked over his hair. It was no wonder Miyuki himself was so handsome. His father was a handsome man for his age, the only sign of his age being the lines around his mouth and forehead, and the slightest hint of grey in dark brown hair and in his stubble.

“Two coffees and three sweet rolls,” he finally said, his eyes flickering to you.

You dropped your eyes, hurriedly ringing up his total and scribbling down the drink order to hang up for your sister to do. His eyes were the exact same shade as Miyuki’s. Of course they were, they were father and son, but it . . . made you miss Miyuki even more.

You handed back the money and grabbed some wax paper to pull out the sweet rolls from the display case of pastries. As you put them into a paper bag and folded it up neatly, he lingered near the pick-up counter. You wanted to ask him if Miyuki was back, but would that give you away? Maybe he already knew of the fight, if Miyuki had told him, but that sounded far-fetched. Miyuki wasn’t that open with his father.

You glanced around the bakery; all the customers were satisfied at the moment and nobody was waiting in line. You glanced back at Miyuki's father. He was looking over the display case with uninterested eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“I-Is Miyuki back in the neighborhood?” you asked before you could lose your nerve, handing the paper bag over to him then stepping back behind the cash register, as though it could protect you from any unwanted questions.

He seemed surprised that you were speaking at him, brown eyes widening briefly before he cleared his throat. “No. He’s still at Seido. The coach keeps them for summer break.”

“Oh.”

That sucked, but knowing Miyuki, he was probably using that off-season time to get better.

“Have you been speaking to him?”

Now, you were the one surprised. When you looked back up, he was watching you with scrutinizing eyes. It reminded you so much of Miyuki that you had to avert your eyes. “Not really, sir. We’ve just,” you cleared your throat, “he’s busy. I’m busy. Our schedules don’t line up very well.”

“Mimayama, right?”

You looked back at him, furrowing your eyebrows. How did he know?

“Kazuya told me. That’s a good school,” he paused awkwardly, but before he could continue, your sister called out his order.

He picked it up and lingered in front the counter, shifting awkwardly before finally saying, “Well . . . keep in touch with him.”

You barely had time to get out a ‘have a good day.’ Did he know of your fight? There was no way that Miyuki could’ve told him, right? And if he did, then why was his father so nice? You knew Miyuki wouldn’t mince words and he probably wouldn’t hold back if he was talking about your argument.

“Hey.” You jumped as a wet towel smacked your back. “Stop looking so sad. It turns people off.”

You scowled, turning around to face your older sister with an insult on the tip of your tongue, but it died quickly at the semi-serious expression on her face. You both stared at each other for a few seconds before she slapped the wet towel onto your shoulder again.

“Loser.”

“Shut up!”

It was his birthday. He was officially sixteen-years-old.

You typed out a quick message. Maybe your conversations were beginning to be made up of your outgoing texts and nothing else from him, but you weren’t going to abandon him on his birthday. (Though, a small mocking voice in your head told you he had an entire team to spend his birthday with.)

You’d sent the text and went to put down your phone on your desk, but to your pleasant surprise, it buzzed a few seconds after, signaling a text.

It felt almost too true to be good. You unlocked your phone quickly, fumbling for the messages app. But when you clicked on his name, the message waiting for you wasn’t what you’d expected.

Error 1404. The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. For further inquiries, please contact —

Had he blocked you?

You tried again, but the message continued to pop up in reply to every text you sent.

You stopped trying, the words of the text seeming cold and callous, almost taunting.

Was he this petty? You had never believed him to be petty. Cruel, sometimes, sure, but never petty.

You tried calling. It rang two times before an automated message picked up.

“We’re sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is — ”

You hung up. This couldn’t be a coincidence. But why . . .?

You scrubbed your hands over your face roughly, feeling the familiar burn behind your eyes. Nothing was seeming to go right for you. Sure, you were at a school where you were put to work, but you were fighting with the only friend you had, with your mother about your choices for the future, with yourself over some stupid feelings.

Had it bothered him that much? Was this something to end your friendship over?

Evidently, to Miyuki, it had been.

December and January marked record-breaking lows with surprisingly heavy snowfall. You stayed on campus, burrowing in your room through the beginning of December to study hard for exams. Winter break brought you back home, where your sister had staged an intervention, surprisingly enough.

“What’s the deal with you and Miyuki?” she asked suddenly one day, when you two were in the kitchen at your home, making dinner for that night.

You continued your work, undeterred and unaffected. “What do you mean?” you asked tiredly.

She reached over to swat the back of your head, gaining a glare from you.

“Don’t glare at me, brat. You’ve been all mopey since the summer. I know something is going on,” she huffed, giving you a glare of her own.

You were prepared to shrug her off, turning to her to tell her off, but she was wearing that expression again. The one you’d seen during summer break after your run-in with Miyuki’s father. She looked serious. You hesitated.

You’d been dealing with this all on your own, with no one else to talk to. You definitely didn’t have Miyuki — not that you’d tell him about it, anyway — and certainly not your parents. Your mother would probably disapprove of your feelings since Miyuki wasn’t the type of guy to settle back down in his hometown and your father would disapprove because this was someone after your own heart.

Your sister was the next best thing.

That was how you found yourself telling her about the argument, about his lack of communication, and because you couldn’t avoid it, about your feelings for him.

She remained silent while you spoke, a pensive look on her face. When you finished, you shifted nervously on your feet, glancing at her in the corner of your eye.

“This is because of me, isn’t it?”

You blinked. “What?”

She paused from cutting up a vegetable, laying the knife down on the cooking board and turning to look at you. “What I said to you when you were in junior high. About focusing on yourself and not letting others influence your decisions.”

“I guess . . .” you murmured, agreeing reluctantly because you didn’t want her to blame herself for it. Luckily, that wasn’t what happened.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, grabbing the dish towel and hitting your shoulder with it. She tossed it back onto the counter before turning to you. “An absolute idiot.”

“What the hell — ”

“You played yourself, kid! I get it. These feelings are scary and new but running to Kyoto is not the answer!” she hissed urgently, looking annoyed.

Your hackles were raised. “You literally said — ”

“I know what I said, you fool! You had good intentions, but look where that got you.”

You winced. That was fair.

She groaned loudly. “Did it ever occur to you that you were letting your feelings influence your decision when you decided to go to Mimayama?”

You stared at her, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“For as smart of a kid you are, you’re kinda dumb when it comes to feelings.”

You scowled at her. “Feelings are dumb! It’s easier to memorize algebra equations than it is to handle what I’m feeling!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen to me. I understand that you thought putting distance between you two and lying to him about your choice would help, but you were blinded by your own feelings. In your desperation to forget, you made a rash decision. I know Mimayama is a good school and worrying about your education is worthwhile, but are you even happy there?”

You stilled. “Happy?”

“You’re hopeless!” she bemoaned.

“Hey, it was your advice! Don’t get mad at me,” you protested, unwilling to take all the blame for this.

She grimaced. “Fine. I’ll take half. But it’s redacted as soon as we fix this.”

You balked. “Fix this? No, there will be no fixing here. I’m going to suffer the consequences of my actions — and partially yours — for the rest of high school and that’s it.”

“You don’t even know if he feels the same,” she pointed out.

“He doesn’t,” you said firmly. “Why would he? After everything I’ve messed up on, I refuse to let him know. It’ll only make things worse.”

“It’s called taking a risk,” she muttered, finally turning back to finish chopping up the vegetables. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“We’re not even talking to each other anymore. I think,” you grimaced. “I think he blocked me.”

She paused mid-slice. “I’m going to murder that boy.”

“No, you will not!”

“This is better than homicide,” your sister muttered gleefully as you two watched your mother wrap up a plate of food. “So much better.”

Your mother faltered in her actions briefly, having heard your sister’s words, then resumed quickly. She was probably used to it.

Your little brother was waiting impatiently by the door, some action figure grasped in his tiny hands.

“One of you take that to the Miyuki’s. It’s a holiday gift. Dress appropriately!” With that, she left the house, your younger brother following after her, the door shutting firmly behind them.

“I’m not taking that,” you said immediately after. It’d been several days since you had told her about your problem and she hadn’t brought it up since. Maybe for good reason, too. You had time to think over what she said.

Her question about whether or not you were even happy at Mimayama was . . . conflicting, as much as you hated to admit it. What did it matter if you didn’t like it? It was a good school, one that would boost you ahead. It was giving you experience in the medical field, experience you couldn’t receive at a regular high school.

But at the same time, there were regular high school experiences that you were missing out on. Mimayama rarely had dances or anything of the sort, typically hosting an end-of-the-year banquet for the third years to congratulate them on their progress, but that was the extent of their dances. They had no sports programs, save for a volleyball team that was in sore need of motivated players and a better coach. All the students were always so competitive, constantly fighting for the top rank, making passive aggressive comments about grades. It was tiring.

It also made you think. Had Mimayama been the best choice?

“You don’t even know if he’s back,” she countered, drawing you out of your revere. “Pretty sure all the sports teams had one week less of winter break than regular students.”

“I don’t care. I’m not — ”

You stopped as you heard voices outside. It was your mother, very distantly. She was saying something, but the words were muffled by the door.

Your sister pushed you away to go towards the front window that overlooked the yard, peeking through the curtains. She gasped, making you take a wary step forward, but before you could ask her, she was turning around, grabbing your wrist and dragging you upstairs. You allowed her, figuring it was a lost cause to try and stop her.

“What’s going on?” you grumbled. She turned into your parents’ room, yanking you over to the window that overlooked the street.

You both kneeled on the ground under the window and she pointed up at it, grinning.

“He’s here,” she said in a sing-song voice that made you want to cover your ears.

You cautiously looked out the window, at first finding nothing to look at, but then your eyes latched onto the figure currently taking his bags out of a taxi’s trunk. Your heart kickstarted in your chest. Miyuki.

It was a bit far away, but you could recognize him anywhere. He looked taller, lean with muscles he didn’t have before. His skin looked tanner, too, no doubt from all the time he’d have spent in the sun. He was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, looking far too good for someone who probably just threw that on without giving it any thought.

You dug your nails into the windowsill. A small, childish part of you wanted to run downstairs and out the door to tackle him into a hug. You were craving the feeling of his arms around you and feel his usual tight, almost vice-like, grip. You bit down on your lip.

“You look like a love-struck fool,” your sister whispered, sounding awed. You shoved her, making her wobble precariously from her crouch, then fall over, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

You continued to stare out the window, and you were grateful for your hyper-fixation on him, because you were able to catch the slight movement of him turning his head towards your house. You fell away from the window, the curtains fluttering back to their place.

“What?” your sister grumbled, rubbing her elbow. “That hurt, you know.”

“I don’t care,” you muttered. “He looked. If he saw me, I’m going to die.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.” She laid down on her side, propping up her cheek with her hand, shooting you a cheeky grin. “So? You wanna give them the food, now?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Why not?”

You shot her an irritated side glance. “Seeing him doesn’t make me want to ‘try things out,’ as you say. What part of ‘we’re not talking anymore’ do you not understand?”

She scowled. “So, you’re giving up?”

You looked away. “I guess so.”

It was silent for a few seconds before she huffed quietly. “Well, I’m not. Stay here. I’m gonna give them the food. When you hear the door close, look out the window, but stay hidden.”

You stared at her as she got to her feet and left the room. This . . . couldn’t be good.

Nonetheless, when you heard the door shut from downstairs, you peeked out the window again. You caught sight of her walking down the sidewalk, her jacket and beanie on to fight against the freezing cold, the dish cradled in her arms. At that point, the taxi was gone and you suspected Miyuki had retreated into the warmth of his home.

When she walked up to the house and rang the doorbell, she sent a furtive glance to you, making brief eye contact before turning back forward. The door opened and she looked surprised for a split-second before schooling her expression into one of ease. You squinted, trying to make out who she was talking to.

She took a half-step back and you finally saw that it was Miyuki who’d answered the door; he leaned out of the house, nodding and saying a few things before accepting the dish with a gracious bow. Your sister returned it and turned around, walking back towards the house.

You dropped away from the window, making sure to fix the curtains carefully this time, then dashed out of the room and down the stairs. You didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds before she was entering the house again, letting in a burst of icy air. Once she had locked the door and began taking off her shoes, jacket and beanie, you cleared your throat.

“Well?”

She looked at you, grim, and you prepared yourself for bad news, but then she said, “He’s cuter than I remember him being.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She shrugged. “You two would be cute together. His looks cancel out any ugliness you have.”

“Again. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She sighed. “What do you want to hear, kid? I don’t know . . . He seems more mature now. Are you two really fighting about this as bad as you say?”

You glared at her, irritated that she was doubting your words just because he seemed ‘more mature.’ “I have no reason to lie. It’s not like you’ve ever liked him that much, anyway.”

“That’s true,” she murmured. “But he made you happy, so that was all that mattered to me. He’s not doing that for you anymore.”

You toed the edge of the carpet with your foot, avoiding her eyes.

“If you’re truly incessant on not making up with him, then find something that makes you happy,” she continued. When you glanced at her, she looked serious again. You decided you didn’t like that look on her face. She coughed.

“If not, I refuse to see your mopey face around here.”

“Comfort me or insult me! Pick one, dammit!”

As much as you hated to admit it, your sister had a point.

So when you returned to school, you tried to find something that made you happy. Either an end goal, or even another friend.

You found that continuously telling yourself to find something made things a little bit better. You didn’t think about the absence Miyuki had left you. You thought about ways to raise your grade or make the other kids mad about your success.

You even found a friend — a quiet girl in your class who was pretty low in the class rank named Arakawa Akemi. You didn’t care about the rank stuff too much. (Only when it could be used to make your snobby classmates angry.) If anything, had she been in a regular high school, she probably would’ve been top of the class.

So, your first year ended with a secure friendship and excellent grades. Your relationship with your mother had gotten better, mostly because of the shining commentary that all your teachers had about you and your behavior during the afterparty of the third years’ graduation ceremony, where students, families and parents mingled. Your sister was annoying as ever — though a bit proud — and your brother was merely happy about seeing you again.

You knew, when your second year started up in full force, that your friendship with Miyuki was gone at this point. He hadn’t seen you at all during winter break and didn’t make an attempt to contact you at all. You hardly ever saw his father, so you couldn’t ask him about it, either.

You were sad at this realization. Almost seven years of friendship flushed down the drain. And the worst part was that your feelings hadn’t even faded with that.

After the Spring Invitational, Miyuki had gotten . . . famous. He was known nationally, media calling him the ‘catcher of his generation.’ Known for his aggressive plays, people loved him. When you’d seen the magazine with an article about him in it, you were proud.

Despite his lack of communication, you were still proud that he was doing what he loved. And he was good at it. You could never be angry about him doing well in what he loved.

When you’d seen his picture in the magazine, your heart still beat like crazy and your stomach still did flips. You hated it.

Even without almost a year of no contact, you were still infatuated with him.

You found yourself busier than you’d anticipated when second year started up again. You were required to put in volunteer hours at a hospital, so you’d found yourself preoccupied not only with homework, but work from the hospital as well.

The busy schedule was good; it helped you keep your mind off things, especially when the Summer Tournament started up and Seido blazed through the first rounds, then qualified for the quarterfinals. They were constantly making news articles, something or another about their new first year pitchers that were blowing competition away; usually those articles had companion editorials about Miyuki and how quickly he was improving. You tended to stay away from those.

You felt guilty for avoiding the games as much as you did, but at that point, there was no real need for you to keep up. It wasn’t like Miyuki would be calling you afterward to ask for your opinion on it.

The way you saw it was that if there was no Miyuki, then there was no need for baseball, either.

Unfortunately for you, however, your classmates happened to be avid baseball fans, so when you came to class the Monday after the weekend of the finals, you weren’t surprised to hear them talking about it.

“ . . . what messed up their game.”

“Yeah, after that deadball, there was no way they were getting their momentum back.”

“It’s all that first year pitcher’s fault. Sawamura, right? If he hasn’t fallen apart, maybe they would’ve been able to continue.”

You listened curiously, only brought out by a nudge to the arm. Akemi was giving you serious side-eye. “You could look it up, you know, or even ask,” she murmured.

“Look what up?”

She elbowed you again.

You sighed, leaning forward to tap on the shoulder of your classmate sitting in front of you. He turned around, his eyes widening at seeing you interact with him.

You gave him a polite smile. “Are you guys talking about the finals of the summer tournament for West Tokyo?”

“Yeah. Between Seido and Inashiro.”

You sat up straighter. You hadn’t realized that it’d be between them, but of course, it made sense for them to be the finalists. Two of the three baseball powerhouses in West Tokyo.

A queasy feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach, but you pushed on.

“Who won?”

“Inashiro. Their ace, Narumiya Mei, was a complete monster but honestly that first year pitcher — Furuya, right? — was insane . . .”

You sat back, staring at the plastic of your table. Akemi hummed softly and leaned to show you her phone. It was an article, presumably on the game. You read the headline.

Seido loses to Inashiro by 4-5

The article was detailed, filled with baseball jargon that you didn’t bother trying to decipher. You latched onto a few pieces of important information; Seido batters unable to get a hit off Narumiya for the majority of the game, the deadball by that first year pitcher Sawamura Eijun in the bottom of the ninth inning and Seido’s ultimate loss. You sighed heavily.

“Great.”

Akemi shut off her phone, watching you carefully. “That’s it?” she asked quietly.

You’d told her about everything that had happened between you and Miyuki. Mostly as a precursory warning that apparently, you could be dumb when it came to your friendships; you’d try to be better with her, but fair warning and all that. Though, you had to give credit to yourself, since your errors were really because of your feelings and while Akemi was pretty and very kind to boot, Miyuki still held your heart.

But that was it.

You shrugged, pointedly looking away from her. “What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can talk to him anymore.”

Akemi said nothing else on the matter, looking forward when the teacher entered and started up class. And you didn’t bring it up again, either. But you still had to sit through the excited murmurs of your classmates, biting down the urge to defend Seido whenever someone would badmouth the team for whatever reason. (At that point, you were irritated with yourself. You didn’t even know anyone on the team except for Miyuki. Why should you feel the need to defend them?)

The majority of summer break — wherein you stayed at school for extra classes — was filled with talk of Nationals, mostly about Inashiro blowing through the rounds until the finals, where they ended up as runner-up. For the half of the last week of break, you headed back to Tokyo, where you visited your family and managed to avoid working in the bakery under the guise of needing to study (which you actually did need to do).

You knew Miyuki wouldn’t have been back, probably training with the rest of his teammates. When you passed his house on your way to another café to study at (since you’d probably be roped into doing some form of work if you went to your own), you pointedly avoided looking at his home and the factory.

It was time for you to move on.

Despite your best efforts to hide behind the menu, Narumiya’s face lit up upon recognizing you.

He grinned brightly; there was less baby fat on his face than you remember. He looked taller, too, adding to his maturity.

He calls you out — by your surname, thankfully. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle if he called you by your first name. You’d probably walk straight out of the café . . .

“It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

You sunk in your chair as other customers glanced at you, irritated. Narumiya was unbothered by their glares, taking a seat across from you even though you hadn’t invited him to do so. He was just as annoying now as he’d been two years ago.

“I didn’t say you could sit down,” you said, annoyed.

“We need to catch up!”

“We don’t.”

He grinned. “Have you gotten meaner over the last few years?”

Your grip tightened on the menu briefly, but you took a deep breath, turning your eyes back to its contents. You would ignore him for however long you needed. He would get the message sooner or later.

“Are you meeting Kazuya here? I’ll wait with you. Maybe he and I can catch up, too.”

“No,” you replied stiffly. “I’m here to study in some peace and quiet.”

You looked at Narumiya over the top of the menu, then glanced pointedly at your bag sitting in the third seat between you two. He followed your gaze and made a small noise of dissatisfaction.

“How boring. Do you keep up with him?”

You studiously ignored him, turning the page of the menu.

“Is that a no, then?”

You continued to ignore him.

He huffed petulantly. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re still mad about what I said? I was some annoying first year brat in junior high. I’ve changed.”

You looked over the menu again, eyebrow raised in doubt.

“I have!” he protested.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Can you please leave now? I need to study.”

“Study for what?” he frowned, then. “What school do you go to? Shouldn’t you be on break?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

“Then sate my curiosity and answer them!”

You huffed this time, finally surrendering to your fate. “Fine. I’m going to Mimayama right now and I took extra class over summer break. We always have homework.”

“Mimayama, huh?” Narumiya looked at you closely. “All the way in Kyoto?”

“Yes.” You turned back to the menu, but your head was beginning to ache from switching between squinting to read the small text and looking up to Narumiya. Or maybe that was just Narumiya . . .

“Is that why you and Kazuya haven’t been talking?”

“I didn’t say anything about that,” you said, feeling a frown form on your lips. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Come on! When’s the next time we’re gonna see each other?”

“Never, hopefully.”

He pouted. “You don’t mean that. Come on! Tell me about it. Who would I even tell?”

“Your friends. Your sisters. Miyuki.”

Narumiya laughed, but it sounded forced. “As if I still talk to him too.”

You looked at him this time and he had a bitter smile on his lips. He suddenly looked tired — worn out. You couldn’t imagine from what, though.

His smile tightened. “You’re not the only one with problems.”

You pursed your lips. “Evidently. If you listen, I’ll listen too.”

He frowned, looking away, clearly not liking the prospect of airing out his vulnerabilities.

“It’s a fair exchange,” you added before he could refuse. “And I’m the last person to judge, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t judge even you, Narumiya.”

He grumbled. “At least call me Mei.”

You did your best to offer advice but he waved you off.

“I’m doing it because it was fair and I needed to vent. Don’t worry about me. I’ll deal with it.”

You eyed him disbelievingly. “I have no problem helping you, either . . .”

Another lazy wave of the hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m fine. Now, what’s the deal with you and Kazuya?”

Mei leaned forward, unabashedly stealing a fry from your plate. You two had ordered your meals before Mei dove into his problems concerning pitching, the team, and the first year catcher he had to deal with now.

You listened intently, finding yourself sympathizing with him, much to your own surprise. You knew, rationally, Mei had his own problems — of course, he was only human — but for him to be this open, you appreciated it. It made you feel at ease. Maybe Mei wasn’t as bad as you’d painted him to be.

You pushed your plate to him, appetite having disappeared, but he pushed it back toward you, pointing at the food with an intense expression on his face. “Eat.”

“I can’t talk and eat at the same time,” you pointed out.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you with narrowed eyes. “You can take breaks and eat.”

“Is the famous Narumiya Mei worried about me?”

“Never mind, you can starve!”

You smiled slightly and launched in your story, punctuated with breaks to eat or drink some water. Mei listened to all that you had to say, only interrupting to ask a question to prompt more details. He didn’t seem to judge, but you couldn’t tell for sure; his facial expression stayed composed throughout your talk.

When you finished, you found yourself suddenly conscious of his eyes on you. You squirmed a little in your seat, poking tentatively at the cold fries on your plate. You looked back up when he sighed, slouching in his seat.

“We both can’t catch a break, can we?”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

“If it makes you feel any better, if I was in your place, I might’ve done the same thing. I mean it’s not the right choice, but solidarity or whatever.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, evading your glare. “It’s fine. We can actually do something about your problem.”

“You know, we can also do something for you too — ”

He waved you off. “I’ll deal with it eventually. But you . . . We can do something here.”

You didn’t like the look on his face, the conspiratorial smile on his lips beginning to grow as you shook your head. “N-No, definitely not. Besides, why would you want to help me? I’ve been pretty mean to you these past years . . .”

Mei shrugged. “That’s how most of my friendships start.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I’m not — we’re not doing anything about it. I just told you to vent. We’re finished with that.”

“You’re giving up, then?” he asked, unintentionally echoing your sister’s question from last year.

“I . . .” You frowned. “If it’ll save me the heartbreak, then I guess so. He’s not even — not even talking to me, Mei. His message is loud and clear.”

“Well, he’s dumb. You and I both know that. Why should you listen to him? You have to try.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t want to,” he corrected. “What do you have to lose? Your friendship is already in shambles, you’re going to school all the way in Kyoto so you won’t have to see him if it goes rotten and it’s not like you two live that close. Maybe telling him will fix things.”

“And what if it makes it worse?” you asked sharply. “I’d rather we leave it like this.”

“Assuming for one moment that he doesn’t feel the same — ”

“He doesn’t.”

Mei ignored you. “ — then telling him will yield the same ending to your friendship as it did before. Except now it’ll be official. It’s a better way to break things off, anyway.”

“I have no business to mess his life up like that,” you said stubbornly.

“You want to reconcile, don’t you?” He suddenly asked, scrutinizing you.

“What?”

“Reconcile with Kazuya. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But it’s not that easy. He’s going to want an explanation and he can be cruel. He’d probably make you choose between him and not explaining.”

You avoided Mei’s eyes. He was right. Miyuki wouldn’t accept you with open arms. He’d be affronted and demand an explanation. Rightfully so.

“So, what? I don’t tell him and we break things off or I do tell him and my feelings aren’t reciprocated so he breaks things off all the same to save us from the awkwardness?”

“Or you somehow manage to reconcile but still keep it to yourself. It’s unlikely, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if this bothered Miyuki. You’d probably do him a favor if you told him,” Mei finished, lacing his fingers together on the table.

“A favor,” you snorted disbelievingly.

“Now,” Mei continued, ignoring your tone, “let’s say he does have feelings for you. Which he does. Honestly, did you see the way he’d look at you when we were in junior high? It was gross.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mei rolled his eyes. “Because you’re just that unattractive or what?”

You shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t deserve him.”

“Shut up.”

You blanched. “You — ”

“You and Kazuya are perfect for each other. That sounds like something he’d say about you, too. I’m not here to listen to you depreciate yourself. I’m here to help.”

You softened as he aimed a displeased frown at you. “Thanks, Mei,” you said, truly meaning it.

“You’re welcome. I’m great, aren’t I?” he preened, a happy grin replacing the frown. “Now, assuming he liked you — which he does — he’d want to know if you felt the same. So, telling him maximizes the possibility of reconciling your friendship. Plus, maybe you get a boyfriend out of it, too.”

“Boyfriend!”

“Obviously. That tends to be what happens when two people like each other.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Narumiya Mei!”

Mei’s words left a significant mark on you.

You left the cafe thinking over the possibilities (sparing no thought to the homework that hadn’t been completed). But the thought of confessing seemed . . . strange. Could you be so forward to actually go after Miyuki and tell him? He’d probably avoid you as much as he could.

You weren’t looking to make a fool out of yourself, either, so you certainly didn’t want to try going to Seido. Going to his house and cornering him there seemed to be your best option, but the next break where he’d be home was Christmas and that was four months away. That was okay; there was plenty of time to work things out.

But it also gave you time to back out.

You chose not to discuss this with Akemi, knowing she’d encourage you to tell him as well. For now, you just wanted to make your own decision without outside influences (excluding Mei since you’d made the unfortunate decision of giving him your LINE account).

The rest of August was split between school, Akemi, Mei and your deliberations. Mei constantly kept you updated on the start of the fall tournament, finding every chance to talk about Miyuki — which led to Mei’s usual declaration of taking Nationals next summer. You continued to mull over the decision of telling Miyuki, always finding yourself becoming anxious at the notion of facing him again.

At the same time, you missed Miyuki. If things didn’t go well, at least you’d spoken to him one last time.

It was a decision that demanded great thought. No one was going to have a part in influencing your choice (not even Mei). You couldn’t half-ass it or do it on the fly. You needed to have some organization when it came to deciding.

The call was what threw your entire plan off its axis.

You’d been in the middle of composing a text to Mei, demanding to hang out since he’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth following Inashiro’s loss to Ugumori. You knew it had to do with those problems he’d told you about in August and you weren’t going to let him deal with it alone.

It was almost funny how much your friendship with Mei had grown in such a short time. While he could be unruly, irritating and arrogant, he seemed to have a softer side when it came to you, toning down his need to get a rise out of someone. It reminded you of Miyuki, but you shelved that thought quickly. It was a comparison that had no reason to exist.

Dutifully ignoring the review for your English class on your desk, you’d been in the middle of typing out a word when your screen changed from the conversation between you and Mei to the call screen. You eyed the number warily. It was from Tokyo, but it wasn’t one you recognized. Your thumb hovered over the decline button but you huffed and answered it. If it was a telemarketer, you could nip them in the bud right now before they got the idea to call you back.

“Hello?”

“Er, is this — ?” The voice on the other line proceeded to give out your full name.

“Yes, this is. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Uh . . .” Another person on the other end said something, but it was too quick for you to grab onto. “I know that, Zono! Shut up!”

Your frown deepened. “I’m . . . hanging up now.”

You went to pull away but the guy spoke again, hurriedly. “No, no, hold on! My name is Kuramochi Yoichi, I’m the shortstop for Seido’s baseball team.”

What the hell was a player from Seido doing you? You glanced at the calendar mounted in front of you, finding the words Seido vs. Yakushi final @ 1 marked down for today. So, the game must’ve been over then. Didn’t these boys have better things to be doing right now?

“How’d you get my number? And what’s the reason for calling me?” you asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. You were a bit irritated, though.

“You know Miyuki, right? Miyuki Kazuya?”

“Unfortunately.”

Kuramochi coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Right. Well, he sort of mentioned you today, before we went to the hospital, so I figured I should give you a call — ”

“Hospital?” you interrupted sharply. “Why are you going to a hospital? Did something happen? Was he injured?”

“Eh, he was but it’s not too serious. I think. So, yeah, he said to not call you otherwise you’d ‘kick his ass for getting hurt’ so I thought why not? Let him suffer a little bit for trying to hide his injury.” Kuramochi sounded nonchalant about the entire thing, so maybe it was okay, but you were still confused.

“Explain.”

“He was tackled at the plate by a pitcher from Seiko High in our semifinals and trust me, he wouldn’t have said anything unless someone else had noticed. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed, but if they did, they didn’t say anything. I told him . . . Well, I told him not to fall apart until after we’d won,” Kuramochi admitted sheepishly. You pursed your lips in disapproval.

“If he showed any sign of bringing the team down, I’d tell the coach but he didn’t for the most part. Unfortunately, another one our teammates noticed and brought everyone’s attention to it so the coach knew by the middle of the game.”

“Did he continue to play? Or was he benched?”

“No, he played the entire game. Miyuki’s our cleanup, too, so it wasn’t a bad move — ”

“Are you discounting the fact that he struck out a few times?” the other guy on the other end of the line asked.

“Shut it,” Kuramochi snapped. “It was better for our team morale, too. That bastard is aggressive. We might not have won if he’d been benched.” Then he coughed, seeming to suddenly realize that he’d called Miyuki a bastard with you listening. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you muttered tiredly, rubbing your temples to stave off the incoming headache. “So, what? He was taken to the hospital?”

“Yeah. We got here like fifteen minutes ago. He was . . . pretty out of it. Probably from the pain. We’re waiting for him right now. But, uh, I guess I called to see if you’d like to come and see him. Don’t worry about his father, I know someone else took care of that already.”

“Where are you guys?” you asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Tokyo General.”

“And how did you get my number again?”

“Miyuki’s phone.”

Kuramochi must’ve copied the number from Miyuki’s and into his own. You were surprised that Miyuki had even kept it. You sighed heavily, turning back to the conversation. “You do realize we don’t even talk anymore, right? Has he even told you about me?”

Kuramochi was silent for a few seconds. “Not really, but he’s always closed off. I did notice the lack of conversation for you on his messages, though. I don’t know, I just thought I’d tell you. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to see him, but as soon as we get his room number, I’ll text you from this number.”

“That sounds fine. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem. Sorry for bothering you, though.” He hung up quickly before you could reply. You dropped your hand holding the phone into your lap, staring at the calendar. You had two finals this coming Monday and you needed to study. But was this your chance?

The way that Kuramochi has phrased it . . . It sounded like Miyuki was joking about it. In his pain-induced haze, had he forgotten about the ruins of your friendship and joked about you? Or was he conscious about what he’d been saying?

It was all so confusing.

You gritted your teeth at the oncoming headache and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. You packed up your notebooks that you needed for studying, grabbing your wallet as well. A quick search told you that the next train to downtown Tokyo would leave in thirty minutes. You bought your ticket, sending a silent mental apology to your father who’d see the purchase and probably freak out.

The dormitory wasn’t too lively, meaning you could make your escape unnoticed. You notified the resident assistant of your leave — one of the teachers for your year — and she let you off without much problems, only stressing for you to be back before curfew tomorrow. After boarding the train with no problems and sending Akemi a message about your impromptu leave, you dove into your studies but found that you couldn’t concentrate. You had too many worries, too many thoughts.

This was going to go very well or very horribly.

After the three-hour train ride from Kyoto to Tokyo, you arrived at the hospital at six. You had met Kuramochi in the lobby of the hospital and he led you to the in-patient wing.

Kuramochi was an interesting individual. He was stiff, overly-polite in a way that said he was trying too hard. He probably felt uncomfortable actually seeing you in person.

“Does he have to stay overnight?” You asked, fingers tightening over the strap of your bag. When studying had escaped you, you obsessed over what sort of injury he could have. Was it sprained ribs? Had he torn a muscle? Or was this worse?

“Eh, only one night. He kicked up a fuss about it but we pointed out that he’d fainted from the pain. Better safe than sorry,” he explained as you two stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button for the second floor.

You looked at him sharply. “He fainted?”

Kuramochi grimaced and nodded. “Like I said, he was pretty out of it. He’s fine now. Conscious and all that.”

“What about his father?”

Kuramochi reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Said he’d come tomorrow.”

You sighed softly. Yeah, that sounded like him.

There was a soft ding as the doors slid open, Kuramochi stepping out and briskly leading the way. His cleats were loud against the tiled floor, disturbing the quiet environment of the second floor. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You made it to a room but just as he’d lifted a hand to pull the door knob, you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He looked questioningly at you, his hand paused in the air. “What?”

“I don’t think this was a good idea . . .” You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, swallowing thickly. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest and you had the ridiculous thought that everybody could hear how loudly it was beating.

Kuramochi scanned your face and he became serious, seeming to sense that you were genuinely doubting yourself.

“Whatever happened between you two,” he said, hushed. “It’s fine.”

“It was my fault,” you mumbled. “Why we stopped talking.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. But I don’t know your story. Listen,” you looked at him, finding him meet your eyes earnestly. “Now is the best time to fix it. Whether it goes well or not, I don’t know. But at least you tried, right?”

What do you have to lose?

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “You’re right.”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Thanks.”

Kuramochi stared at you, then nodded to himself, as though he’d just realized something. “It makes sense now,” he mumbled under his breath, making you frown.

“What — ”

He opened the door before you could ask what he’d meant and you instinctively jumped behind him as several voices floated out of the room.

“Ah, Kuramochi. Is everything okay?” a woman asked.

“Yeah. Just had to pick up one of Miyuki’s visitors,” he replied, staying in the doorway, probably sensing you hiding behind him.

“Is it — ?” another voice asked, sounding like the one you’d heard on the phone.

Kuramochi didn’t respond, simply stepping into the room, leaving you standing in the doorway for everyone to see.

There was only another guy your age in there and he looked utterly panicked at your presence. There was an intimidating man as well, dressed in the Seido baseball uniform — the coach presumably — and then a woman standing next to him, dressed in formal clothes. You turned your eyes to the hospital bed, but instead of meeting those familiar brown eyes, you were met with his bowed head, his eyes averted to his legs. You noticed his clenched fists on his lap and felt your heart drop to your stomach. He was angry.

You bit your lip then bowed to the two adults, introducing yourself, “I’m an . . . old friend.”

The two adults looked at Miyuki for confirmation. The air was uncomfortably tense. You saw him sigh minutely before he nodded.

With his confirmation that you weren’t some stranger trying to sneak in, they introduced themselves as the coach and scout of Seido; the other guy introduced himself as the Zono you’d heard from the phone before. You accepted them politely, but a stifling silence ensued afterward.

You snuck glances at Miyuki in the corner of your eye. He had raised his head, but his eyes remained on the white wall in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, we should head out, then. Miyuki, will you be okay here?” Takashima asked, turning to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

His voice had dropped since junior high, but he still sounded the same. Just like the Miyuki you once knew. Except he sounded tired. You felt guilt bubble in the pit of your stomach, knowing you were probably going to stress him about more.

One by one, they all exited the room. Kuramochi had hissed something to Miyuki before he left, sending you a nod of solitude. When the door finally shut, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. You shifted on your feet awkwardly. The silence was absolutely unnerving. You briefly considered just fleeing and never coming back, but that would be too cruel. Why should you show up abruptly then leave just as suddenly?

Yet, Miyuki still hadn’t spoken.

You took a deep breath, ignoring the racing of your heart, preparing to say something — anything.

Miyuki beat you to it. “Why are you here?”

Hurt pierced your heart. You faltered at the cold tone in his voice, the apathy, the indifference. Miyuki raised his head to look at you and any remnants of a response flew out of your head. He had matured, baby fat disappearing from his face and leaving someone else behind. Miyuki had grown into his looks. Those familiar brown eyes that had often glowed with mirth were hard, almost unrecognizable, burning into you with searing intensity.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Kuramochi called me. Said you were here so I — ”

“You thought you could come and visit like we were ‘old friends?’” Miyuki finished for you callously.

You dropped your head, trying not to let his words affect you. He was angry and Miyuki never spared his words much thought when he was angry. You certainly deserved his ire, anyhow. You’d been such a shitty friend.

You took a deep breath. “Not really. I know I haven’t been a good friend to you. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I thought you deserved to finally hear an explanation from me, but like I said before, it . . . might not be something you want to hear.”

Miyuki didn’t say anything else, turning to look at the window. You took that as your cue to continue, dragging a chair over to his bedside. You managed a reasonable distance away from the bed, dropping your bag onto the floor with a sigh.

“It’s taken far too long for me to explain myself. I understand if, even if you know, you’ll want to go our separate ways, though my explanation sort of ensures that you probably won’t want to talk to me, anyways.” You glanced up at him and he was still looking out the window, but his eyebrows were furrowed now. He was troubled.

You pushed on, dropping your eyes to your lap. “My reasons weren’t entirely for educational purposes, but I think you’ve picked up on that already, right? It was . . . Well, it was partially because of my sister’s advice, I guess. She didn’t say to leave because of you or anything, just that I had to prioritize my education when it came to picking a high school.”

You’d raised your eyes to his face and saw him raise his shoulders, the furrow of his eyebrows deepening in a way that told you he was ready to protest. You continued speaking before he could. “Seido is a great school. Looking back on it now, it probably would’ve benefitted me as much as Mimayama has. Plus,” you dropped your eyes back to your lap. “You would’ve been there, too.”

“What’s your point?”

You flinched at the sharpness of his voice. It cut deeply, making you feel small and insignificant. Still, you ventured further.

“That was the problem,” you mumbled. “You’d be there and I’d be with you. She — my sister — said not to let my feelings influence my decision. At this point, I’ve clearly missed the mark that she was aiming for. I just,” you paused, leaning forward to brace your elbows on your knees, rubbing your forehead tiredly. Your heart felt like it was going to break free from your ribs.

“I wanted to go to Seido with you. But if I did, I would’ve picked that school because I was in love with you. So, I went to Mimayama because I thought that by leaving, I could get rid of these feelings and we could continue to be friends.”

Finally saying it felt so relieving, like the pressure on your chest had lifted and you could breathe freely. The constraints of your secret were gone. But that left you to deal with the aftermath.

You didn’t raise your head as the silence seemed to echo, broken only by the occasional voice outside the room and the ticking of the clock. Miyuki still hadn’t said anything.

Your liberation ended with the cold revelation that no, he didn’t feel the same and you’d ruined your friendship permanently.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a few tears slid down your cheek. You rubbed them away roughly, though fresh ones replaced them immediately. Your chest and throat felt constricted, making breathing steadily a little difficult. You heard the sheets rustle as he moved.

“Why are you crying?” Did your ears betray you or had his voice softened? He still sounded tired as hell, but he didn’t sound irritated. If anything, his tone was almost exasperated.

You brushed away the fresh set of tears but they just kept coming. Was this two years of pent-up frustration coming to the surface? Or was it because of the imminent end of your friendship?

“I just ruined my friendship,” you muttered, sniffling. It didn’t look like your tears would be stopping anytime soon, so you decided to save yourself the embarrassment; you stood up then grabbed your bag and stood up quickly, covering your face with your arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — ”

“Wait,” he called quickly. You stepped back as you heard the hospital bed creak then a soft ‘fuck’ reached your ears, making you drop your arm away from your eyes.

Your eyes widened once you saw he had sat up and shifted, moving to stand up in front of you. “Don’t get up, you’ll hurt yourself more!” You put a hand on his shoulder, trying pushing him down, but it was all in vain. The strength he had gained over the years — and more recently as the cleanup for Seido — was no match for your own. He stood up and you found yourself trapped with him in the space between the chair and the bed.

You froze. With this proximity, you could lean your forehead on his chest; in fact, you could almost feel the warmth he radiated. You dropped your eyes immediately. Funnily enough, your tears were quickly drying with this new distraction.

Miyuki pried your fingers off his shoulder and your heart fell to your stomach, but instead of dropping your hand, he clasped your hand between his own. His grip was tight and unyielding. The message was clear. You weren’t going anywhere.

(And to be completely honest, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.)

You saw his chest lift and fall as he sighed, the warm air brushing over the crown of your head, tickling stray pieces of flyaway hair. There were too many things going on at once. You felt the coarseness of his palms against your hand, callouses rubbing against the skin roughly, the distinct scent of a generic detergent brand printed on the cotton t-shirt he was wearing. But it was all so Miyuki that you couldn’t complain.

Being this close, hearing his steady breathing, he was here. That familiar comfort you’d always found with him was slowly returning and that was dangerous. You didn’t even know if he still wanted to be your friend. But maybe . . .

“You’re right,” he finally said.

“About what?”

“About ruining our friendship.”

You flinched, taking a step back and running into the chair. It scraped loudly against the floor. Well, then. At least that had been solved, right? You felt the tears that had dried begin to well up again, the hurt piercing your heart like a knife once more. You tried to pull your hand away but he was too strong for you.

“Miyuki — ”

“I don’t want to be your friend if you feel like that.”

Your mouth quivered. “I get it, you don’t need to — ”

He released your hand but before you could step away, his hands were cradling your face, tilting you towards him. You had no choice but to look at him. You inhaled sharply, feeling exposed underneath his gaze. But more than that, his eyes held an unspoken tenderness that hadn’t been there before. His thumbs gently brushed away the stray tears that had escaped.

“I’m not . . . good with this,” he said. “But I don’t want to be your friend because I — ” He stopped, almost seeming to pout at his lack of articulation. You had an inkling to what he was trying to say, to what he was hinting at and it made your chest tighten, made your palms sweaty and your heart race.

“Why?” you blurted out, feeling like you had to know why he would chose you, out of all people, and also because you weren’t sure you could deal with the implications of his words so soon.

Miyuki looked genuinely confused. “What?”

“After all I did . . . Not talking to you . . . Honestly, I understand why you blocked me — ”

“Blocked you? I never blocked you,” he frowned.

“I — Your number didn’t work when I tried to text you for your birthday last year,” you clarified. “No call, either.”

“Oh. Oh.” He seemed to understand and winced, a guilty expression passing over his face. “I got a new phone a few days before that. I broke my old one — ”

“How do you break a Nokia?”

He grinned, tugging on your cheek playfully and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his grin, so warm and full of mirth. You felt like a little thirteen-year-old again, experiencing the first adrenaline rush of your feelings.

“My teammates broke it,” he corrected. “Dad got me one, said it was partially a birthday present, too. I got a new phone number but I . . . Well, I never texted you my new number. I had yours, I just didn’t . . .” he trailed off and the happy bubble you two had found yourselves in popped.

It hurt, but you understood. Miyuki was the type to need to know — he needed to know why you had avoided telling him for so long, why you wanted to go all the way to Kyoto for school; he was analytical in every aspect of his life. You weren’t going to be excluded from that particular quirk.

But you also wondered what would happen now. If his terrible word phrasing from earlier said anything about it, Miyuki seemed to think of you as more than a friend — but it had been two years since you two had spoken or even interacted face-to-face.

“Hey.”

You blinked, refocusing on him. He was frowning, eyebrows furrowed as he squished your cheeks together. You struggled in his grip, feeling a scowl quickly form on your lips. “Your hands are probably filthy, stop that — ”

He sighed and dropped his hands from your face, stepping back to lean on the hospital bed fully. You were . . . disappointed at the ensuring distance, no longer finding his natural warmth at your disposal. You chided yourself; Miyuki had an injury. He shouldn’t exert so much energy. You weren’t sure about the extent of his injury, exactly, but if he had fainted from the pain, then it had to be worrying, right?

You scrutinized his appearance, too caught up in your worries to be shameful. At least that was one thing that never changed. (And would probably never change.)

“You should sit back down, Miyuki.”

Miyuki huffed softly. “It’s just an oblique muscle tear on my right side. And I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“I know.”

“And hey,” he caught your attention again. “Why do you always call me by my last name? Even Mei calls me by my first.”

You shrugged, shifting uncomfortably at the sudden question. “I don’t know. It was just a thing I always did. Besides, this is Mei we’re talking about.”

He snorted. “That’s true. Wait,” he frowned at you. “Since when do you call Mei by his first name? This is just unfair.” He pouted a little and you huffed.

“I’m relieved to see that you haven’t changed, and well, we’ve sort of . . . become friends.”

“You know we lost our ticket to Nationals because of Inashiro, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re going to Koshien Stadium now, aren’t you? It’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“Mei and I are friends, I guess. He was the one who encouraged me to — to talk to you. Try and rekindle our friendship.”

“What exactly did he say?”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at Miyuki. “Why do you want to know?”

Miyuki shrugged carelessly. “Mei’s the type to incite action in someone else. Would you have come if you hadn’t spoken to him?”

You made a choked sound of disbelief. “You’re assuming — ”

“You said you were in love with me, didn’t you?”

The abrupt reminder of your confession was like a slap to the face. You shut your mouth silently, feeling embarrassed at being put on the spot like this.

Miyuki looked thoughtful. “Whatever he said must’ve resonated with you. I imagine your sister had a hand in this, too. She doesn’t like taking the blame, does she?”

You were worried about nothing, apparently. Miyuki seemed to remember all your ticks now as he had two years ago. In fact, just being with him for these past few minutes have been refreshing. It was like coming home.

Miyuki huffed softly at your lack of response. “Look, I . . . I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What are you — ”

He says your name lowly, cutting you off short.

There was an edge of rawness in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn’t ever heard before. You swallowed your response, watching him tentatively as he dropped his head, turning his eyes to the ground.

“These last few months were difficult. Did you know I was made captain? The, uh, previous captain — Yuki — nominated me, of all people. You know how I am. As you might imagine, we had a few clashes, but things are coming together now. I mean, we won. Can you believe that?” Miyuki laughed, but it was cold and brittle.

You didn’t like how depreciating this was turning. He may’ve asked for your silence, but if all he was going to do was put himself down, then you would put a stop to it.

As if sensing your climbing ire, he looked back up and the anger simmered, fading to a dull roar as you met his eyes. There was a warmth in there you hadn’t ever seen before.

“We got through it. We’re here now. Things are looking up. This damn injury . . . It’s just a speed bump in a long road. But through it all, I kept going back to you. You never left my mind. I,” he paused again and dropped his eyes, seemingly embarrassed, “I missed you.” It came out like a mumble, a hesitant admission; expected for someone as emotionally closed off as Miyuki.

But you found it charming. His inability to respond in closely social situations, in times like this that were intimate. You knew him well enough to know what he was saying.

“So, I’m sorry. For ignoring you. For prying when it wasn’t my place. For being an asshole about it all, really.”

You took a deep breath. This was it. “I’m sorry, too. No matter what, you deserved to know the truth.”

“Well.” It sounded like Miyuki disagreed as he reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was a deeply personal reason.”

You snorted. “No shit.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve always felt the same.”

You froze.

There it was.

Your heart was going into overdrive once again and you found your breath stolen from you when he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. There was still that warmth in there that hadn’t been present before. But maybe it had always been there, you had just never seen it. Miyuki was a master at disguising his emotions and you supposed you couldn’t ever have idealized the concept of him having feelings for you to be able to actually notice it.

“And I think,” he continued quietly, “that we’re not ever going to be the same again. But that’s okay. So, let’s start off with you calling me by my first name, yeah?”

The air left your lungs in a rush and before you could even think to manage an agreement, he lifted his hand to your cheek, settling warmly on the curve, thumb brushing gently over it. He pushed forward and you knew, you knew where this was heading. You didn’t stop him. You weren’t sure you wanted to. Sure, there might’ve been some things that still needed to be discussed but you had settled your battles for the most part.

So when he asked, his voice soft in the tenderness of the moment, “Can I kiss you?” You found it a little hard to keep standing straight, so why wouldn’t you have leaned forward on him — totally mindful of his injury, of course — and met his lips halfway.

There might’ve been a number of things that ruined it for anyone else — having to watch his right side constantly so you didn’t hurt him, the bookbag still weighing heavily on your shoulder, keeping an ear out for the nurses and doctors — but there were other factors that made it perfect for you.

The warm and firm press of his mouth on yours, easily consuming all your senses with everything that was Miyuki Kazuya but retaining a gentleness that was also him. Always making sure you were comfortable. And the way his other hand had easily fallen to your waist to keep you in place was your anchor, powerful tendons of his arm underneath your palm that kept you from falling into the sea.

It was strange. He was both all-consuming and anchoring.

He shifted, angling a little more to slant his lips over yours, deepening and taking you down to the depths of the ocean. You followed willingly, reciprocating eagerly if only to prolong this experience. But the growing burn in your lungs was going to be a problem soon.

That was okay. He was back in your life now, wasn’t he? Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t a stranger, he wasn’t a friend; he was something more, a fixated presence in your life that caused you both immense happiness and irritation. No one was perfect, you knew, but even with all his faults and flaws, he came pretty damn close.

And he was right, too.

You had sort of ruined your friendship, though you supposed it was on his end, too. This was a two-way street, after all.

But as he pulled away, breathing a little faster than usual, his lips beginning to swell, you didn’t find yourself mourning the end of it. No, as he caught his breath and leaned forward again to claim your mouth, you found yourself looking forward to what he’d bring.

Your future was firmly entrenched with his and you wanted it to stay that way.

#fair warning i wrote this when i was in my. sophomore year. in 2019. LOL #its not bad! im actually quite fond of this fic #particularly of my characterizations. mei especially. he grew on me while writing it #its been up on ao3 since 2019 i just thought that since i'm posting dogfish here #i might as well throw up my other oneshots #the shorter content basically. long stuff will be posted strictly to ao3 or wattpad #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #ace of diamond x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki #moss writes

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ sending them suggestive pictures while they're at work

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fukuzawa, Fyodor, Sigma

content: nsfw, female reader, spanking, sexting, oral sxx, masturbation, semi public

It's not unusual for DAZAI to tap away on his phone during work hours, so no one — except for Kunikida, who still hasn't given up on glaring — pays it any mind when his smirk widens at his screen. What remains a secret, however, is that he's not looking at some funny tweet but instead at your tits, the blue lace of your bra making for a pleasant contrast in colour.

He's awfully smug about the whole ordeal, really; also, who is he not to play along? He definitely sends you not only some appreciative words back, but also a picture of his own, featuring either his hands — he does know that you're quite fond of his fingers, after all —, his face — because you can never complain about that! —, or his by now half-hard dick, pressing against his trousers, even though taking soft nudes borders on workplace indecency. Oh, and your pictures are definitely saved and stored away on his phone for later usage.

[new message from Dazai] “someone's needy, harassing me during work hours! just kidding bella!! you're so cute xx stunning too! how am i supposed to listen to kunikida any longer when you're so so pretty? :( ill call out sick, be there in 20 x”

CHŪYA really doesn't expect to see anything but a picture of a dog you saw outside or of a particularly pretty flower when he spares a brief glance at his phone during a Port Mafia meeting. It's already disrespectful, though he doesn't plan on anyone noticing the miniscule action — that is, until he all but chokes on his coffee at the photo of you, legs spread wide, two fingers deep inside of yourself, wearing not only his favourite lingerie set, but also one of his ties.

He tries hard to ignore the way everyone stares at him when he, all too abruptly, excuses himself to the bathroom, his face bright red. In the safety of a stall, he really can't do anything but shove his trousers to his knees, one hand immediately closing around his dick while he types your number into his phone with his free one — and while he might snap at you, oh so flustered, he's also so damn turned on that he can barely focus on anything but the sound of your voice and your photo.

“Fucking Hell, babe—, God, with how Mori was looking at me, I bet he knew what was up. Fuck—, send me another one, please, I'm so damn close, ah—”

Business meetings aren't RANPO'S favourite way to spend time. They're awfully boring, making him huff and sigh when he has to sit through them — though this one gets a lot more interesting the moment he clicks on a text message from you. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of your panties, pure lace and hiding not even the slightest bit just how wet you are, thighs glistening, though that's about all the physical reaction he's going to show. The fact that his dick strains against his trousers is no one's business.

He is, however, quick to text you back, amusement dripping from his messages, and if Fukuzawa wasn't already watching him with sharp eyes, he'd sneak away to the bathroom to call you. For now, you'll just have to do with sexting — this meeting is going to go on for a while, especially if he won't soon start contributing, and he's unfortunately got better things to do.

[new message from Ranpo] “having fun without me? youre so mean. at least send me more pics im dyin g here... maybw bend over or— ooo i know, we bought that toy a while ago, right? why don't you use that one for me, doll....”

FUKUZAWA sucks in a sharp breath the second his eyes fall onto your form clad in nothing but one of his yukatas, and even though he attempts to remain calm, he's already blushing, arousal churning low in his stomach. Really, he was just trying to take a miniscule break from all the paperwork he's facing — besides, the cat ringtone signaling your message did sound rather urgent! —, though now he's not certain whether he can focus on it again.

He ends up typing “This is most inappropriate.” in response, though he never sends it, instead replacing it with a “You look stunning.”, only to never send that one either. In the end, he just quits work a little earlier that day and hurries home faster than he'd ever want to admit, cheeks still flushed with arousal when he joins you in bed, immediately slotting himself between your pretty thighs, long fingers spreading your folds apart and into your cunt to prepare you — only to realise you've long done that yourself. How convenient. He might reprimand you a little afterwards, though both of you realise it's not to be taken seriously. When he's honest with himself, he rather liked that photo — and he'll definitely keep it.

“That was awfully inappropriate. Darling, you know I enjoy getting to hear from you during the day, and yet — what? I didn't mind you wearing my clothing in the slightest. I was worried about someone from the Agency seeing the picture. In fact, wear my clothes again whenever you feel like it. Please do. You looked quite irresistible.”

It's almost unfair just how seemingly unbothered FYODOR is. When checking his phone during a Decay of Angels meeting, aware that you know not to contact him except for important reasons, he merely glances at the photo lewdly depicting your raised skirt and the curve of your behind before putting it back into his pocket. Really, it's downright adorable that you're attempting to tease him — you should know better by now, darling.

While he doesn't bother with a response, he certainly makes sure to pay attention to you when he returns home. And, oh, the next time you want to toy with him, he sure hopes you remember this very moment, of you bent across his lap, his hand coming down ever so often on your butt, on the soft skin of your upper thighs, making you cry out with every slap. The marks, at least, will serve as a nice reminder, especially when you keep forgetting to thank him for every hit.

“There we go, dear. Ah, ah — don't cry now. This is what you wanted, is it not? My undivided attention — and you certainly have it, now. Which number were we on again? Tell me, darling, or we will have to start over, I'm afraid.”

The second SIGMA spares a quick glance at his phone, only to stumble upon a rather revealing picture you just sent him — and, God, 'rather revealing' is an understatement when he's able to see just how wet you are, thighs spread for the camera —, his face heats up significantly, earning him some odd looks from the other men he's currently in a meeting with. In a desperate attempt to regain professionalism, he clears his throat, trying to simply continue, but it's as if every thought has been erased from his mind and was replaced by you.

When getting home that evening, he's calmed down considerably, cheeks still warm with the memory of you being this bold, though his sudden calmness might just change when you expect him in that exact same position, legs wide apart, the smile on your face teasing — and who is he not to end up on his knees in front of you, tongue flattening against your cunt while both of you let out breathy moans? In the end, he's all but begging you to return the favour.

“Ah, God, I'm close. At least finish me off, please—, you were really cruel today, dear. Make it up to me? Please? Oh, fuck—”

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#honeydazai writes #bsd x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #bsd x you #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #fyodor x reader #Ranpo x reader #Fukuzawa x reader #Sigma x reader #Dazai smut #Chuuya smut #Fyodor smut #Sigma smut #Ranpo smut #Dazai headcanons #Fyodor headcanons #Bsd smut #Chuuya headcanons #fukuzawa headcanons #Sigma headcanons #Bungo stray dogs x reader #Bungo Stray Dogs headcanons #Bungo stray dogs smut #Bungo Stray dogs x you #Bungo Stray Dogs imagines #Bsd fanfic #Fyodor imagines #Dazai imagines

[txt-trash]

clever girl | choi soobin

summary: you’ve only ever viewed choi soobin as your rival in school. he was cute and sweet at times but for the most part he usually acted cold toward you—or at least tried to. out of nowhere you hear about his grades dropping and in an effort to save your only motivation to push yourself harder, you accept his persistent offer to tutor him. you quickly learn he had an ulterior motive to always get you to spend time with him and despite how mean you think you might be, Soobin loved it.

➣ college au, smüt, fluff, enemies to lovers [but it’s one-sided]

➣ academic rival!soobin x f!reader [she/her, afab]

➣ 13.8k words

warnings: smut. oc is kinda mean to soobin. soft jealousy scenes. soobin asks oc to tutor him. really clingy. super cute. the smut is… nashty lowkey. heavy on foreplay. oral [both receiving]. handjöb. oc sits on his face. virgin soobin/experienced oc. oc gets jealous at times too. oc is kinda possessive. sub/dom themes but I swear soobin is a switch. breastplay. missionary. no condom. a lot of plot. multiple orgasm. soobin got that cream im sorry. soobin is a known perv. oc got big boobs. soobin is very obviously a boob guy. oc is lowkey dom, aftercare bc soobin cries. oc calls him a perv, dirty talk. soobin is best boy but also brattiest boy.

You never considered yourself a particularly smart person. You weren’t gifted — as teachers would say — but you weren’t dumb either. You rode the fine line of somewhere in between but you also studied your ass off to get good grades so you could get a scholarship to the college of your dreams. It’s for that reason specifically that Choi Soobin drives you absolutely insane.

You’ve known him for two years but not close enough to consider him a friend. If anything you consider him the opposite of a friend. For the past two years he’s been your number one contender in class. He’s really smart, like book smart but lately he’s been plummeting his grades and that only seems to piss you off more. He’s the reason why you would push yourself so hard to be number one but now that he’s barely trying it’s not as fun. You’re a competitive person.

So, when he approached you today asking you if you could please tutor him you seriously stopped to think about it. If you tutored him then you could possibly have your competition back but tutoring him would also mean having to help him and he did not need your help. You knew he was smart enough to learn things on his own and he’s just in some sort of stump.

“Why don’t you hire one of those expensive tutors I know you can afford?” You asked him after pondering on it for damn near two minutes. You stood just outside the library where he had practically ambushed you before you could make it inside the building.

Soobin was one of those rich guys you weren’t so fond of. He had money, he didn’t have to work hard to get good grades and he could afford to go to any school he wants to while you have to work double as hard to do anything. Or course it’s not his fault but for him to ask you to tutor him when you know for a fact he doesn’t need you to just really bothers you.

He looked a bit lost by what you said, looking a bit bored like you’re the one holding him up instead of the other way around, “I don’t know, I figured you could help me out since we’re in the same major.”

You huffed out in annoyance, “Am I going to get paid?”

His eyes widened just slightly but you couldn’t if he was in surprise or in disbelief, “I guess, however much you want, I need the help.”

A small sigh left your lips as you rolled your eyes, “No you don’t, but whatever, if you pay me, I’ll think about it.”

“Can I get your number then?” Soobin asked, already taking his phone out. You didn’t say anything as you typed in your number and before he could say anything else, you left for the library.

He watched you leave without a smile on his face, keeping up his unamused act until you turned your back to him and his lips couldn’t help but curl up in a smile. Soobin knows it’s a bit weird for him to ask you to tutor him. You’re just one year younger than him but you take most of the same classes so he figured you were his best option.

And also… maybe he dropped his grades on purpose to have an excuse to talk to you but that’s something he’ll never admit to your face.

It all started two years ago. He had already been in school for a year or so and he was just soaring by. You were right when you said he could just hire some expensive tutor to help him but he never really needed it. He was book smart even though sometimes he lacked common sense in the real world. Growing up he had it all, tutors, piano lessons, private schooling, et cetera. He was a smart kid all the way until his third year of University.

Well… he’s still smart but things are different now. He’s spent the last two years practically racing you in classes you shared to do better like that would impress you but it didn’t work. Then, he tried being cold to you like you were to him but he could never do it right. It only seemed to push you away and after a while he realized the only reason why he did it was because he wanted to get a rise out of you. You just won’t notice him no matter how hard he tries to get you to and if this is the only way he’ll get you to talk to him more then he’s going to do it.

“So, did it work?” Kai asked, walking up behind Soobin and scaring the life out of him. Soobin released a loud yell that heads turning in his direction but he barely notice as he whipped around to face his friend, “Did what work?”

“Your little scheme to get Y/n to talk to you,” Kai said as he walked toward the library with Soobin on his tail, “What scheme?”

Kai stopped and gave him that look that told Soobin the gig was up, “You’ve been working on this for weeks now, you think I wouldn’t notice? You used to tutor me and now you’re saying you need to get tutored by the one person who seems to want nothing to do with you?”

Soobin cut in front of him to reach the door first as he swung it open, “No clue what you’re talking about. I’ve been struggling in class lately, probably stress over the internship this summer.”

“Right…” Kai rolled his eyes following his friend into the library, “Or the stress of getting ignored by Y/n no matter how hard you try. It’s been two years, pack it up already.”

“How do you know Y/n ignores me?” He asked getting into the elevator with his friend to get to the next level where more computers and desks were. Kai shrugs, “I mean it’s pretty obvious.”

It took days for you to get back to him and he waited anxiously to see what you would say. He didn’t want to blow up your phone because he had a cold image to uphold but every time his phone dinged he checked if it was you. By the third day he had almost given up hope until the simple text you sent nearly made him burst into a million fireworks.

you: meet me outside the library tomorrow

He got there earlier than intended but he acted like he didn’t. He had done at least two laps around the tall building just waiting for you to arrive and when you did, you said nothing to him. You only walked into the building and headed straight to the elevators like he wasn’t even there.

“It’s raining.”

Jesus Christ.

So stupid, Soobin thought as he turned away from you. This is what happens when he tries to make small talk with someone who sort of hates him. He still doesn’t get why you don’t like him much but he assumes it has something to do with your grades. You’re both art majors and have to take similar prerequisites so you see each other a lot. You’re both also at the top of the department and practically battling for the same summer internship so he thought taking a step back might’ve made you happier but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

You looked at him for a second and when he wondered if you would say something you just looked back down at your phone like he wasn’t even there. This elevator ride felt like it would never end. He knows it’s only been a few seconds but it feels so suffocating.

“Did you change up your hair? It looks good,” he said cautiously and you finally looked at him again. He didn’t expect a thank you or anything but maybe a smile.

All he got was; “Why are you talking to me?”

“It was like this last time we talked,” you finally said and looked forward again.

The elevator dinged and he released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in until he was off. The two of you walked down the hall with you a couple paces ahead of him in complete silence.

Suddenly you turned around to face him as he stumbled back a step in surprise when you said, “I like the black hair, it’s different from the blonde.”

He absentmindedly touched his hair as a smile grew on his face, “Thank you.”

Your brows furrowed, surprised that he was even smiling at you. Usually he acts just as cold to you as you do to him and that’s why you barely acknowledge him nowadays. You knew he wasn’t a bad guy but he always had a smug face when he came out on top in class and it drove you insane. He would even laugh sometimes when you would stumble over your words during a presentation and make fun of you, not even caring if you heard or not.

Of course you didn’t know he was giggling because he found you so cute even when you made mistakes.

Soobin happily followed you to an empty table, just happy to be there and ignored the hand you had outstretched to motion for him to sit across from you just so he could sit next to you instead.

You just looked at him unamused as his smile dropped, “What? How am I supposed to see what we’re doing if I’m sitting all the way over there?”

You released a sigh, “Alright, did you bring your last exam?”

Soobin nodded his head, reaching into his huge backpack to retrieve his laptop and work. He quickly opened his laptop and got onto the school website app to find his most recent Psychology exam. He knew you were in that class too even if you took it at different times [he only signed up because of you and got the time wrong].

You looked at his laptop where a fat 65/100 score was typed in red that made you gasp, “Soobin?! How?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, “I’ve been stressed, can’t pay attention well.”

Soobin was looking at you with soft eyes, unable to help himself from looking over what you wore today. He hasn’t seen you all day aJust as you opened your mouth to scold him, a high pitched feminine voice cut you off, “Binnie?”

You both turned in your seats, a cute brunette with hair just above her shoulders dressed in a cute coquette style smiled at him sweetly, “I thought I recognized you.”

You knew her well too, you used to call her Soobin’s little sidekick in a class you shared last semester. She always followed him around complimenting him over every little thing he did and laughing at all his jokes, even the ones that weren’t funny.

“Hi Jia,” Soobin said as he looked back down at his laptop. Jia smiled before sliding her gaze over to you, “Hi Y/n.”

“Hey.”

She cleared her throat, “So, Soobin, good thing I found you, I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’re free any time soon.”

“Um,” Soobin look at you, “For what?”

“Oh!” Jia blushed, “Um, I’ve been having software problems and I know you’re a game wizard so I figured you might know how to fix it.”

She already had her laptop out and you watched as she pulled up a chair from a different table to sit on his other side and he looked just as taken back to be sandwiched between the two of you now. Soobin didn’t say anything as he took her laptop once she showed him what’s wrong and he hurried to fix it. His lips were parted in concentration yet his dimples still showed and you couldn’t help but look at him over. You never once thought Soobin was ugly, he had to be one of the most attractive guys you’ve ever seen but you would never even think about it. If anything it’s a bit too late to imagine you and Soobin being anything more than rivals or even tutor and student. It would just be too much.

She smiled leaning into him, "Thanks, it's like you're the only one who knows how to fix it."

"Then you should probably learn how to do it yourself for when he’s not around," you responded out of the blue, flashing Jia a tight smile, "I could teach you but it's just a troubleshooting problem and it doesn’t take a brainiac to figure that out."

"I'd rather have Soobin teach me," Jia smiled looking back at Soobin who looked down at his own laptop to hide the fact that he was furiously blushing at how snappy you sounded. You smiled watching him ignore her, the jealous immature side happy he's not giving her much attention but you couldn’t understand why.

“You hear that Soobin?" You asked, nudging him with your knee, he released a breath stopping what he was doing and waiting for you to talk. Just like that, he didn't ignore you at this moment. "Jia wants you to teach her how to fix her own laptop, she’s taking advantage of your kindness, y’know."

Jia went to argue but the damage had been done. Soobin wouldn’t disagree with you, maybe you were right. He did always get bothered by all the girls who asked him to help them with something and he always felt bad saying no. In the end, half of the girls would use it to flirt with him and compliment him every chance they had and it made him uncomfortable.

Even if what you had said was a bit of a lie and probably more beneficial to you than him, Soobin was on your side — even if you sounded a bit mean, "Sorry I'm too busy but if you take it to the tech lab I'm sure they'll help you."

"He's too busy," you repeated smugly looking up at her again. You’re telling "Oh, I understand," Jia sighed, "Soobin are you doing anything? Maybe we can meet up and do some work."

You couldn’t help but scoff, Soobin immediately looked at you as you moved just a fraction away from. You looked annoyed and he knew it was once again because of him. He asked you to tutor him and yet here you are having to watch another girl try and take him away.

"Um, I don’t know, I’m kinda doing something with Y/n right now and I don’t know how long it’ll be," Soobin said mindlessly, eyes glancing in your direction like you would reward him for being blunt, he turned to you, "Can we continue?"

You stared at him in surprise. This is not how you expected this moment to go. You were almost certain that was thrilled at the idea of ending this and leaving with someone he appears to be close to. Sure, you watched him tell her he was busy but she kept pushing and you assumed he would just go with it instead. You were also being a little rude and she was his friend right, why else would they have looked so close last semester? You assumed he would’ve been annoyed by the way you responded to her and would want to end this study session before it could even start.

“I don’t know,” you said, sounding a bit more harsh than you expected, “Do you want to?”

Soobin looked genuinely caught off guard that you would even think that. Why would he not want to? He’s been thinking about this for weeks, he’s worked for this — or well stopped putting in the work so you could tutor him. Do you think he’s going to want to leave to hang out with Jia?

“Yes,” Soobin said looking all doe eyed and you’ve never seen him make that face to you. You looked to Jia, “So, can we finish studying or is there anything else you want to tell Soobin?”

She stared down at you with a glare but you didn’t budge, looking at her unimpressed and not intimidated at all. All you wanted to do was finish this study session, get paid, and go home. Why were they making this so complicated? Was it even worth all this trouble when you haven’t even gotten to reviewing his answers yet.

The more you thought about it the more you realized it was actually really annoying. Would you have to go through this every time you study in the library? Would some girl with a fat crush on Soomin come and try and take him away? Did you really want to put up with that?

Soobin practically jumped in his seat when you stood up, “It’s getting late and we haven’t even started, let’s just try this again some other time, I guess.”

“Y/n!” Soobin’s voice was a little too loud for the people in the library and a few felt perfectly fine telling him to shut up as he ran to the stairs completely forgetting Jin was standing there waiting on him.

The elevator came to a stop on the first floor and you swung your backpack onto your shoulders, head down as you caught up on your notifications. You barely made it past the elevator doors when you bumped into a very hard service. A strong arm grabbed you from the waist as you nearly stumbled back, your phone unfortunately did not have the luck of having someone grab it before it fell. Your hands clung to the shirt of the person and you finally got a good look at him, annoyed huff leaving your lips, “Soobin!?”

“What?” Play it cool, Soobin “I was coming to see where you went after ditching me up there.”

“I literally said we could do it some other day,” you released a sigh as you picked your phone up and shook his hands off your waist. Soobin loomed over your shoulder, “Damn, your screens cracked, when did that happen?”

He wasn’t thinking straight when he said that, all common sense completely left his body as he looked at your phone with pity, only snapping out of his thoughts when he felt you turn your head to look at him. It was then that he realized just how close the two of you were with him leaning down to look over your shoulder. He couldn’t help but attempt a smile noticing just how close your lips are to his and you smelled so goo—

“About two seconds ago, Soobin,” your voice was laced with sarcasm that had goosebumps raising on his skin at how annoyed you sounded, “When you bumped into me, remember?”

He blinked once in realization, feeling his cheeks heat up, “I did that?”

A tired sigh left your lips as you decided to ignore him. You weren’t sure if he was playing dumb to get on your nerves or if he actually was clueless but now you were more annoyed than before. You don’t have the money nor the time to get your screen fixed and you definitely can’t afford a new one.

“I’m going home,” you mumbled as you turned away from him, “Go find another tutor, probably Jia will help—“

“I don’t want to,” Soobin’s deep voice cut you off as he followed you out the door into the outside, “I want you to tutor me, Y/n. I’m sorry about your phone, I’ll fix it but don’t take back your word, you already agreed.”

You groaned, “Ugh, Soobin there’s so many girls who’ll tutor you and for free, you don’t need me and besides, we can’t study in the library if someone is going to interrupt.”

“Y/n it’s been one day,” Soobin said harshly, “Did Jia bother you that much?”

Soobin couldn’t help but feel hopeful and he wasn’t sure why. He knows you don’t like him so there’s no way you were jealous but to see you act just a little possessive over him made him blush. He liked it. He liked it a lot and he was determined to make you admit it any way you can. He watched you roll your eyes, expression laced with attitude, “I don’t care about Jia, Soobin, but if I’m trying to help your studies I’m not interested in others tagging along.”

He couldn’t help but bite his lip as he tilted his head to the side curiously, “So you want me to yourself?”

Once again you rolled your eyes, turning your back to him, “I’m leaving.”

“No,” Soobin grabbed at your wrist softly, “I’m kidding, come on, let’s figure something out, yeah?”

“Like?” You asked, still not sure why you’re willing to put yourself through this when you don’t even like him that much. You watched as his shoulder rose and dropped in a shrug, biting his lip in thought and you released a small sigh to let him know you were running out of patience. He looked down, “I don’t know, maybe we could go somewhere that it’s just us two.”

You could barely understand him from the way he mumbled but once you processed what he said, you just nodded, “Alright, I’ll go to your place tomorrow.”

“Really?” He asked, clearly thrilled at the idea but trying to play it off. You just nodded and he finally let you leave.

What were you getting yourself involved with him?

Soobin couldn’t sleep all night. He went to his classes looking like a complete zombie and for once he had an actual reason for not paying much attention. As much as he wanted to see you all day you made him wait till late because you had work after your last class. It only made him more anxious and he cleaned around his apartment twice, just to be sure you didn’t think he was messy even if he kind of was. The entire time this all happened, his friend watched him from the comfort of Soobin’s bed.

“So what makes you think Y/n would even want to hang out in your bedroom?” Taehyun asked as he watched his friend go crazy. Soobin was acting like he was preparing a date, he saw him put on Chanel perfume about three times, each time saying he couldn’t remember if he put any on. He even styled his hair on.y to mess it up and restyle it differently.

Soobin shrugged, “I don’t know, but my desk is here, Y/n might.”

Taehyun just nodded, not seeming fully convinced but went along with it anyway, “Wishful thinking, bin, wishful thinking, and just speak your truth, what’s the real reason why you want to be in your room instead out in the living room?”

He smirked watching the way Soobin’s face flushed red, “Privacy.”

He chuckled, “From who?”

Soobin didn’t answer him and it only made Taehyun smile in amusement, “I love you, but it’s never going to happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Soobin asked as he checked his phone, already smiling at the text you sent a few minutes ago that said you were already on your way.

soobin: ok just lmk

soobin: I’ll come down if u want

You didn’t respond but he didn’t expect you to, he only just sent the message but he still found himself waiting for those three dots to pop up on the message thread.

“I’m talking about how badly you want to hook up with Y/n,” Taehyun said, making Soobin look up at him completely shocked.

“I hate Y/n,” obviously he didn’t but he didn’t like the idea of his friends knowing he liked you without knowing how you felt and he had a reason for this. If they knew he liked you despite how mean you were to him, they would think he’s a masochist… it’s better they think he hates you too but apparently he wasn’t fooling anyone considering Kai caught on pretty quickly too.

Taehyun let out a laugh, one of those really loud and obnoxious laughs that told Soobin he was actually very amused by whatever was happening. He went as far as wiping away his cheek like a tear had fallen and said, “Good one, almost believed you there.

“I’m serious,” Soobin said as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, fixing a wrinkle in his shirt, “Y/n is mean to me, why would I like her?”

“I wanna know why too,” Taehyun said as he rolled onto his stomach only making himself more comfortable on the bed, “I mean, she’s hot, but she’s mean—wait a second, you like that she’s mean, huh?”

Taehyun was just teasing him at this point and when Soobin refused to respond, his eyes only widened, “Oh my god! You like that Y/n’s mean to you, are you a perv, Hyung?”

He was only teasing, he swears it. He doesn’t care what his friend is into, what he likes is totally up to him but it’s just fun to poke fun at him when he gets so flustered about it. He doesn’t blame Soobin for liking you, like he said, he can agree that you’re attractive, but you’ve blown Soobin off for three years. Did he really like you enough to keep up his charades and if so did he really go as far as failing his classes just to get you to talk to him? God, what will you do to Soobin once you find out?

“I’m not a perv!” Soobin yelled, a little louder than expected. He’s really not. He’s not a perv… he’s just… he just likes you. Yes, he likes that you’re a little mean to him, yes he likes when you scold him, yes he likes pushing your buttons and yes he especially liked it when you do it and he can see down your shirt or look at the squishiness of your thighs but… but he’s not a perv!

Okay, maybe he’s imagined what it’s like to feel under your shirt and has struggled to pay attention to anything but the sight of you in a short skirt but that doesn’t make him a perv, he’s just an easily distracted guy…

Before Taehyun could rebut, a loud knock was heard on the front door that had both of their eyes widening in surprise. Soobin was practically sprinting toward the door as his friend gathered his things to leave. He meant to leave before you were here but clearly time passed by way too fast and now he’s getting ready to leave just as Soobin was opening the door to you.

You looked at Taehyun curiously as he ran past you and out the door, yelling, “Hi Y/n! Bye Y/n!”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you let yourself into Soobin’s apartment, “What’s up with him? Why’d he leave in a hurry?”

“Uh,” Soobin gave you a blank expression that sort of reminded you of a confused bunny and you watched him scratch the back of his head in thought, “You said no distractions and… and he would be a distraction, right?”

“I guess,” you took the chance to look around his apartment, it was huge, way bigger than your apartment and it was so painfully obvious that he came from money. He had a grand piano in the corner for fuck’s sake. There was even a chandelier hanging above the dining table and a fireplace by the tv. Too distracted to notice Soobin move behind you, you nearly hit him in self defense when he began to pull on your backpack to take it off your shoulders. Without bothering with a thank you, you headed toward his marble dining table waiting for him to follow but he just stood in place.

“We’re studying in my room,” Soobin said in voice that radiated confidence, completely opposite of the desperate tone he used to prove to Taehyun that he was not a perv. He had an act to play, he assumed you liked mean guys. He’s heard of some of the guys you used to talk to and they all had one thing in common… they were intimidating and Soobin didn’t feel like that at all so he had to play the part.

You didn’t even question it as you followed him into his room, eyes immediately zoning in on the white cage set on its own stand, two different levels to it and a small hedgehog inside. Soobin cleared his throat awkwardly, “That’s Odi, he’s a hood boy.”

Fuck, Soobin thought, why would he say that about a damn hedgehog?

“Cute,”you said coolly as you took the main desk chair, making him have to pull up a smaller chair next to you. You thought Odi was cute after he called him a good boy? Or did him calling Odi a good boy not affect your thoughts on the hedgehog? Oh god, his mind was completely scrambled.

Soobin didn’t have to be asked this time to show you his most recent exam. He knew it was what you were going to ask to see first and he wanted to show you that he could be a very good listener. He looked to you to see how you would react to his quick obedience but you barely even blinked as you pulled it toward you. You pursed your lips in thought and he watched your mouth closely. Your lips looked so soft, so plump and smooth with light lip balm on them.

He wondered how soft they would be in a kiss. Were you a good kisser? Would you think he’s a good kisser? How far would the two of you go or would it just be kissing? He would someday like to get to a point where he can openly adore you because there’s just so much from your pretty hair to your pretty legs and everything in between.

He had a dirty secret that’s not so much of a secret considering his thoughts from earlier but… he can’t help but always notice your breasts—after your cute annoyed face of course—he wasn’t a complete bimbo. He respects you, he can’t just immediately look at your boobs despite the fact that today you were a low cut fitted shirt. He tried paying more attention to your face as it looked like you were about to talk but his eyes couldn’t help but slowly trail down your neck to your collarbone until he saw just the smallest hint of cleavag—

“Are you listening?” He snapped his gaze back to yours looking completely red handed as he nodded his head, clearly not listening.

You released a sigh as you looked at him in thought. Soobin was smart, you knew how smart he was so why did he seem so clueless right now?it’s like he had no thoughts in that cute head of his an—did you just consider him cute?

You blinked in surprise at your own thoughts and just as you were going to ask him to repeat what you said, you saw in real time the way his gaze seem to drop once more and you finally understood what was going on.

Soobin was trying so hard not to stare and failing yet the attempt was cute, especially when he seemed to let his lower jaw go slack and lips part slightly at the sight. Normally you would immediately be disgusted but it’s Soobin… he’s annoying and a know-it-all but just look at that brain empty expression of his, not caring at all now if he gets caught.

Without thinking you dropped a hand to his thigh, squeezing slightly and making his gaze return to yours, “What did I say?”

“What?” Soobin asked, shaking his head like he was snapping out of a trance, the cold and deep voice was back. You rolled your eyes, “You said you were listening so I’m asking you to repeat what I said.”

You’ll admit this was all a bit out of character but you just had to see if you were right… was Soobin really staring at your cleavage openly, and if so, how did you feel about it?

“Um…” Soobin looked down at your hand, “Um…”

“Um?” You repeated sarcastically, “Can you focus? If not, I’m going home.”

“Yah!” Soobin whined with a low groan, “Stop saying that, you already agreed to tutor me, stop trying to back ou—“

“Then pay attention!” You said back and he practically stomped his foot in a tantrum, just wanting to argue now.

“I’m trying but you—you’re,” he groaned in frustration as the words died in his throat and with a defeated sigh, he mumbled, “I’m sorry… I wasn’t listening.”

You smiled proudly, not at all in a rush to figure out what had him so distracted, and instead said, “Good boy, don’t you feel better being honest?”

The words just slipped and you didn’t think much of them as you went back to the laptop, already writing down answers to the questions he got wrong, meanwhile Soobin is trying to calm the painful red blush in his cheeks.

There was a small sphere in the palm of your hand, it was a shade of dark blue with a white swirl on it and it matched the same one Yeonjun held in his hand. You’ve shared one class with him in the last two years and it’s in the one you’re currently in. The two of you have never spoken a single word to each other and the semester started six weeks ago. He looked just as surprised to realize his partner was chosen randomly by a stupid marble.

He released a small nervous chuckle, clearly just caught off guard by this. He’s almost a 100% certain you’re like the only person in class that he hasn’t spoken to. Now, that didn’t mean he didn’t notice you, you were pretty and never talking to you really did make you seem a bit mysterious to him. He cleared his throat, “Alright, when should we get started?”

You checked the time on your phone, you were supposed to be meeting Soobin soon to study at his place but you’ve just been completely blindsided by this sudden partner project in class. You only had about a week to turn in the research paper and you had to work a couple nights this week. You agreed to study with Soobin on days you didn’t work but now with this on the table, you seriously don't know what to do. Well, obviously you have to do the assignment but you don’t know how to tell Soobin. If you just sent him a text about it you’re pretty positive he will just blow up your phone nonstop because for some reason he desperately needs you to continue these study sessions.

“When are you free?” You asked him trying to figure out what time would work best for you to work on this. You were only getting tomorrow to do research in class and after that the two of you are basically on your own as the unit confíes on in class.

Class has just ended so the two of you walked together outside of the room trying to figure out when would work best. It was hard to ignore the looks you received from some of your other classmates and you knew why. Yeonjun was attractive, really attractive and he was popular too.

Yeonjun brought his phone out too, checking his schedule, leaning a little closer to talk to you, “Um, I could do… well I work tomorrow after class… are you free later to get started?”

Soobin had a smile on his face that he knew soon he would need to drop it, he couldn’t let you know how excited he was to see you right now. He was in a good mood, anytime someone said hi to him he was quick to say it back but if a girl tried stopping him to talk he would excuse himself saying he had to go somewhere.

His class ended a little earlier today so instead of waiting in the parking lot for you, he went to your last class.

Just as he turned the corner, his smile seemed to fall without his control anyway. Standing just a few feet away from him he found you and you looked so pretty today in a pair of jeans that hugged your curves just the way he liked it and… and you were standing with Choi Yeonjun.

He watched you smile at whatever Yeonjun said and he debated if he should just wait. He could wait, of course he can and honestly it’s what he should do. You’re just talking to another guy and it’s not like you’re flirting, right? It shouldn’t even matter to him, you’re not dating—you don’t even like him! So why does he feel bothered?

“Hey,” Soobin’s deep voice surprised you as he came up behind you, so close that you felt him press against your backpack, just looming over you with a hardened gaze. You looked back at him, “Hey.”

“Are you ready?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady and he couldn’t help but shift his gaze toward Yeonjun, who he definitely wasn’t happy to see was just standing there.

You looked at him apologetically, “I don’t know if I can make it tonight. We just got assigned this project and we don’t have time to do it in class so…”

Your words slowly died down as you watched his facial expression change. His lips turned downward and eyes seemed to sadden, “What?”

You looked at Yeonjun, “I’ll see you in the library.”

He took the hint and left you alone with Soobin who loomed over you with his height looking like a kicked puppy. You’re not sure why this expression really bothered you and you’re feeling really guilty now even if it wasn’t completely your fault. You found yourself saying, “I’m sorry.”

“But we agreed to meet up today,” Soobin said.

“I’m sorry but we want to get at least the outline finish—“

“Then what about after?” He rushed to ask. You looked at him apologetically, “It depends on what time we get done.”

You’re not even sure why the look on his face was making you feel bad but it was. The two of you didn’t even start to get along till just a couple weeks ago and sometimes he’s just so different from the cold side you’re used to. Sometimes he gives you snippets of how desperate he might be to see you but you can’t help but always brush it off. You just can’t tell what’s the real side of him and you’re starting to be affected by his cuter clingier side even if you couldn’t understand it.

“I’ll be waiting,” Soobin said, rushing away because he didn’t know what else to do. He was leaving before you could say that you can’t keep any promises. You rolled your eyes at how pushy he was but part of you smiled, shaking your head in disbelief and clearly amused.

Soobin didn’t lie either. He waited at home playing video games and checking his phone every couple minutes. He would occasionally send you a text, just a little reminder that you can’t forget him.

soobin: what time do u think u’ll be done ☺️

you: I don’t know yet soobin

soobin: :(

*five minutes later*

soobin: almost done?

you: not yet

soobin: 🥺 well hurry

you: …

soobin: 😞

*twenty minutes later*

soobin: 😞

you: what’s wrong

soobin: nothing :)

soobin: did you forget?

you: ?

soobin: study time?

you: no, I didn’t forget

Listen, the texts were annoying. They were so annoying because you and Yeonjun were trying to finish up the rough draft for your outline but Soobin just kept sending you text after text. It was annoying but…

It was pretty fucking cute. Ugh, he was just being clingy and though you found it annoying it was also so cute and it had you hurrying up your time with Yeonjun so you could text Soobin.

you: just finished

soobin: ok 🥰hurry

That’s how you found yourself sitting across from Soobin in his overly large living room trying to talk to him but his eyes were just straying away from your eyes. It wasn’t his fault though, like he said earlier, you just looked so pretty. Your shirt was fitted today and like usual he can’t seem to get over your chest. All of you really, your pretty face, pretty voice, pretty laugh and smile… your boobs and your butt and your cold attitude, it all just turned him into mush.

“Hey,” your voice scared him out of his gaze and he looked up at you blankly and clearly caught off guard, “Can you look at me when I’m talking to you?”

“Okay,” he nodded his head obediently, “Sorry.”

“You don’t even have your backpack,” you said as he looked down at his lap, “You were blowing up my phone the entire time I was with Yeonjun and you’re not even ready to study.”

“I know,” he gulped, eyes unable to help themselves from slowly looking down to your cleavage again. “I’m sorry.”

You released an annoyed groan, grabbing his shirt suddenly and shaking him, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Soobin nodded, “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again Y/n, I’ll be good, I promise.”

“So next time I’m doing schoolwork with Yeonjun what are you going to do?” You asked.

He released a sudden huff that made it clear he was less than happy to say this but said it anyway, “I’ll wait patiently for you to finish.”

Nodding your head you turned toward the small coffee table where your laptop was, “Kay, go get your bag so we can start reviewing this.”

Soobin jumped to his feet, running away with a smile, “So you’re not mad at me?”

“No,” you said feeling him practically squeal next to you, making you only the more confused but couldn’t help yourself from saying, “It was annoying in a cute way.”

Soobin bit back the urge to smile and did as told. When he came out he had a white bag in hand that he handed you watching your eyebrows scrunch together cutely as you asked, “What’s this?”

“New phone,” Soobin said casually and your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Soobin, why would you get me—“

“Because I broke yours,” Soobin said helping you open the box, “I already called your service and asked if you would be able to add your line to it and they said yes. I can drive you if you want me to.”

You shook your head no, “This is crazy, you didn’t have to do that! I could still use my phone, it was just the screen.”

“But,” Soobin looked down, “But it’s a gift from me to you, can’t you just take it?”

“Soobin…”

“Soobin is so cute,” your friend Yuna said one night as you got to Beomgyu’s house for a party.

You’ve been filling your friends in on your past two weeks with Soobin and it was all a surprise to them. You seemed to despise Soobin for some time and suddenly you’re all about hanging out with him. Even Soobin seemed to always act cold around you so for you to tell them that he’s been surprisingly clingy is in fact very cute.

“He probably likes you,” Beomgyu said with a shrug of his shoulders that had you spitting out your drink in shock. It’s not like you hadn’t wondered the same thing but for a while you wondered if you had just been reading too much into it and then you felt stupid for even thinking about it. Beomgyu bringing it up so suddenly shocked you, maybe it wasn’t all in your head.

“You think?” You asked genuinely and Beomgyu laughed out loud.

“Are you kidding?” Beomgyu asked, “He’s been staring at you since he got here and I bet you he’s been trying to think up an excuse to talk to you.”

“I’ve known him for like three years now, there’s just no way, I’m not even nice to him,” you said as you looked around for Soobin only to find him already looking at you as he talked a

To some of his own friends. He gave you a big and energetic wave that had you lifting your hand to wave back too. You smiled a little when he did and Yuna sighed, “You like him too, huh? I mean he’s cute—“

“No! No, I don’t,” you cleared your throat awkwardly, “I mean… even if I did, would it even matter? He thinks I’m mean, right? It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

They both gave you a blank stare and just as you were going to respond, an arm came around your shoulders as a low voice said, “What are we talking about?”

You said a quick hello to him as your friends started talking, “Soobin and Y/n got a thing for each other and neither one of them will admit it.”

“That’s not tru—“

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Yeonjun said with a laugh, “You should’ve seen the look he gave me when we were talking the other day and yesterday he ignored me when I tried saying hi. I even told him he can have you back because our project was over and he just ignored me!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “That doesn’t mean he likes me, we’ve just been studying…”

Soobin was not a mean person, he swears it. He’s really nice and gentle and he would never dislike anyone without a reason. He’s too shy for confrontation yet right now he would really love to go up to you and just pull Yeonjun’s arm away from your shoulders. You’re done with your project so why is he s next to you and why is he touching you? Soobin hasn’t even had the chance to hold you so why does he get to? He watched closely as you talked to your friends and Beomgyu trying to make sure Yeonjun wouldn’t try anything. He let Yeonjun take your attention away from him pretty much all last week so why is he still around you? It wasn’t fair, Soobin should be the one next to you. He was such a good listener this week, after you got him in trouble and he promised to be good, he did just that. He only sent you two texts throughout your time with Yeonjun and he didn’t even bother you in class!

“Who are you staring at and are they hot?”

Soobin jumped in surprise, drink spilling down the front of his shirt as he whipped around to find Kai standing there laughing.

“What?” Soobin asked as he looked down at his wet shirt. Kai just sighed, “Nevermind, go clean your shirt.”

If Soobin was mean, he would’ve smacked the kid upside the head but he was nice and nice people only attack with pillows and there’s no pillows close enough to use. He’ll get Kai back soon, just not now, now he has to clean his shirt. He looked back to you and Yeonjun as if making sure there wasn’t any funny business and practically ran to go clean himself off.

He skipped past the line to the bathroom and walked down to the end of the hall where he knew Beomgyu’s room was. His friend was throwing the party anyway and though the room was off limits, he would understand. Soobin rummaged through his closet and went straight to his bathroom so he could at least wipe off some of the intense smell of alcohol, hurrying himself along so he can watch Yeonjun.

The music from the party was loud enough for him to hear a muffled version of it even hidden away in Beongyu’s bathroom and that made him feel nervous. While he’s in here cleaning off the stench of liquor, you were probably out there surrounded by guys hitting on yo—“Ow!”

Soobin’s head whipped back with a loud thud and his hands immediately flew to his nose as pain shot right through it. The person who pushed the door open stood there in shock, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Bin?”

A pool of red began to fill his cupped hands and he moved over the bathroom sink with a groan. You visibly cringed as he moved around you and reached for the toilet paper as you stood there shocked, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I—oh my god.”

He finally looked over at you, heart racing as he pulled the paper towel away, blood beginning to dribble again, “Y/n?”

“Soobin, I’m sorry, I saw you come over here and I wanted to sneak up on you but,” your face cringed, “Soobin please, you’re still bleeding.”

“Oh right,” Soobin held the paper towel to his nose again.

“It’s a lot of blood,” you said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

“It’s fine, this happens all the time,” he waved you off with a bloody hand and you bit down on your bottom lip looking hurt, “No it doesn’t, I’m so sorry.”

You sniffled a bit as you looked at your reflection in the mirror while Soobin carefully wiped off whatever mess was left until it was all clean. You struggled to look at him and his red nose even if he was completely clean but he didn’t even notice. He was more excited that you came to see him instead of staying out there with other guys, “So you wanted to sneak up on me?”

“Well you had been staring at me all night and I was just gonna see if you would say hello. I should’ve just waited outside, this is awkward right?” You were rambling a bit but he just smiled lovingly.

He shook his head no as the two of you left the bathroom, “No, not awkward, right? I wanted to say hi but you were busy.”

“Busy?” Your brows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean?”

You weren’t busy, you were just talking to your friends. Nothing you talked about was serious or anything you just talked about Soobin, he could’ve said hi at any time. Soobin’s smile dropped, going serious for a moment, “Yes you were, with Yeonjun, I saw.”

You blinked in thought, “We were just talking, you could’ve come over any time.”

He released a deep sigh, looking around the dark bedroom happy that it was just two despite the dozens of people out there getting drunk with loud music. Letting his gaze fall back on you, he made a small pout, “Well, how was I supposed to know that? Last time you got me in trouble for not leaving you alone when you’re with Yeonjun an—“

“Soobin, that was just when we were studying, I didn’t realize you were thinking I meant all the time,” you said apologetically. Soobin stepped closer to you, “I was just trying to be good and listen. If I knew then I would have pulled you away the second I saw Yeonjun even come close to you!”

You looked genuinely taken back by his tone, if you didn’t know any better you would say that he almost sounded jealous. Even the look in his eye made it seem like he wasn’t happy and you weren’t used to this at all. The other day when you talked to Yeonjun for the first time, Soobin stormed up to you and took you by surprise when he appeared behind you, so close that you felt his breath on your shoulder.

Now you’re starting to see that it was possibly all because of jealousy.

“Are you jealous of Yeonjun?” You asked him and he audibly scoffed.

He was not jealous of Yeonjun. He didn’t think Yeonjun was better than him, if anything he thought they were pretty much on the same level of attractiveness. Yeonjun was more extroverted than he was but Soobin wasn’t worried about that. He didn’t feel so insecure over things like that so no, he’s not jealous.

He’s possessive. Soobin knows you aren’t dating and he knows that you probably still don’t like him yet but… but you’re his. He’s already called dibs, he’s already put in so much work to make that happen. Obviously he’s not going to be happy if your attention strays away from him, he wants you looking at him and thinking about him all the time, the way he does about you.

“No,” Soobin finally said, “But… but you’re… yknow, you’re mi—“

“Why are you in my shirt?” Beomgyu asked as his bedroom door opened and he stood in the entrance. He looked between you in surprise, “Wait, am I interrupting something?”

You stood there in shock, you weren’t sure what he was about to say but part of you also felt like you had an idea. It really did seem like you had an idea. After all your friends have basically instilled it in your head that he might like you it wasn’t hard to guess what he was going to say but you just can’t bring yourself to fully believe it yet. He was so nice, you can see it now so you just felt bad to think that he might like you after you were mean to him at times. To make things worse, he seemed to be totally okay with you always snapping on him or just ignoring him and you just felt bad because you were genuinely starting to fall for him and you can admit that now.

Soobin shook his head no. He had been watching you the entire time and he can just tell you’re overwhelmed by something right now. He just smiled cutely, “I had to borrow your shirt because mine got wet, sorry?”

You looked up at him, and he smiled wider, eyes crinkling, “I think I’m gonna head home now but I’ll text you.”

Soobin said goodbye to you and Beomgyu and before you could make your leave, Beomgyu pulled you back in, “What happened? What were you guys doing? Were you making out? Ew, oh my god please don’t tell me if you did anything on my bed.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, clearly thrown off, “No, we were just talking, if you hadn’t interrupted then I would have known what he was going to say.”

He gasped, “I didn’t interrupt, you’re in my room, remember? And why didn’t you just go with him, you like him too.”

You bit your lip, “How do I tell him? I just missed my chance.”

“I don’t know, you’ll probably just have to show him.”

When Monday came you went over to Soobin’s place for your usual study lessons. After the party the two of you have been texting but it wasn't about anything deep. It’s like you were tip toeing around a possible confession that neither of you wanted to do through text. After your last class he invited you over with the intention to just be straight forward and hope that you would want him but he’s still a little scared.

If you tell him you hate him he thinks he might cry so he’s been trying to seem cool and collected this entire time.

He fidgeted in his desk chair as he watched you take your laptop out. With a clear of his throat he stood up, “Um, do you want water? I can get us some.”

“Sure, where is your textbook? I forgot mine.”

He pointed to his backpack and let you get it as he left for the kitchen. Without a single thought, you reached for his huge backpack in search of a familiar textbook. Once you found the book you pulled it out of his overly stuffed bag accidentally bringing a few papers with it too and as you looked them over, your eyes widened.

CHOI SOOBIN

SCORE: 65

You didn’t think about it for a second, he’s been showing his assignment scores and it has been improving little by little bit as you took a closer look you could clearly see a layer of whiteout and the score 98, crossed off. It made your brows furrow in confusion and you looked at the pages finding answers erased and replaced with wrong ones crossed out in red.

It’s like he was purposely grading himself bad and as you put the papers back away you realized why. He asked you to tutor him and you never understood that. He was always smarter than you so you couldn’t wrap your head around why he asked you of all people to help him. Even when it came down to the actual study sessions, Soobin always got things right away and very rarely struggled to find an answer but then he would come to you and quickly show you his bad score and ask for your help again.

Sometimes, studying was the last thing on his agenda when he was with you and you always found him distracted and not fully listening so now you know he’s been lying to you. He lied to get you to study with him yet all you’ve seen was him stare at your boobs, get clingy, and pretend to get bad grades.

Was all this just a little scheme to get you to hang out with him? If that’s the case then did he really like you and expect you never to find out?

Sure, you’ve come to realize that you like him too but for him to go this far just for you to talk to him… well, you’re not all that happy about it. Did he expect you never to find out and now that you have what was your plan?

Soobin came in with a smile on his face, “I brought snacks.”

“Mhm,” you said, moving to sit on his bed and away from his backpack, “Let’s work on the bed today, I wanna get comfortable.”

He watched you make yourself on his bed and all he could focus on was the way your skirt fluttered around your legs exposing more of your thighs and when he looked up at you, your eyes were already on him, catching him red handed in the act of checking you out. This time around you smirked a bit now knowing that he’s been lying this whole time just to get you to hang out with him. It was cute and he was cute so you can’t be mad but at the same time, he was very bold in getting mad when you had to study with Yeonjun, made you feel guilty too. You gotta let him know you know about his lie but you’re working up a plan.

It’s not no surprise that he likes you, that has become painfully obvious and you like him too but you want to get him in trouble. He lied and he thought you would never find out. How long did he plan on keeping this up? He’s gotta get in trouble, right? Maybe a little teasing, just to see if this really was all just to study or for him to get a good look at you when you’re alone together. It’s not like you never noticed the way his eyes would trace down your body while you’re trying to do homework.

If you’re going to tell him you know about his lie, you’re going to make it fun.

“O—okay,” Soobin stuttered as he sat down with a foot of space between you, “I mean, yeah cool.”

You smiled at his awkwardness, now you can see that he’s not as cold as he wants to to think he is and it only makes him look cuter.

The two of you studied for a bit, you couldn’t come right out and tell him you knew the truth, where was the fun in that? You had to play along a bit and see how he would take it so that’s what you did.

“Soobin, you keep getting the answer wrong and I’m starting to get annoyed,” you said as you watched him hesitate over the right answer before choosing the wrong one, eyes sliding over to look at you every now and then. You were wearing a low cut top again and matched with your miniskirt it was getting hard for him to not get distracted and the two of you are alone in his bed… he just can’t focus.

“Sorry, Y/n,” his eyes lingered on your thighs a little longer than usual and you subconsciously unwrapped them a little, the small gap from where the skirt ended and what covered your underwear, slowly widened. You released a heavy sigh, “Why are you so distracted?”

At that his eyes seemed to fall toward your cleavage, catching himself in the act of staring and looked back down, “I don’t know.”

You had to bite back a smirk and without any hesitation, you moved closer to his side, “Do I need to punish you? Will that get you to pay attention?”

You were half joking but tempted to see what he would say and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he seemed to become mush at your words, “H-how?”

You released a deep sigh, “How? That’s the wrong answer, I shouldn’t have to punish you. You should say, ‘Okay, Y/n, I’ll pay attention.’ What are you? A perv?”

Soobin went quiet at that and for a second you thought you might’ve said the wrong thing. His face flushed red and he looked down at his lap sadly but before you could apologize for asking him that, he said, “Maybe.”

“Maybe? So you’re a perv?” Your brows raised in surprise, “You want me to punish you?”

He gave a subtle nod of his head making you grow quiet, well this just got interesting. With a huff, pretending to be annoyed, you shifted even closer taking his hand in yours and pulling it to write on his paper with yours over his, “Start writing.”

“What am I writing?”

“Write: I am a liar and a perv,” you said jokingly and he looked up at you cutely so you helped him write, “I lied to Y/n about needing help, and I can’t stop staring at her boobs.”

His hand froze up mid sentence, “Y/n, how’d you find out?”

You smiled, he didn’t even bother hiding it this time, “Because I found your exam scores, you’ve been lying to me Soobin, after telling me nonstop how good you are,” you said with a stern voice.

“Are you mad?” He asked shyly. You released a sigh, pretending to contemplate, “Maybe? Are you going to listen and pay attention from now on?”

He nodded his head, watching curiously as you moved to sit behind him, turning to stare at you but you snapped your fingers forcing him to look forward again. You scooted close until your legs were spread around his big frame with your breasts pressed against his back that had his breath hitching in surprise. They already felt squishy and your arms moved to hug his waist. Soobin sucked in a breath when your hands rested on his thighs and he immediately looked down, already feeling himself begin to fidget in excitement and nervousness.

“I want you to read the question, and tell me the answer, I know you know it,” you said, making him nod his head, throat too dry to give you a verbal response, “But since you’re a perv, I’m not going to make it easy for you, I’m gonna touch you and if you stop, I stop, got it?”

As if to further explain what you meant, your hand moved toward his groin area making him breath heavier, “Mhm.”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I’ll listen.”

His head tilted to the side when you began to teasingly touch the zipper, slowly pulling it down and undoing the button of his jeans, “Start reading.”

Soobin swallowed dryly, unable to help himself from thinking about the fact that you’re brakes today, he could practically feel your nipples against his back and when your hand ran over the expanse of his growing length, he couldn’t find the right word. You were a little surprised to feel his immediate response to your touch, already feeling him harden before you even did anything and you smiled, “I said, start reading.”

“Mhm,” he hummed with a nod of his head, blinking to try and collect his thoughts, “First question, When a gene is expressed, it means that the protein—ohh.”

His breath hitched in surprise as your hand wrapped around his clothed cock feeling him just continue to get more erecting. You even gave it a little squeeze, “Did I say stop? No, so keep going.”

“Mhm, protein that it codes for is being made by transcription and translation…” his word slowly when your thumb circled around his tip, still not touching him under his briefs, teasing him, “Imagine two genes in a eukaryote. One is gene X. The other is gene A—Y/n, I can’t focus.”

“So did you lie to me again?” You asked, finally sneaking your hand under the waistband or his briefs, “You said you would listen and pay attention.”

Your fingers wrapped around his thick length giving him a soft and teasing stroke, feeling his dick twitch instantly as he nodded his head. The words were bef ninny to get blurry when your palm hugged the head of his cock, twisting your wrist and smearing it in his own precum, surprised that it was already leaking. Soobin licked his dry lips trying to focus again, “In the cells you are studying, gene X is being expressed, and gene A is not being expressed—oh my god.”

He stopped when he felt you lean further against him, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss against his neck, fingers brushing along the underside of his tip and he couldn’t help but buck his hips just a little. You pulled his cock out of his underwear, “You still haven’t even finished reading the first question.”

“I’m trying,” he released a moan, “But it’s so hard, Y/n.”

You glanced down at his dick over his shoulder, nearly joking and asking if he meant his dick or the action. The head was red with need and precum leaked from the tip with a thick vein nearly throbbing everytime your hand stroked him. You gave him a small squeeze hearing him moan freely, “Keep going.”

With an annoyed groan he nodded, still waiting a moment when you began to pump his length using his own excess precum to lubricate him for an easier slide. He attempted to pick up where he left off, “—and gene A is not being expressed—ngh. Which prediction below is most likely true in these cells?”

You kissed his neck again, “Now what’s the answer?”

He released a throaty moan that made you suck harshly against his neck with the vibrations of it, stroking faster, squeezing at his base and flicking your wrist around his tip, unable to ignore the way he raised his hips to fuck into your fist. You put your legs on to of his lap to keep him from bucking, holding him in place, “I’m waiting.”

His head lolled to the side, hissing in pain when you stopped, tightening your fist and looked at him expectantly. He had to use his stupid brain, “Ugh, i—it’s B. There are more activa—oh my god—activators for gene X than for gene A.”

Your tongue licked a long stripe toward his ear, sucking on his ear lobe as you said, “Good boy, Soobin, next one.”

“Mhm,” he whined, feeling his heart leap at the name, “Good boy,” he repeated to himself. Unable to help himself he turned his head to look at you, big sparkly eyes staring into yours and without much thought, you leaned forward, letting your tongue slide into his mouth, never once stopping the jerking of his cock until finally… you felt it.

It was a complete overflow of warmth, thick and creamy cum that wouldn’t stop leaking from his tip as he threw his head back with a loud moan, hips lifting up even with your legs holding him down. It felt never ending, your fist was completely covered in his cum and it drenched his jeans and boxers, you were genuinely surprised. You didn’t know someone could cum this much from a simple handjob.

Soobin released a dry groan as you finally freed yourself from the absolute puddle of cum, looking down at the white cream that coated your fingers, letting him go and watching him fall limp against you. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath and he looked absolutely fucked out that you allowed him to lie down as you pushed the textbooks off the bed, wiping your hand against his own jeans, tugging them off, “Soobin.”

“Mm,” he hummed, looking completely zoned out but let you undress him. You clicked your tongue, climbing on top of his spent cock watching it twitch with life as you sat down, “Did I tell you to cum, bunny?”

His lip quivered as he looked at you, wordlessly shaking his head no. You released a deep sigh, “So you weren’t listening? Is that good or bad?”

“Bad,” he said sadly, “B—but I couldn’t Y/n, I—“

“You what?” You asked teaching for the end of your shirt, “You just thought to cum soon, like a dumb virgin?”

He stayed quiet, watching and feeling completely hypnotized by the sight of your bare breasts for his eyes only, finally. They were just how he imagined, big and soft with nipples he could see harden under his intense gaze. He was so lost in the sight that he absentmindedly said, “Yes.”

You seemed to stop as you flung your shirt to the floor, only wearing your small miniskirt, “Yes what?”

“Dumb virgin—“

“What?” You asked suddenly watching his face redden and you felt goosebumps raise on your skin, “Are you saying… are you a virgin?”

He nodded blankly, eyes on your boobs and nothing else, his cock coming back to life, “Mhm.”

“Oh my god,” you nearly jumped off his lap but his hands moved so fast to hold you by the waist and stop you. Your eyes widened, “Soobin, I—are you—oh my god, is this your first time getting a handjob?”

He blushed, nodding his head shyly, hands unable to stop themselves from sliding up your sides until they were just under the curves of your tits, thumbs nearly touching, “Yes and my first kiss, bu—“

“I am so sorry,” you tried to move but his hands were suddenly cupping your breasts, a blank expression on his face as he stared at them in awe, catching a feel while you tried apologizing, “Soobin, we shouldn’t. I—I—“

“I want to,” Soobin groaned, thumbs running over your nipples, “Please Y/n, I want you so fucking bad. I think about you all the time, I think about this all the time.”

You couldn’t help but grind against his naked cock at his words, “You do?”

His big hands felt good as they groped you, “All the time.”

It didn’t take you long to realize what he meant, a small smile on your face, “When you touch yourself?”

He nodded, releasing a quiet whisper as your nipples became hard pebbles that he couldn’t help but pinch, you smiled, grinding on his fat spent cock, “When you watch porn?”

Once again he nodded.

“When else?”

“Whenever you leave here,” he confessed, completely hypnotized by the bounce of your tits when you grind on his dick, “I tried using a flesh light but I’m too big, it always rips an—“

Now he was blabbing but it made you so fucking horny. He was big, too big to be a virgin and the territorial side of you was taking over. You’re the only one who’s made this big, stupid cock cum and holy shit, he came so much just from a handjob!

Feeling a bit more confident, he tilted his head cutely, looking up at you, “You’ve got big boobs, Y/n.”

“I kno—“

“Can I kiss em?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a wicked smirk came to your face, shimmying up his torso, “No.”

His jaw dropped sadly, “Bu—“

“I got something better you can kiss,” you said seductively and he looked up at you with the cutest doe eyes you’ve ever seen. How could you ever dislike him? Just look at him.

“Really?” He looked down at the space between your legs, a thin thong right there between your folds and he could make out a wet spot. Licking his lips his big hands found your thighs, taking the honor to help you move up, “I’ve never, y’know…”

“I know, bunny,” you said even as he moved you closer and closer to your head with anticipation, “I’ll talk you through it bu—Soobin!”

A small squeal left your lips as he nearly knocked you forward, face between your legs, “Wait, I’m heavy, don’t do that unless you want me to suffocate you.”

Soobin wasn’t listening, his face was already against your pussy, nose brushing over the soaked fabric of your underwear, “Is okay, I want you to.”

He licks the wet spot on your underwear, lapping at the puddle with a moan, “Smells so good, Y/n, love it.”

You softly tugged his hair, leaning more and more of your weight onto his face and rocking, “Careful, okay? If it’s too much just tell me to stop.”

Soobin nodded his head against your clit, giving you a thumbs up before he completely yanked at your frail panties making you gasp as he tore into them. You yelled his name once more and he made a pout, “Sorry, they were in my way.”

“Slow down Binnie,” you reminded him, for a guy who’s never done it he seemed so experienced. Maybe it was all the porn he watched. You didn’t have much time to dwell on it as his tongue began lapping between your hole and your clit, sucking on it like it was a fucking lollipop, swirling his tongue around it hungrily. It’s not his fault. If you weren’t so pretty with such big boobies and a big brain and a cute laugh… he wouldn’t be so eager. He felt the moment your strength dissipated, hips no longer hovering and practically suffocated him, and he loved it.

He got sloppy, wanting to stick his tongue into your cunt as far as it could go, bunny eyes staring up as you rode his face now, losing yourself to the feeling, “Oh my god.”

Soobin began a repetitive motion with his tongue against your clit, before fucking you with it, he spread your ass with his big hands but his eyes were on the way your tit juggled with each breath you took and he imagined your clit was a nipple. His cock twitched at the thought, legs moving restless against the bed as he tried finding his own release but he jumped bucked his hips into the air.

You were so close, so so so close, moaning like a bitch in heat and accidentally tugging on his hair too hard, but he didn’t mind one bit. He liked it, it egged him on and he made out with your pussy so good that you couldn’t hold back, cum spilling into his open mouth with your thighs clenching around his head. A low moan fell from his lips and as you tried coming down from your heavy orgasm, his own cock released another stream of cum. You turned to look at it, a puddle of white coating his stomach, culling untouched.

Your jaw dropped as he let you go and before you could offer up a break, he was flipping you onto your back, head immediately going between your breasts.

“Fuck,” you breathed out as his mouth attached itself to your left tit like he wanted to swallow them whole. His mouth was covered in your cum and some drool. His cock lay perfectly between your folds and you just felt how hard he was, bringing your hands to his hair, coddling him, “You love my boobs, don’t you?”

At the feel of your hands in his hair, he groans, teeth gently nipping at the hard buds, “Mhm. Love ‘em.”

“I know, that’s why you always stare at them, naughty bunny,” you teased, feeling his shaky inhale. He kissed your tits and sucked on your nipples as his erecting cock jumped your folds, “Not naughty.”

“Really?” You asked, biting back a moan when he shook his head against your boob just soaking in the softness of them against your cheek, “Just being a perv then?”

“Mm,” Soobin moaned, “Wan’ fuck you, Y/n, baby.”

Your brows raised in surprise as the pet name fell from your lips already feeling his hand sink down toward his cock while tonguing at your sensitive nipple. You couldn’t help yourself at this point, stroking your fingers gently over his nipples, smiling as he shudders at the feel, cock slippery in his hands as you said, “Fuck me then.”

With a quick nod he lined himself up, missing your hole a few times till you offered him help and moaned. His body fell against yours, not sure what to do as the tightness of your pussy completely overwhelmed him, face between your tits, tongue trying to lick you even if he was so far away. He whined, “Y/n, Y-Y/n, help—“

His words died when you grabbed his hips, guiding them back before thrusting them into your own pussy until he got the rhythm. You didn’t even think twice about the fact that you weren’t using a condom. You were on birth control and though it wasn’t fully effective it was safer than not having anything and clearly it was too late. You didn’t expect the virgin to have condoms anyway.

“It’s okay, baby, nice and slow—fuck, Bin,” you moaned softly. Where did this new Soobin come from? He was fucking you now at a steady pace dragging his stupidly fat cock out till only his tip was in and drawing his hips forward till he impaled you. His mouth lazily kissed at your breasts before moving up your neck, humping his cock into your stretched out cunt with moans falling from his lips repeatedly.

Soobin was gasping for air and his grunts became louder and louder, slamming into you like his life depended on it, “So good.”

“Yeah?” You asked, clinging to him, “Love your first pussy?”

He kissed you nastily. Tongue down your throat and you could still taste your cum but it only made you moan. He was fucking you roughly, nails digging into your plump hips making sure you couldn’t escape his brutal thrusts even if you wanted to. It was his turn to lose control and fuck, he was so close.

It was a scene out of a porn video, it reeked of sex and his bed sheets were completely ruined. His stomach was covered in his cum that just soaked yours from the way he rutted himself against you and it was just nasty and horny. You hugged him close, legs wrapping around him, tits pressed against his chest, “I’m close, bunny, you gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm,” he whined fucking you so good you were seeing stars. His dick was just so big and the girth on it was insane, he impaled you over and over again, “Gonna cum.”

You know you should tell him to pull out. It’s the right thing to do but…

But…

Hot ropes of his creamy cum filled your cunt suddenly with a cry as his body shook against yours. Despite cumming twice already it felt never ending and you couldn’t help yourself. The stimulation was just too much, his cock still thrusting into the wet space between your thighs.

Soobin sniffled, face between your breasts, clinging to you so hard you had to practically pull at his hair, “Soobin, bunny, I know it was a lot but you have to move.”

He shook his head, you could hear his sniffles get louder, “Don’t wanna.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, pouting when you found his reddened eyes, “I need to clean up.”

He shook his head cutely but he knew better. He slowly pulled out, watching with starry eyes as globs of cum left your pussy, an urge to finger it back into you strong but he let you sit up in shock at the mess.

“Did you lie to me again?” You asked jokingly but it went right over his head even as you said, “You don’t fuck like a virgin.”

“No! I didn’t! You’re my first, I promise,” he basically followed you out of bed, “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to,” you assure him, “But I need to use the bathroom.”

“You’ll come back, right?”

You smiled, “I can’t just stay in there, can I? Lay down, I’ll help you clean up next.”

He nodded his head tiredly, doing just what you asked as he yawned.

Once you were done, hoping you got most of it out you opened the door to his bathroom, nearly screaming when you found him standing just on the other side of it. You gasped, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he sniffles and it looks like he’s been crying, “Sorry.”

“What for?” You asked, trying to lead him back to his bed feeling sad. What happened? You’re not used to Soobin like this. You laid him down and joined him, “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry for lying—I—I—I just like you so much and—and,” he struggled with words and you pulled him in for a hug, his head immediately on your chest.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay, I promise,” you said, “I like you too, why don’t you try and get some sleep? It was a lot for your first time, I’m sorry.”

“I liked it,” he said with a content sigh, “Promise you won’t leave?”

“I promise,” you said brushing his hair back but he wouldn’t budge.

“Pinky swear?” He asked hopeful that you smiled.

“I pinky swear,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose, “We’ve gotta talk anyway.”

He pouted once more, “About? Y-you don’t like me?”

“Binnie, I already told you I do,” you said softly, feeling him relax, “But we need to talk about what to do, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, finally relaxing against you, “Want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Aren’t I too mean, though?”

“Yes,” he said cutely, “But I like it.”

::.

ok this took me forever 😭😭sorry friends but I hope it was worth it.

taglist: @laylasbunbunny @bangchansbae

#choi soobin #soobin #soobin smut #soobin fluff #soobin fic #soobin oneshot #soobin fanfic #soobin imagines #soobin x y/n #Soobin angst #txt smut #txt soobin #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt post #choi yeonjun #kang taehyun #hueningkai #choi beomgyu

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Cruel Prince

♡ featuring: villain!diluc ragnvindr x princess!reader

♡ summary: you are forced to marry the manipulative prince of a faraway kingdom. malicious compliance ensues. wc: 3.2k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, forced orgasm, hate sex, no foreplay, breeding, heavy choking, spanking, face slapping, spit, creampie, hair pulling, rough sex, diluc is mega possessive

notes: I promiseee im gonna come out with shorter fics im so sorry i couldn't help myself the fanart is so good :(( art by eriimyon on twitter <3

Brilliance freckled through the silk drapes of your extravagant windows and onto your resting face. A silhouette rubs your arm, followed by “You must wake now, Your Grace.” Her amiable tone made your heavy eyes ajar, looking up to see the sweet twinkle of the maid. You sit up and stretch, letting out an exaggerated yawn. “Good morning!” you exclaim. She tucks the straggly hairs aside.   

“Good afternoon, you mean?”  

“Oh. Oops.” She shakes her head and hands you a lukewarm meal. This was a frequent occurrence, staying up late to twirl in your room until your feet ached. Fantasizing about the enchanting gambol you would share with your lover. When you eventually collapsed, you would dream of a man whisking you off to dance in a meadow. Being confined to the limited space of the baroque palace only intensified your curiosity. The kingdom your parent's shoulder is fruitful. Lined with riches and grateful civilians, all you know is comfortability. That comfortability bored you.  

“The king would like to speak with you downstairs once you’ve settled” she states. You give an exasperated sigh and flop onto the featherbed. You weren’t looking forward to this meeting. “M’kay. Thanks. Love you.”    

You make your way toward the dining room after breakfast. Almost every painting you skip by is of your older brother. It was no secret that you weren’t the favorite child. Your father wasn’t particularly fond of having a daughter. You slide down the railing of the grand staircase, entering the still air. Even the sound of your tiptoes carries volumes in complete quiet.  

“Did... someone die?” you say, trying to break the ice. Your brother and mother sit across from each other with their heads down, afraid to interrupt the king who sat at the end of the dining table.  

“No. Have a seat (Y/N).” he says, his hand signaling to the multitude of chairs remaining. You take the middle. Your father looks more stressed than usual, crescent shapes embedded between his eyebrows.  

“There is something we have to discuss” he proclaims, interlocking his fingers. “Sure.”  

“There’s been some disputes... between us. And the kingdom of Ragnvindr. Their king has been ill for many years now.”   

“That’s too bad for them” you say, checking out of the conversation. You know of the Ragnvindrs, but you weren’t interested. “It is. However, their commerce is flourishing. The civilians have an excess of resources. They’re the central hub for wine. If we had access to that, we could provide greatly for the public.”  

“Mm, okay.” Your mind darts to unique spots of detail decorating the ceiling.  

“Do you remember talking to Prince Diluc?” It hadn’t jogged your memory until now, but you recall one time the flaming redhead came to the palace a few months ago. You saw him in passing; exchanging few words in light-hearted conversation before he met with your father. You noted the calm scarlet pupils and his attentiveness when you spoke. He seemed amicable until you uncovered the rumors. Whenever your mother invited her friends, the walls would erupt with gossip. You couldn’t help but listen through the door. “- he tried to kill his father!” Your mother declines but another woman chimed in. “People don’t get suddenly ill like that. He must’ve poisoned him! The poor man can’t talk anymore so Prince Diluc runs everything.”  

“He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Anyone who disagrees with him is beaten. Even death!” you heard the dramatic drawl of another. “Oh please, not with his brother around.” You thought it was funny and went straight to the maid to parrot their pompousness. It wasn’t until his brother died in their home weeks later under “mysterious circumstances”, that you started to take the allegations seriously.  

“He’s shaping out to be an exceptional young man.”  

“I guess. Why are you telling me this?” you ask. Your father sucks in a breath.  

“You are to marry Prince Diluc in a week’s time.” he declares. You freeze, beads of sweat collecting on your forehead. Your heart dropped to your stomach.  

“What? Whe- who decided this?”  

“It was a collective decision from me, your mother, and the Ragnvindrs.”  

“No! I didn’t get to decide. You took away my choice!”  

“(Y/N), this will ensure peace for both of our kingdoms. We shall do what’s best for the-”  

“I don’t know who he is. How could you do that to your own daughter, what kind of father marries their child off to a stranger?” Your voice gets increasingly louder. You were too irate to back down. Your father is seething. 

“We will not argue about this-” he mumbles, the veins on his hands bulging from the tightening fists. 

“Do you even know who he is? He killed his own brother, and his people fear his retaliation. He’ll backstab you at any chance if it means more power. He’s using you-”  

“ENOUGH!” Your father slammed his leaden fists on the table, causing a harrowing bang to ring in your ears. All you can do is look at him, shaking, searching for any semblance of hope. He was unwavering.  

“I hate you.” Your defeated voice falls to a murmur, and you stumble to your room in a haze.  

The next 6 days were vague. You stayed in your room mostly, the maid accompanying you as you cry on and off for hours. Rage burned inside you, it dented furniture and ripped up cushions. You were exhausted and vengeful. An instructor comes by occasionally to teach you for your wedding day, but you find no joy in it.  

You're tranquil in the luxuriant flower garden you once found solace in. A garden you’d never see again after tonight. Suddenly, you hear the gate creak open. Strawberry strands peek behind the sunflowers. It was Diluc. The silence was painful. “Hello.”  

“Hello. I figured it would be considerate to come see you briefly” he returns, grabbing your hand. You catch yourself staring.  

“We are to be married soon.”  

“...Right.”  

“You don’t seem to be happy about this arrangement.”  

“I’m sure you have many requests for your hand in marriage. Why me?”  

“I don’t have a say in it. You don’t either.” That can’t be right, their king is senile you thought.   

“That’s not true. I know what you’re really like.” His eyes narrow into yours. “You could turn this entire kingdom to ash if you willed it.”  

“You know naught of me.”  

“You killed your brother and now you’re after my father, aren’t you?” He’s relaxed despite the accusations.  

“What would you do? As long as we are wedded, you will obey.” You snatch your hand from him.  

“I will do no such thing” you utter, holding your head high. He laughs and lifts your chin with a finger, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.  

“Such a naïve princess, so far beneath me. You will be mine. Act accordingly.” You want to slap that smug look off his face.  

“I’ll be going now. Don’t stay up too late.”  

Everything about your wedding is opulent. Visitors sport grandiose garments and intricate jewelry, leaving priceless gifts in your celebration. The travel to the kingdom of Ragnvindr was silent, minus the glares you shot to your parents. You disappear the minute you step down the aisle, taking notice of the guests. Faceless people with appropriated smiles and forced words of kindness; a scornful masquerade.  

Your vows are pitiful, and you wear an ingenuine smile for every “aww” in attendance. “I do” is said, and your fate is sealed through a chaste kiss.  

The dance arrived sooner than you thought. The floor was large and elegant, a thousand eyes watching you at the start of the staircase. You almost get stage fright. Diluc waits at the bottom, his gloved hand longing to take yours. You saunter to him. You expected him to be stiff and unprepared, but as you held his hand something changed. He scoops you by the waist with the other and twirls you around, igniting the music. His steps are effortless, bringing you near him and releasing you for another spin. The movements lift you into a different scene, of green pastures and bright blue sky. Only you and Diluc. The tune curled in your ears and whispered radiance. Your stride is loose, guided by the inducing notes and swinging pendant on your neck. Your arms glide past his chest and he steadies you gently in an intimate embrace. Dilucs lips barely hover over your ear.  

“You look stunning.”  

“I know. You look grotesque.” You feel a puff of wind against your ear. Glancing at him, you haven’t paid much attention to his appearance until now. His physique seemed to be chiseled from the finest marble, intentional with each contour. He smelled of musk and bitter vanilla, the warm glow of glittering chandeliers highlighting his rugged features.  

“You like what you see, hmm?” You didn’t reply.  

“Do you like to dance?”  

“It’s not your business.”  

“Well, if I'm right, you can dance here every day if you want. But you must behave.” His honeyed words made you hot, and you looked away. “No. You are my enemy.”  

“Very well, then.” He continued to entrap you, sewing seeds in your brain through the sway of your bodies. You were tangled in a field of thorns, pricked by his fleeting romantic gestures. It confused and enticed you. But the dance came to its end, and reality set in. He leaned down to kiss your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. The music resumes its normal pace, motioning people to return to the dance floor.  

The idea of Diluc displaying you like property tests your pettiness; you need his unruffled persona to snap. He watches you dance into the arms of another man, and you’re sure to make eye contact with him. You flash a mischievous smile as you spin through the exuberant crowd, leaving him behind. You thought you lost him. Just then, shade abruptly comes down on you and the nameless man. He turns first, cowering and slinking into the masses. You don’t face the shadow until your face is grabbed by leather and twisted sharply to encounter the reddening face of Diluc.  

“Have you lost your mind?”  

“If I’m beneath you, this shouldn’t bother you, right?” you say, smiling at your ability to break him.  

He grits his teeth. “You are forbidden from interacting with any man.”  

“By whom? Your words mean nothing.” He gets closer to you; a death stare bore into your pleased expression. “If you’re angry, do something.”  

You’ve never been hauled anywhere this fast. He pulled you through the bustling room and up the stairs with absurd force, not turning to you once. You were nearly hovering off the ground from his strength. He opened the sculpted doors leading to his bedroom and pushed you inside. Before you can see him, he pins you between himself and the ornate vanity. His nails stab into the wood the more he waits for your explanation.   

“What happened to your composure?” you taunt.  

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”  

“Not yours.” His lips share space with yours, noses scarcely touching.   

“Sorely mistaken. You belong to me.”  

“Prove it.”   

Carnal lust washed over you. Your lips instantly collide, cracking dams of yearning through sloppy kisses and smacking teeth. His tongue is demanding and seeks entry, but you deny him. He grabs your neck tightly.  

“Open.”  

“Say please.” Diluc pries your lips open with his fingers, playing with the wet mass while he nips your ear. The foreign feeling in your mouth makes your mind numb.  

“Nasty little minx.” he husks, forcing your tongue to stick out before it contacts his. His kisses are deep and primal, holding you close to the point of merging. He’s squeezing your neck occasionally and teasing the dizzying airflow. The fire cascading down his back envelopes you in a slow bleed, tickling your chest and face. His scent surrounds you, exhilarates you. You pierce his bottom lip with your teeth, looking to regain some sense of control and he groans from the feeling. He promptly hoists you off the ground with your back facing the vanity and his hands on your ass. His greed doesn’t stop, plunging and contorting the organ in unreachable places. You taste sprinkles of metallic flavor. The sensation has your knees weak. You push him away, both breathing heavily with a trail of spit between you.   

“This is nothing like the ceremony kiss.”  

“Don’t you want my full honesty?” he rasped. He dips down to your upper thigh, past the slit in your dress. His pointed fangs catch onto your garter, and he slips it off, groping the plush flesh as he lifts your leg up. Your fingers intertwine with his scalp and tug it, earning a harsh bite on your inner thigh. Rough kisses drag up your body until he makes it back to your lips. You tear his button-down open, navigating the solid muscle under the fabric. Light purple marks are left in your wake that decorate his collarbone. Diluc splits your dress down the back and shreds it off you. You're soaked, relishing in the volatile nature beyond the mask.  

He picks you up and hurls you on the bed, following you on top. You wrestle for dominance, entwined in passion. Somehow, Diluc ends up underneath you, your legs on both sides of him. You take this opportunity to pin his wrists and grind on his throbbing length. He lets you have it knowing that he’s stronger than you are. He kicks off his slacks and you pull down his stained boxers. A sudden fear hits you once they’re removed; his slightly curved cock was impossibly long and girthy, precome trickling down the angry tip. You weren’t sure it would fit.  

“You’re just going to gawk at it?” he says, restless from the ache. Nervousness blends in your gut. You wanted him badly, but you had to make him suffer for at least some time. Hovering over it, you slather his tip in your juices and admire the way he bites his lip. You lower your folds onto him, submerging the cockhead and leave it there, stirring your hips with it inside only to pull it out. Diluc is disheveled, star fished, and spread wildly across the sheets as he grunts from each plunge. He had to feel you, to claim you. 

“You want it?”  

“I don’t beg” he says flatly. You roll your eyes, immersing his shaft halfway. He releases a long shaky groan and attempts to buck his hips, but you rise before he can go further. His cock was covered in syrupy fluids from the moments of friction, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. 

“You won’t get anything with that repulsive attitude” you tease, and start moving at a leisurely pace, carefully stretching yourself out.  

“Repulsive, yet using me for your desires?”  

“That’s all you’re good for.” You’re shuddering from the feeling of your walls molding to the bruising size.  

“Then I’ll be sure to satisfy you.” His calloused fingers break out of your sparing clutch and grab your hips, jerking you down to the hilt with a soggy plap. The wind is knocked out of you, shockwaves through your spine as you heaved over trembling. It hurts, but you can’t help but feel aroused by the desperate look he gave you. “Mm good, you’re sucking me so tight.”   

“Shit- slow down-” you plead. He wraps his arms around your hips, arching your back and leaning you forward. “Quiet.” Diluc bends his knees and begins to bully his way into your cunt.  His thrusts are unforgiving, if he wasn’t holding you in place, you’d be airborne. He slips out completely and rams into you so deep it feels like he's burrowing into your stomach; yet you grip him like a vice, hungry for more. You were melting and all you heard was his quick beating heart and the wet squelching clash of your bodies. Diluc shifts to the vanity mirror opposite the bed, entranced by the violent rippling of your ass and sticky strings your puffy vulva left. You’re teeming on an orgasm, blurring the lines of pleasure and pain. 

“I’m gonna come- ah!” His hands move to your ass, striking each side hard enough to welt numerous times. He digs his nails into the searing flesh, savoring it. “Louder, I want everyone to know who owns you” he says and pushes his fingers in your mouth to pull your jaw slack. You deliver, allowing your erotic wails to echo through the halls. “Come for me princess.” His command sends you over the edge and you’re dissolved into pleasure, zeroing in on his guttural moans, the low fuck’s stuttering out of him. Your nails score his chest. He spreads your backside, enjoying the view of your convulsing heat drenching his balls.  

Diluc flips you over on your back before you’re done gathering yourself. He tosses the damp shirt on the floor and reveals the crisp v-line deliciously carved under his sculpted abs. He manhandles you into a pretzel, securing your sore thighs. He puts his hands on yours and pushes them back further. “Fucking filthy, you’re such a mess” he says, smearing his leaking shaft up and down your hypersensitive clit. He quickly engulfs himself in your gooey warmth again and sighs. “You’re beautiful like this.” He’s pounding hard, foreheads touching and breath mixing. You’re both sweating, mascara running down your cheeks and needy moans leaving either of you from addictive ecstasy. His tip licks your sweet spot consistently and your eyes loll back. “That’s it, take my cock like a good wife.” One hand reaches for your throat while the other flicks your clit rapidly. The firm grip dots your vision black, and you pulse from sick delight. He stops occasionally to slap you across your face. It stings, you hate him, but the spasming veins caressing your walls make you question that belief. “Oh my god - look at you” he moans, staring at the shiny white ring forming at the base of his thrusts. Your hands find passage in his thick tresses and guide his attention to you. The coil threatened to snap at any minute. “Gonna carry my baby, then you can never leave.”  

Your blood runs cold. “Huh? Wait-” You try to budge but he’s stronger than you, sweeping the nub faster with ravenous strokes. Electricity consumes your rational thoughts with a thumping finish, cloudy and fluttering. “Ngh- you’ll look so pretty with a belly” Diluc groans and chases his high. His eyes are glossed over, he throws his head back and finally falls apart, creamy ropes coating your insides with his balls flush against you. He pants as if he’s moved mountains and twitches from slow strokes, trying to get his come as deep in you as possible. His thumb presses upon your lips and you instinctively open your mouth. Spit settles on your tongue and he watches you swallow. You taste his kiss right after. When he pulls out, globs of semen dribble out your slit, but he fingers it back inside.   

“Keep it in” he says darkly. He glances at the pendant you’re still wearing—an invaluable heirloom from your parents—and snatches the chain off your neck. In one devastating hurl, he shatters it on the floor. “I’ll make sure you only have me.” 

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x you #diluc smut

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Met the Devil 2

lucifer x human!reader

sorry this took forever it’s been hectic i guess im in my fanfic writer era of madness happening and mentioning it in the a/n (im joking… unless) anyways lads hopefully this is okay womp womp

Part [1]

Based on devilish folklore and wives tales so lucifer may be ooc!

Warnings: BODYHORROR; DESCRIPTIONS OF TEETH FALLING OUT. Mentions of blood, reader dies a goofy ahh death, lucifer being an unsure wreck, and he’s got no game, reader is perpetually confused, inaccurate descriptions of religion, swearing, not proof read and i don’t entirely know where i’m going with this teehee lmk whatcha think xxx

word count: 3.1K

Three months, it had been three exhausting months since the incident with Lucifer. As if there was some devine intervention, everything seemed to fall at your feet working out for you, while also simultaneously sucking. Career wise, you were doing much better, after working for Marie and watching her house keeping it exactly how she wished, excluding the devil you had intercourse with, she put in a word for you at her and her husbands church, which you ended up getting.

Although not a very important role, it paid well. You were mostly in charge of cleanliness, cleaning the areas in the front where children played, keeping the holy fountain fresh, sweeping the pews and repairing any unbinded bibles. However the staff weren’t particularly fond of you, the nuns avoided you like the plague, and the priest gave you glares. Thankfully you rarely interacted with them if at all.

However, while your career was better than before, your physical health wasn’t. Things tanked once you slept with the devil. It started slow, noticing hues appear in your skin that you hadn’t before. Despite the various skin, and blood tests, and the general run down of different illnesses that cause changing pigmentation, there was no evidence to prove anything was truly wrong, just random hues of pinks, purples and blues showing up like you were some corpse.

The second minuet thing to change was your nails, at first you foolishly wondered if your calcium intake increased causing the thickness in your nails to double, but you quickly scrapped that al when your nails grew more rapidly. You really hadn’t changed much diet wise for that to be true, odd as it was it wasn’t something you hated.

The worst of it was teeth. One night you woke to a horrific splitting headache, it wasn’t just one part of your head either. The pain seared through your jaw, down your neck, up your face through your cheeks and in the back of your eyes all the way to the tip top of your head. You walked half asleep half dazed from pain to the bathroom, once the light blinded you and you got woken up a bit was when your brain registered the feeling.

Your mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood as you tuned into the sound of tapping in your mouth as the loose teeth collided. When you threw yourself over your sink spitting continuously, you immediately began to cry feeling your empty gums with your tongue, and the worst part was it seemed you had swallowed some too as the amount in the sink didn’t amount to how much was missing.

That night you must’ve passed out because you were woken up by your angry family member shouting at you to hurry. The strangest thing was, however you awoke with teeth, sharp as razors, and the porcelain sink that was never cleared of blood or teeth was now cleaned.

Since your teeth, you managed to not lose nor gain any other strange things, and the only people who didn’t seem to look past these oddities were the people who attended the church or worked at it. It was like they could tell you slept with Lucifer, something in their eyes always felt so intense and aware even if they’d never spoken to you before. The strangeness didn’t end with your appearance or career.

You had weird dreams you couldn’t explain, it felt so real but once awake you could only remember how you felt about the dream. You had close interactions with certain animals, like ducks, goats, crows, and insects as well. It was like they sought you out no matter where you were, people would give you looks when you started greeting the goat like an old friend.

So,now three months after Lucifer, you changed a lot. You know it’s because of him, you just can’t figure out why, but soon you’ll know. Walking into your work place on your day off, everybody’s least favourite thing to do, but it had to be done. You saw the father reading a bible off to the side of the room, and so you approached. He gave you a stern look, and you could tell by his stiff and shifty body language he wasn’t too happy with your presence, antsy to see what it is you wanted.

“Good afternoon father, how’re you?” You start, standing in a way you perfected prior to attempt to seem unthreatening. The priest hummed closing his bible to pay attention to you. “Good child, good. How’re you, is there something i could aid you in?” Straight to the point, mentally you cheered happy you didn’t have to waltz around small talk for fifteen minutes.

“Well i’m alright father, thank you. I was actually wondering about, um, the devil?” The priest's head lulls back slightly eyebrows raised as his mouth opens with a silent o. “Is there temptation in your life?” You shifted on your feet at the question. You hadn’t really thought of it before but you suppose you felt more inclined to act without thinking,and indulge especially after Lucifer claimed you.

“Well yes, but i was more so wondering on what the devil is capable of? Like making deals, and stuff…” You trail eyes casted away to the large sculpture of jesus on the wall. “Nothing, the devil isn’t as strong as gods love. And never in the bible does it state the devil makes deals, that is but a wives tale.” The priest spoke sternly, punctuating his words to get his point across.

This was news to you however, you always thought the devil was more of a a character in the bible. “Father one more question?” You say head snapping back to look at him. “If the devil were to have intercourse with a person, what’s said to be the outcome? Will god punish?” The poor priest looked like he’d seen a ghost, yet you couldn’t comprehend why. Although slightly morbid you didn’t think the question was that out there, perhaps it was the monotonous way you’d said it.

“I’m afraid i don’t have the answer to that,” And with that the priest stood, excusing himself from your conversation walking off down the isle. “I heard the devil picks somebody to carry the antichrist.” Turning to the voice, there sat a woman, old looking wearing a light blue dress. “The anti christ?” You repeat mostly to yourself, but the elderly woman hummed. “Yep. Woo’s the target, sleeps with them, and they give birth to the antichrist. Bad things happen once the child’s born.” The woman explained turning to look back at you.

“And, what if there’s no anti christ, what if the devil just like…” The old lady cackled looking at your puzzled face. She tsked and ushered you near. When in front of her she met your eyes, again with that weirdly all knowing look on them everyone in the church seemed to give you. Holding out her hand to you, you opened yours holding it out to her.

She placed something in your hand but you weren’t able to know what it was before you dropped it shrieking. It was like gripping a hot coal, you gripped your wrist keeled over trying to breath out the pain. Your eyes briefly glanced over to the floor where the object dropped and sitting there was a gold rosary covered in what was more than likely your blood. Peaking up from your bent over position the old woman had took several steps back from you, hand up to her mouth.

Not knowing what to do, you perked up, thanked her for her input, and sped out to the street. Just like the night you met him, the sky darkened and clashed with lightning, then came the rain. The devil himself must’ve worked through water with the way it was a constant anytime something happened.

Walking down the street at leisure, you inspected the wound the rosary left as rain pelted you like no tomorrow. You sighed brushing your thumb over the large cross shaped gash. Suddenly a crack of lightning came down brightly, it was harsh and so very bright. Then another crack, this time however you felt the harshest pain describable. It was like being lit on fire inside your body, or like your blood was suddenly filled with glass shards and you could feel them coursing through.

You couldn’t scream too in pain, you simply slumped to the floor, the searing pain engulfing your body. As your eyes closed, it felt like the floor was sucking you down, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even will your eyes to open as you felt the concrete below you begin to engulf you fully. Your lungs burnt as you couldn’t breathe, but like any other regular circumstance where you’d gasp for breath, you were physically unable to. Like you’re body didn’t know how to breath, so you sat there chest feeling tight, burning and your stomach feeling like it was forcing itself inward but nothing changed.

As torturous as it was, it was short lived and finally you felt freed. The concrete beneath you morphed into something softer cozier, the breathlessness left finally you were able to fill your lungs with air almost as refreshing as a glass of water would’ve been, and when you opened your eyes you were greeted by the sight of a bedroom. It was decorated with whites, reds and golds, around you could see engraved apples and ducks in not only the door frames and baseboards but some of the furniture as well.

You couldn’t will yourself to sit up, you still felt the fire on the inside of your body albeit gentler than before. “Hey cookie.” Cooed a smooth voice, you didn’t have to look to know who it was, but thankfully he stepped in front of you, kneeling down to your laying figure. “How you feeling?” You stared at his face, scanning it over and over, his eyes were hauntingly beautiful. The red irises danced around nervously, you watched intently as his forked tongue brushed against the dryness of his lips.

“You’re beautiful.” You mutter half muffled by the fact you sunk comfortably into the mattress that you lay on. Chuckling quietly the king of hell turned and sat on the side of the bed, petting your head very gently like you were made of glass. “Where am i?” His hand stuttered on your head, and finally you rolled over onto you back to gain the view of him. His hat discarded, his suit jacket gone, he sat only in a vest, dress shirt, and his white suit pants.

“Hell, sweetheart.” It was interesting how warmly he had said that to you, looking down at you with almost a pitying expression. “I’m dead?” You jerked up, immediately regretting it as the pain shot through your body from the top of your head down. Sucking in air through your teeth, clenching your eyes shut Lucifer cooed at you reprimanding you for being too quick. “God must’ve struck you down.” His voice lifted as he let out his attempt at a joke, but you weren’t really in the mood to laugh.

“What happened, with me when i was alive.” You ask looking over to him, the expression he had looked slightly guilty, his eyes casted downward, a frown that tried to be a poker face- but failed. “I, well y’see, heh,” Lucifer fumbled picking at his nails and looking around the room. He bounced himself against the mattress almost like he was amping himself up. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay! So y’know you got some human repellant, claws, sharp teeth, that dead look. Sent some little guardians after you! Too bad you couldn’t meet the snake.” Lucifer tisked mournfully shaking his head.

You smiled at him, oddly enough, it was quite endearing that he set out to do these things to keep you safe. “Oh!” He sprung up meeting your eyes properly. “I also made Marie get you that job, and I forced a good pay, always here to help y’know.” The king briefly pinched your cheek before retracting and standing. He looked frazzled, uncertain, he pulled at his clothes like he was trying to fix them. “Sorry it’s been awhile. Y’know i gave up going to earth in like 1850.” The devil laughed out, scratching the back of his neck.

You scooted yourself to the edge of the bed, Lucifer watching intently. “So, what, well I mean, why…?” You were confused head bobbing as you tried to make sense of everything. Things didn’t entirely add up this you were certain of, and you could tell the king was keeping something hidden from you. “As you know hell is well, it’s hell, and you were so…” He trailed off hands circling eachother as he gazed off into space, attempting to find the right words.

Deflating his body slumped over, in one foul swoop it looked as though he’d lost all the will to keep up his charade. “Look I didn’t think you were gonna shake my hand, but in the moment I was hooked on you. The night you took the apple reminded me of days of my life i can’t go back to. So i may have indulged, but i didn’t expect you to be soooo,”

Your eyebrows pinched together as you watched him with judgement, giving him a look that egged him on, yet warned him. “Captivating?” You ‘hmphed’ at his term, as weak and guilty grin overtaking his face. “Okay okay. I enjoyed our night, you gave me advice and helpful conversation I haven’t gotten in, pfft,” He was now pacing, eyes wide as his arms wrapped around himself as a way to secure him.

“Ever, you were a breath of fresh air! I didn’t expect the deal to go through! I didn’t expect you to grab my hand, so when you sold your soul you started to gain those devilish features. I wanted to make sure you were still safe so I manipulated Marie, got you the job, but nothing else was planned!” He exclaimed hands coming up in defence, although it wasn’t like you were angry, you sat there patiently watching him and waiting for him to finish his explanation at his own pace. Understanding this was probably just as stressful for him, if what he says is true.

Blowing out air the king pulled gently at his hair. “I don’t know what to do from here, I sent animals to protect you, I knew something would happen, damnit!” The short man raged eyes blowing up red, that snapped you up, gently you grabbed his shoulders. “I believe you, I have no idea what’s going on either so it’s okay! I’m terrified, but you don’t look any better. Maybe we can figure it out together?” You suggest attempting to be a voice of reason, watching his eyes hue from bright red to the yellow and red irises you’re more familiar with.

He sighed and nodded looking slightly embarrassed. “Do you think we could set some ground rules?” You quirked a brow at that, watching as he once again began to pace. “My daughter, Charlie, we spoke about her, she can’t know I made a deal with you! And for now, she can’t know i did anything sexual. Oh no no no. NO!” Lucifer panicked, switching between gripping his hair and swinging his arms around. It felt like a stab in the gut, it wasn’t your first time being a secret, but you wish you could’ve kept the promise you made to yourself about getting into another situation where you were just a secret fling.

“I’m not gonna pretend that doesn’t get under my skin slightly, I’d prefer not to be the devil's dirty secret, but I understand what Charlie means to you so I’ll do whatcha need.” Lucifer looked at you sheepishly, it seemed like he slightly regretted the choice of delivery as you crossed your arms across your chest, looking at him with a tinge of disgust in your eye. “Okay next, uh let's see, okay you’ll pose as my assistant and you’ll spend the days with me so I can keep an eye on ya….”

You quirk your head, pondering if you should say what you want to say. Which was questioning him and the motive here, it’s normal to say things you don’t always mean in such an intense moment of sex fueled emotion, but now there’s a big consequence and you’re not sure if he really knows what he wants to do. “Hey,” You say quietly grabbing him from his frantic mumbling that he was doing to himself. He hummed at you, his attention refocused on you as he did. “Do you at all regret the deal.”

Lucifers eyes blew wide, his lips puckering as his fingers fiddled with each other. “Regret is a very loaded work y’know- uh, I think- eh, maybe if- okay so,” He fumbled his wings popping out feathers flying around as they did, they puffed out with stress making you gawk. “Uhm, I wouldn't do it again if I had the choice! But still I would've wanted the sex!” Finally he pumped his chest proudly, meanwhile you rolled your eyes. “That’s what most men would do, yeah.” Your tone was bitter, catching him off guard a bit, to be fair he didn’t know what you wanted from him. Normally deals were two sided, but this one you benefited nothing from, except trauma and an early grave.

“I didn’t mean that,” Damn he really lost his way after Lilith huh, every flirtation came out so naturally but now it seemed it was so unsure, no king of a whole mini word of demons should be unsure, he mentally scolded himself for being so unfit.

“Listen can we figure this out later, I still feel the pain from when I died, so I would love to sleep that off.” You say plopping yourself back on the comfy mattress. “Yes, yes of course go ahead! We’ll figure this out together hm, shedevil? Won’t leave you in the dark!” This time his exclamation sounded certain as he jumped into the bed with you, snapping his fingers so the lights blinked out. You hummed too lazy to respond and crawled underneath the covers, it was nice, warm and smelt like him, underneath the covers you felt him slip in with you, his body heat emitting off of him in waves.

You hoped your mind was less clouded tomorrow, hopefully you could have a better conversation with the king about this deal, get things sorted out.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x you

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Bandage To A Broken Heart (Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Fem Medic!!Reader

Summary: You're a medic assigned to the 141 task force, Ghost is particularly fond of you and after an injury, he comes straight to your door. This is in Ghosts point of view (still second person, just from his perspective)

Warnings: explicit content, minors dni, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, praise kink, size kink (mans 6'4 whaddya expect), choking, dirty talk, language, mentions of injuries, mentions of reader being much shorter than ghost and has tattoos, no other physically descriptions

WC: 7k I'm so sorry

A/N: FINALLY, ive been writing this fic for like 3 weeks now and I finally got to finish this and omggg, Im down so fucking bad for this man, so naturally I wrote filth for him. I hope my ghost girlies enjoy this

You can also read this over at Ao3

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Ghost was no stranger to pain. Not in the slightest. Pain was second nature to him. He had spent his entire life experiencing and learning to manage his pain to the point where he no longer felt it. But he'd be lying if he said that your touch didn't take away his pain better than he ever could himself. 

Always so careful and gentle, and always willing to help anyone that walked into your infirmary and in the field. He couldn't understand how someone so sweet and caring could've ever ended up in the military, but then again after the things he had seen you do in the field, he'd be a fool to ever doubt your capabilities. 

He was no stranger to you either, afterall, the 141 had become your main patients after you were assigned to their task force as their physician a year ago. And for one reason or another, Ghost always ended up at your infirmary, whether it was for an actual injury or to ask about your day under the excuse of  needing some painkillers he probably didn't really need through grumbles and that particularly dry humor of his that always made your day. And truly, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his day too. 

Simon Riley was down bad for you, and he didn't know what to do about it. 

He had lost track of time. He wasn't sure if it was from the crash or just the overall shit show that his latest mission had been, but everything was an absolute blur to him. All he knew is that there was only one thing he wanted to do and one thing only. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you. 

Price had insisted Ghost joined the others at the infirmary, but he knew it wouldn't be you stitching up his wounds. After a very disastrous previous mission, you were left with pretty severe injuries yourself, ones that left you at your own infirmary for a few days. And while you assured them you were ready to go back to your duties, which included accompanying the 141 to their latest assignment, Price and Ghost himself insisted you sat this one out, and took a couple more days to fully recover. After a good fifteen minutes of protesting, you were outvoted. There were medics on base after all. But they weren't you, so naturally Ghost refused to go to the infirmary. He didn't trust anyone else but you. He'd rather bleed out, he said. 

Price wasn't one to question anything Ghost did, he could take care of himself. And he knew you were the only one he trusted to take care of him.

Before he even realized it, Ghost was dragging himself to your quarters, unsure if you'd tell him to fuck off and to go to the infirmary instead, or if you'd honor the idea that he only trusted your hands to fix his wounds and take away his pain, for a little while at least. He was hoping it was the ladder. 

He knocked, once, twice and a third time, and with a pained groan he leaned his body against the door, trying to take some weight off his sore legs. He waited, his mind racing and thinking that maybe you weren't at the infirmary for a reason, that maybe he should leave you alone and let you take some well deserved rest. 

But he needed to see you, right now.

He lifted his head only a few inches to find you, for the first time not in your usual uniform, but instead a plain dark green tee that left the pattern of black and colored ink on your right arm on full display, and sleeping pants. But you didn't look like you had been asleep, you looked wide awake. Though that quickly turned into what Ghost thought was a mixture of worry and relief on your features. He knew because he had that same look when you woke up after he had carried your unconscious body to the medivac. 

"Will you ever learn to take care of yourself out there?" Were the first words out of your mouth as you scanned his slouched body, taking particular notice to the hand glued to his right shoulder.

He let out a dry chuckle and the way in which his entire body relaxed, his shoulders dropped and was no longer on high alert the second he saw you was more than obvious. Whether or not you did notice that or not was beyond his people reading skills. 

He didn't have to ask or say anything, you simply moved out of the way and walked back. He followed you in, his heavy but surprisingly quick steps following close behind you until you eventually came to a stop. He stopped, standing to his full height and his dark eyes were fixed on you as he waited for you to grab your medical supplies, which he knew you always kept around just in case. 

"I can't check for injuries with all that gear Simon." You motioned your free hand to his tactical vest strapped with just about every weapon he could carry and most likely a bullet covered plate underneath his jacket.

He stood silent for a long second, just taking in the way you said his name. You only ever called him Simon in private, where you both knew you were safe from everyone else, where your protective armors could come down for once. He liked it when you called him Simon, it reminded him that he was still, in fact, a human being, that he was still Simon Riley, not just the ghost of a dead man that hid behind the mask of a killing machine.

He gave you a nod and his hand went towards the clips that kept his harness and vest together. Slowly, minding the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he dropped his vest on the floor, his black jacket quickly following the same fate. This, though, earned a groan of discomfort when his shoulder moved, he closed his eyes momentarily as he pulled the sleeve from his injured shoulder before dropping his jacket to the ground as well. All that was left was his clinging black shirt leaving the black ink of his arm on full display, and of course, his balaclava and the skull plate stitched to the thick fabric. 

You were already gloved up by then, your tools already laid out on a desk behind Simon. So once he was free on his gear, you looked up at him, now seeing the trail of dry blood that ran down his right arm, starting at his shoulder. You stared at him for a few seconds as he stood there before you spoke. 

"I can't stitch your shoulder if you're all the way up there Simon, sit down." You rolled your eyes, forcing out an exasperated sigh and exaggerated motion for him to sit down by your desk.

"It's not my fault you're all the way on the ground down there. Would it kill ya to grow a few?" He said with his usual lack of emotion, but under his mask, his lips tugged up just a tiny bit at the glare you gave him as he sat down in front of you, because even with him sitting down, he was still half a head taller than you. 

"I'll remember that next time you come to my infirmary asking for pain killers after you get shot or stabbed again." You shot him a nasty glare, but you both knew you didn't mean that. "Speaking of getting shot, how did this happen?"

He hissed barely loud enough to be heard through his mask when he felt you lift the sleeve of his shirt and scrunched it up to his shoulder to reveal a gash from a bullet just above his bicep. You glanced at him, eyes meeting his own for a second in a silent apology before you turned your attention back to his wound. 

"Bastard shot me at close range, bullet must've grazed through my jacket. Good thing he was a shit shot though." He answered, his eyes watching you as you cleaned the dried blood around the wound, more focused on you than any pain he could be feeling in that moment. 

"Y'know, had you let me go on that mission I probably would have cleaned this up hours ago." You muttered, swiping the wet cotton around his skin, giving him a minute or two to breathe before actually cleaning the wound. 

"Had you gone with us you would've probably ended in the infirmary for another week." He quickly shot back, his naturally gruffly and raspy voice turning just a bit more so at the idea of it and you could feel his shoulders tense under your fingers. "Better me than you, eh?" 

"That's not funny." Your eyes flickered in his direction and you narrowed them at him, only to find his brown eyes staring deep into you, not once looking away. Until you swiped a soaked cotton over his wound and he exhaled deeply and unevenly, his eyes closing momentarily as he felt his skin throb and burn. 

"I'm not laughing," He eventually responded in a quiet tone, eyes finally opening to meet yours once again. 

"Do you ever?" You asked with a tiny smile, earning the typical dead eyed glare Ghost gave everyone that annoyed him. 

"No."

You looked away from him, lips curved up into a smile as you covered his clean wound with a gauze, not really needing stitches. You weren't looking at him then, so you missed the way he looked at you, his head slightly tilted and his eyes hooded as he memorized every detail of your face. He always did this, just in case it was the last. 

"Anything else hurts?" You asked after a minute, taking your gloves off and throwing them on the desk and leaned on your left foot, head tilted as you looked at him again. 

"Mmm," He half pointed to the left side of his face, "I hit my face when the heli crashed. 'm afraid I did some irreparable damage to that side of my face." 

You stared at him, you blinked a few times and your eyebrows furrowed with confusion at his request. He knew you were trying to understand his request, he was giving you permission to see his face. For the first time and you weren't sure if he was being serious or not. 

"I can't, y'know, the mask," You pointed to the thick fabric covering his face, noticing the tear on the left side but you made no effort to actually look, let alone touch.  

You stood still, hands glued to your side, itching to remove his mask yourself, but you were afraid, afraid to cross an irreversible boundary. He could see it, he could see the way your hands shook and your teeth nervously dug into your bottom lip. And he wasn't much better, he could feel his heart pound in his chest and his breath pick up. But he wasn't scared. 

He trusted you. 

Simon watched you intensely, brown eyes watching every detail on your face, every expression as he reached up to the front of his balaclava and with a deep exhale he pulled it off his head. Your lips parted and your eyes slightly widened. He could hear how your own breath picked up in an instant. But you weren't scared or disgusted, not at all. All he saw was awe. 

You slowly licked your lips as you stepped closer, until you were standing over his knee with your parted legs. With a shuddered breath you leaned down, eyes lingering on his own before they flicked down to the cut on his left cheek. Your hand ghosted over his face, but didn't quite touch him, for some reason, this felt like another boundary you didn't want to push unless he said so. 

He noticed your hesitation, and he didn't blame you. But he didn't need to say anything, he simply nodded. 

He shuddered when he felt your soft fingers graze his skin and he momentarily closed his eyes, before opening them again to watch you bring a wet cotton to clean the dried blood on his face. 

“What happened to your face?” You asked quietly after a long silence, brushing the cotton over the cut that appeared to be a couple inches long right across his cheekbone.

“Enemy missile, the heli crashed. I dunno how I got out of there. I blacked out and next thing I knew I was being dragged out of that heli by Soap.” He explained, the memories of it all still being too blurry to remember clearly. But he did remember one thing; the thoughts going through his head in that moment. “We lost a lot of good soldiers.” 

“You’re lucky all you got out of that was a cut on your face and probably a concussion. You could’ve died.” Your throat nearly closed up then, your fingers stopping to rest on his face. You were both used to this idea of death, of going on an assignment and never coming back, but that didn’t make your heart ache any less.

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searched for yours, but you weren’t looking at him, “Well I’m alive aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, and you’re one lucky motherfucker for that,” Your voice was close to breaking, and your hands were shaking. Was that anger he heard in your voice? Or was it panic at the idea of him dying? “I could’ve helped, I just wish I had been there.” 

His gaze turned hard and his jaw tightened, “I don’t.” His tone shifted, there was nothing lighthearted about it, he was being dead serious. And you actually looked at him this time, and you found his eyes. But you didn’t respond, you couldn’t, so you stayed silent as you gave yourself the time to actually take him in. 

"So what's the diagnosis Doc, am I gonna make it?" The low timber of his voice startled you after a long minute or two, but not because it was loud, he barely raised his voice above a whisper, it startled you because you were so focused on taking in each and every one of his features, the unique shape of his nose, his sharp jaw, the three day stubble that scratched the pads of your fingers, his light eyelashes that contrasted the dark paint smeared over his eyes. You memorized all of them in case you never saw them again. 

A small smile eventually tugged at your lips and you chuckled softly, nodding, "Looks like it, you'll have a scar though." 

He chuckled, and this time, you could see the tiny curl of his lips when he did so, "I can live with that." 

His lips fell back into a flat line and instead, his eyes locked onto yours for a long second and he could swear he could hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it was his own. He wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he was this close and he couldn’t stop the thoughts in his head.

Something was different. Something in the air felt different. The careful touches of your hands, they were different. And he felt different too. 

He leaned in, stopping only when he heard you take a small breath. One of his hands rested on your hip then, and when you didn't tense or shoved him away, he pulled you closer with a tight grip

“Tell me to stop, right now.” His voice was low and quiet, but you heard him loud and clear. And you didn't want him to. He didn't want to either.

"Simon…" 

He didn’t have to hear anything else, he heard all he needed to hear. The way his name fell from your tongue, the shakiness in your voice and the way you also leaned in, like your body was gravitating towards him. He knew. 

His large hand found the back of your neck and he pulled you in, lips capturing yours into a kiss that left you without air. His other arm sneaked around your waist to pull you closer and forced you down on his thigh. You gasped softly at the sudden movement, but you welcomed it nonetheless and you threw your arms over his neck as his mouth covered yours. He took it slow, much to your surprise. For a man known for his brutality he was surprisingly gentle. He kissed you slowly, his tongue eventually slipped into your mouth, but it never felt messy or rushed. You honestly didn't know how long he held you like this, but eventually he let you go to breathe when he started to feel you panting. 

"This okay?" He asked barely above a whisper, the raspy ring of his voice filling your ears in a way that made your thighs unconscious clench against his leg. Which he definitely felt, but he kept that to himself. 

"Yeah, more than okay." You answered with a breathless laugh.

"Good."

Both of his hands were on your waist and he was on his feet in an instant. He completely forgot about the pain shooting through his arm when he hoisted you around his hips. It caught you off guard and you were wrapping your legs around his torso instinctively. 

"Simon your arm—" 

"I don't give a shit about my arm." He had his uninjured arm holding your thighs and he was looking at you with this look in his eyes you had never seen from him, but you liked it. 

You leaned down, lips crashing against his own with an urgency that made him want to find the bed even quicker. He eventually figured it out and your back was hitting the mattress before you even realized it. He held himself above you, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His lips left yours and attached themselves to your neck. He wouldn't leave a mark knowing everyone would see it, but he still took his time finding that spot that made you squirm under him while his own hands were making work of exploring. He ran a cautious hand into your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your skin until he found your breast, and he squeezed. You shivered under his touch and an unconscious moan escaped your lips. He could himself twitch against the constraint of his denim jeans at the mere sound. Fuck, if that's what you sounded when he barely touched you, he could only imagine what you would sound like wrapped around him. And he wondered when was the last time someone touched you like this. Probably as long as him. 

"When was the last time someone touched you like this?" His words caught your ear in a haze, it took you a minute to register them, but when you felt him pitch your covered nipple you answered. 

"I don't—” You swallowed, blinking a few times as you tried to clear your foggy mind, “A long time, years I think." You eventually answered, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tried to keep your head straight. 

He gave you a quiet hum, his hand moving down to your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your pants, and he lifted his head to look at you, "Did you ever think about me touching you like this?" 

The way his words left his mouth, the raspiness in his accented voice and coated with arousal, it made your throat close up, and the way his intense and dark eyes were fixated on you didn't help either. You felt so small under this mountain of a man and his gaze, all you could do was nod. 

"Words love, use 'em." 

“Yes.”

A subtle smirk tugged his lips, the confirmation that you had wanted him as much as he had wanted you igniting a hunger and need that could only be satiated with one thing. You. 

He lifted his head to capture your lips in a feverish kiss that was so rough it made you gasp into his mouth. You snaked a hand the back of his head, one that quickly took a hold of his messy short brown strands, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by him. The growl that came from his throat was otherwise muffled by your lips, but what he did next, however, didn't go unnoticed either. His large hands found the collar of your shirt, and without hesitating, he tugged and ripped the fabric right in half. The moan that ripped from your throat at his manhandling was anything but subtle, and he swallowed it happily. He pulled back, tugging your bottom lip as he did so and his dark hungry eyes fixated on the newly exposed skin once he laid eyes on you. He took a hard swallow as his hands traveled to your chest and much like he had just done with your shirt, he ripped your bra open by the thin fabric that connected both cups. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He breathed out, hands brushing over hardened nipples as he took in the sight of you in front of him, chest completely exposed, your hair loose and pooling around your head and arms now sprawled above your head, expectant and ready to do as he asked, “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“I could say the same about you,” You replied, breathless and reaching to tug at the hem of his own shirt with urgency. “Please Si.” 

Fuck, how could he ever deny you anything? And more so when you ask him like that? 

With a short nod, he moved his hands from your chest and grabbed the back of his shirt, quickly pulling it over his head. And fuck, the amount of gear this man wore definitely didn’t sell him short. His muscled chest was covered in various scars, ones you had seen, and others you hadn’t. And from his neck hung his dog tags, ones you had never ever seen him wear. Lord this man was going to be the death of you just as you were going to be his.

“Listen to me,” He said through a heavy breath, pulling you from your frenzied state for just a second, “If you want me to stop you tell me, no fancy words, tell me stop and I will. Is that understood?”

It took you a couple seconds to respond, your mind already foggy with the need to feel his touch, but you nodded at his words regardless, “Yes sir.”  

Your hands found the back of his neck and you crashed your lips against his with a newly found urgency that made him groan into your mouth. His calloused hands found the waistband of your pants, and he tugged them down without hesitation. With a hard swallow you lifted your hips off the bed, allowing him to pull them down, your panties quickly following. He tossed them behind him somewhere to join his previously discarded vest and jacket. 

He brushed a long finger through your folds, swallowing the choked out moan that came out of your mouth. You shuddered under him, your thighs unconsciously closing around his hand as he drew circles around the bundle of nerves. You didn’t even remember the last time you were touched by hands that weren’t you own, and fuck, his felt so much better already. 

“No, no,” He tisked, pulling back to glance down at his hand practically disappearing between your thighs before he gave you a stern look, “Keep those legs open for me.” 

You did as you were told, you shakily spread your legs apart, and you were rewarded with a thick finger dipping into your entrance with ease. He took a deep breath as he felt your walls clench around his finger and he could feel himself twitch in his pants, wondering just how you would feel around his cock instead. 

With a hiss of pleasure, you threw your head back and your hips slightly lifted off the mattress as he filled you with two of his long fingers. He drew them in and out until he could feel you start to drip on the palm of his hand. 

“Shit, shit, fuck.” Your lips fell open, silent cries leaving your mouth as he began to scissor you open with each snap of his wrist. It wasn't long before you could start to feel that delicious burn in the pit of your stomach. 

His thumb eventually found your nub, he pressed it and rubbed circles around it as he buried his thick fingers to the knuckle each time. He could already feel it, the way your walls clenched around his fingers, your shuddering thighs, your hands fisting the sheets. His lips found the shell of your ear, and as he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot he spoke. 

“You’re doing so good,” He coaxed, his thumb pressing your clit with enough force to make you twitch and roll your eyes into the back of your head, “This what you need love?” 

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” He slammed his fingers knuckles deep, his palm rutting against your clit. He could have you screaming anything he wanted and he knew it. 

“Yes Lieutenant!” 

“Good. Good girl.” 

He knew you were close, he could feel it. He was slamming his fingers in and out of you, burying them knuckle deep and crooking them against your most sensitive spot over and over. Until you were nothing more than a shaking and whimpering mess, begging for release. And he was gladly going to give it to you. 

“O-oh fuck. Fuck Simon please!” 

He nearly lost it when he heard you scream his name, your voice shaky with pleasure, and your own body overwhelmed with pleasure. But if there was anything he had a lot of, it was self control. He had a mission to accomplish. And he wasn’t going to stop until he had you falling apart under his touch. Which happened soon enough. One of your hands flew to grip his wrist, the lewd sound of his palm slapping against your dripping core filling your ears in the most delicious way possible. And in a quick flash of a blinding heat, you tossed your head and buried your face in his shoulder, your toes lifting from the mattress and curled as your juices coated his hand. 

“Goddamn,” He cursed under his breath, the sound of his name leaving your mouth in a quiet whimper filling his ears as his fingers slowed, but never quite left you, “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

You barely caught his words as he spoke under his breath, but you did, and all you could say in response was a high pitched hum as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes were still screwed shut and your legs were still shaking when his fingers left you. With a quiet hiss, your head fell to the side as you brought a hand to your burning face, trying to compose yourself. 

“You still with me Doctor?” Simon spoke, amusement coating his tone. You chuckled softly and gave him a nod. “I need verbal confirmation love.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes at him because you knew he was teasing you, but you indulged him regardless. You turned your head in his direction and opened your eyes to find his own glued to your face of course.

“Solid copy Lieutenant.” You finally said with a small eye roll. He looked amused, and he nodded. But what caught your attention was the growing smirk on his face as his eyes eventually landed on his hand as he held it out of your eyesight. “What’s so funny?” 

“This,” He brought his hand closer to your face, and even through your slightly blurry vision, you could see it glisten. You opened your eyes more and your jaw dropped, your face burning with embarrassment. With a low chuckle, he rubbed his fingers together and then spread his index and middle finger apart to show the extent of the wetness you had left on his hand. 

“Oh my god.” You threw your hands over your face, effectively mortified, you weren’t sure why, but it made you feel pathetic. Simon, on the other hand, was quite pleased. 

“Gettin’ shy are we?” His lips brushed against your ear, and you couldn’t help but shove him slightly. 

Both of your hands eventually fell to his chest as your eyes found his brown ones, and the look he found behind those eyes of yours made him want to take you over and over until you were nothing but a shaking and whimpering mess. 

“Lay down Simon.” You eventually said, both hands flat on his scar littered chest. He took a deep breath and he nodded slowly. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He was on his back in an instant, eyes never leaving you as you threw a leg over his hips and sat just above his crotch. Your thighs burned with ache as they were stretched out over his massive body. His hands held your hips as he watched you through hooded eyes, very tempted to shove you down on his cock, but he let you take your time, this time. 

“Let me ride you, please.” Your words were quiet, pleading and desperate, and they shot straight to his cock. He honestly didn’t know where this side of you came from, pleading and so eager to please him, but fuck he wanted to explore every inch of it. His fingers dug into your hips, but he remained still, only nodding.

“Permission granted.” He replied with a quiet hiss, his patience growing thin the longer he had you on top of him, your wetness coating his lower abdomen. “Go on.” 

He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your shaky hands fumbled with his belt, the buckle ratling a few times as you tried to undo it, the button of his denim jeans quickly following. He momentarily closed his eyes when your hands brushed against his clothed erection. He blew out an exhale through his nose as he lifted you up just enough to be able to pull himself from the confines of his boxers. He let out a long breathy groan as he freed himself, his cock slapping against his stomach. With a hard swallow, you held yourself above his cock, hands resting against his lower abdomen to brace yourself as he lined himself up at your entrance, coating himself in your slick. 

He was expecting you to take your time, to take him slowly, so when you sank down on him, his length slipping inside a few inches before being met with resistance, he had to take a deep breath. 

“Easy..” He coaxed, easing a hand up and down your stretched out thighs, watching closely the way your eyes closed and your face twisted with a mixture of slight pain and pleasure.

“Fuck you’re so big..” You blurted out between breaths. Simon opened his eyes in surprise at your remark, he knew he was significantly big, but he wasn’t expecting to hear you say it. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his cock twitch the slightest bit.

“You’re doing good. Slow.” He spoke lowly, guiding your hips little by little, hissing softly each time you took another inch of him, until you sat fully on him, and even then you couldn’t fit all of him. He allowed himself to close his eyes as you sat still, your hips only rolling ever so slightly as you adjusted to the massive size of him. “There ya go, atta girl.”

When he felt you were ready, he guided your hips up, lifting you off his cock inch by agonizing inch, his eyes stuck to where his cock left your soaked cunt, and when he was almost all the way out, he pushed your hips down without a warning. You let out a quiet cry, you dug your nails into his abs and your thighs tensed. His eyes shot up to your face with concern and he sat still, but you were quickly shaking your head.

“I’m okay Simon, please.” Your eyes found his and you nodded reassuringly, teeth digging into your bottom lip eagerly. He squeezed your hips and nodded.

You were rocking and rolling your hips, your walls clutching his length with a bit of resistance. And you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up each time you rolled your hips. But he stayed still, only his fingers dug into your hips, surely to leave bruises in the morning. His eyes were closed and he was muttering under his breath as you moved at your own pace. For now.

“Fuck, come on love,” He encouraged, voice restrained as you eventually moved with more ease. His words gave you a new found confidence, and with such, you lifted yourself up and sank back down on him, and again, and again, until your whimpers turned into moans. “That’s it. Fuck that’s it, take what you need.”

You’d be damned if you didn’t do as he said.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you bounced on his cock. His eyes moved from your face to where your bodies connected, he watched with glazed eyes as his cock disappeared inside your walls, only to appear again covered in your juices. He focused on it, the sound of his belt buckle clicking each time you bounced filling his ears.

“You’re taking my cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” His words came out through breathy groans as he guided your hips again and his own hips involuntarily lifted every once in a while. 

“Please Simon, more, I want more— Fuck—”

He had to take in the way you whined his name, the way you begged, it was so fucking intoxicating and he never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“Yeah? You want more?” 

You were nodding frantically, your movements only doing so much to give you what you both needed and he knew it. 

He sat up, his chest now pressed against yours as he sneaked his tattooed arm behind your back, holding you upright as he thrusted upwards. He found a pace quick, and even faster and deeper than the one you had made yourself. He had you twitching and shaking in his grip as cries ripped from your throat in a matter of a minute or two. And you definitely weren’t complaining, his cock was pounding deeper, hitting that perfect spot better than you could ever get it there yourself. 

“Yes! Fuck, Simon please, please don’t stop.” You were begging frantically, your hands landing on his back and your nails dragged across his scar littered back and shoulders. He took in the way you pleaded, the way you moaned, and took particular note of the squeal you gave when his thick cock hit your g-spot with ease. And he did so, over, and over, until all you could say was his name between cries. 

“Yeah, like that?” Again, and again his cock brushed against the perfect spot. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, your face was buried in his shoulder and tears slipped from your eyes. 

“Yes!” You sobbed into his shoulder, your walls clenching around his cock in the same way you had around his fingers a little while before. 

“Shit, come on, come on. Be a good girl and come for me.” He muttered, not once faltering his pace, only bringing you closer to the edge with each delicious drag of his cock. He slipped a hand into your hair, fingers fisting around the strand a as he pulled your head back, making sure you were looking at him, “Look at me, that’s it, keep those pretty eyes on me when you come.” 

His name slipped from your tongue over and over as you came, somehow managing to keep your eyes open as your whole body shuddered violently. Tears slipped from your eyes as you sobbed his name and you brought your forehead to rest against his, one of your shaky hands resting on the back of his neck. The hand on your hair moved your face, and his fingers brushed against your cheek, catching your tears. 

“Fuuuck, that’s fucking it. That’s my girl.” He groaned out as he fucked you through your orgasm. 

He felt your wetness coat his cock even more, allowing him to slip just ever so deeply until he was nearly rutting against you, the patches of hair at the base of his cock brushing against your oversensitive clit. With a guttural groan, the hand on your face slipped to the base of your neck and he held it between his long fingers as he fucked into you with a new urgency, like he was chasing his own release. He fucked you like it too, his thrusts were sharper and shallow, and they faltered. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered, droplets of sweats rolling from his forehead and mixing with the already messy grease paint covering his eyes. His forehead fell to your chest as held your neck in place, “I’m right there… Fuck I—”

He was about to pull himself out of you, but you slipped out from your drunkenly euphoric state for just a second to slam down on his cock until your hips met, hands on his shoulders as you sank down on him with enough force to slip a breathy moan from him. 

“I have an IUD. I-I want you to, please.” You said shakily into his ear, your words barely coherent, but you knew what you meant, and he did too. 

A low growl ripped from his throat as he gave you a few more thrusts before his hips faltered, his other hand found your ass and he held you down on his cock. His fingers squeezed your throat and a guttural moan left his lips as he spilled himself inside you. 

“Bloody fuckin' Christ,” he panted into your chest, most likely smearing his war paint on your chest, but you honestly didn’t give a fuck. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.” 

You gave him a weak hum, eyes closing as you tried to breathe once he let go of your neck. “I’m guessing your arm doesn’t hurt anymore?” You laughed weakly, brushing a hand under the gauze you had placed there earlier. 

He lifted his head, brown eyes as intense as ever as he slightly tilted his head, “What arm?”

You shot him a playful glare and shook your head as you unwrapped yourself from him and with a long breath of exhaustion, landed on your back next to him, your mixed releases dripping down your thigh. He chuckled quietly to himself at the sight of his jeans, mixed releases pooling at the front of the denim. With a sigh, he tucked himself into his boxers, catching a glance of you, chest still glistening with sweat, hair messy and pooling above your head as you lied with closed eyes. He shook his head, about to stand up to find something to clean his mess with when you spoke. 

“Simon?” His eyes found yours on him and he nodded, allowing you to continue. You bit your lip and sat up with a sharp exhale, your sore muscles already screaming at you for your reckless activities, “How long have we known each other?”

The question hit him unexpectedly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but he answered quickly, not even having to think about it, “About three years.” 

“Why did you take your mask off now?” You dared to ask, the curiosity of what suddenly changed eating you up. 

His lips fell in a flat line, his eyes opening as he remembered that he had, in fact, taken his mask off, he had felt so comfortable that he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing it. He didn't answer right away, he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving you as you watched him expectant. You brought the sheets up to your chest, bringing them with you as you moved closer to him, until your shoulder was touching his. You looked up at him, but you never rushed him, you simply waited patiently. 

“When the heli crashed,” He began, “I knew I was going to die. And I was ready to die. And then I thought..” His lips fell in a flat line again as he turned his head to look at you. Your eyes were glossy, but you didn’t cry, you simply nodded for him to continue, “All I could think about in that moment is that I was going to leave this world when the only woman I had ever cared about didn’t even know what I looked like.”

Your lips fell open and your eyes widened with awe. He didn’t have to say the words, you knew what he meant.

“Simon…”

“Either of us could die at any moment, I realized that when I carried your unconscious body through that field, and I realized it when the heli crashed, didn’t make sense to pretend I don’t give a shit about you.” 

Your hand found his face and you pulled him down into a deep kiss, one that said everything you both needed to say, everything you couldn’t say with words. 

You were the remedy to all his injuries and the bandage to his damaged heart. You were all he needed and he’d be damned if he let that go.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley

[unsolvedjarin]

omg after reading part two of the mentor!seb x ferrari driver!reader fic i NEED something where he actually tries to play matchmaker for reader and mick😭 Like him giving so many hints but reader is just oblivious and Seb decides to take matter into his own hands yk?

Only if you’re open to it ofc! 🥰🥰

BEES, AMONG OTHER THINGS.

pairing: (mick schumacher x driver! reader) (mentor! sebastian vettel x reader)

note: HEY. i havent written anything in weeks and its been KILLING me. ive been so burnt out lately its crazy, but seeing seb in suzuka did give me a bit of motivation (although this is more of a mick-centric fic, my boy deserves it.) anyways sorry for letting this stew for so long anon, hopefully i can write more soon ive missed it tbh

summary: suzuka finds itself not only an interesting spot for bee hotels, but for reunions and confrontations as well.

content warning: none, except its a little all over the place and once again i havent grammar checked this im so sorry it’s three in the morning

previous part, but can be read without <3

When Sebastian invited the grid to his bee hotel opening, he expected maybe five or six people to come, but not this.

Everyone was coming.

And by everyone, I mean everyone. The drivers, the reserves, even the team principals, had all confirmed their appearance for the event. Sebastian knew he was loved by the grid, but the thought of all of them coming together for him still made his heart swell.

It was one in the afternoon, just thirty minutes before they were about to actually start the event. While the participation of the drivers were confirmed, they were still coming in one by one, some later than the others. Sebastian was in a particularly interesting conversation with Fernando about flowers when a poke to his shoulder captured his attention.

He turned around to find you, standing there behind him, waiting for him to finish his conversation with excitement you couldn’t contain. It was the first time you’ve seen each other since Silverstone, and even then you barely had time to talk to each other.

Before he could say anything, you jumped into his arms and hugged him so tight that Sebastian thought he would lose oxygen— but he still hugged you back with equal enthusiasm.

“Sebastian!” you screamed, being spun around once by the man. He missed you so much. Sebastian wasn’t particularly the greatest texter, and calling wasn’t something you were fond of, so besides the occasional visit you barely talked.

“Y/N, I thought you’d never come,” he says with a grin. He knew you were coming, of course. You would never miss out on this. You give him a playful shove, before giving Fernando a quick hug as well. In the year Seb has been gone, you had gotten closer with the Aston Martin driver who replaced him.

Fernando excuses himself quickly after, knowing you and Sebastian had some catching up to do. “Don’t tell me you’ve replaced me with him,” Sebastian jokes the second the Spaniard was out of earshot.

“Why, are you jealous?” you teased. He scoffs in reply, but you could hear the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Don’t worry Seb, while I love his talk about flowers, you talking my ear off about bees still appeals to me more.”

That makes him smile.

“I’m glad you prefer my infodumping, then.”

The fact that you taught him that term makes your grin even wider. “Anytime.”

You wanted to talk with him more, to tell him how you’ve been doing the past few months, but before you could, some PR person swooped in to film some videos with him.

“Ah, sorry liebling,” Sebastian sighs. He leans in and whispers in your ear, “One thing I haven’t missed are these media hungry people.”

You stifle a giggle, before nudging him away from you. “Go on, it’s your event, this is your own doing.”

He rolls his eyes but walks away nonetheless, following the person from the media. Before he moves out of earshot, however, he shouts, “Oh by the way, Mick is here! Don’t be shy, go talk to him.”

Oh the bastard.

Half the grid must have heard that. You look at him with shock and a light blush on your cheeks but are met only with a cheeky grin from the man before he turns around to fully walk away.

Admittedly though, he was right. You hadn’t been talking to Mick much. You had a few lunches with him after Seb retired but without his third wheeling company, it just felt awkward to go out with the reserve driver one on one. You started thinking he just ate with you because he felt bad for you or something of the sort.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice snaps you out of your thinking.

“Jesus! Lewis, don’t give me a heart attack like that.”

The Mercedes driver laughs before replying, “Sorry, you just looked tense. Thinking about the race?”

“Not really, just some other stuff.”

“Like what? Like Mick?”

You almost choked on your own saliva right there and then. “Wh- what? What would— haha— make you think that? No that’s crazy, I’m just thinking about the bees! Yeah, because like the bee hotel and stuff I love b—”

“Sebastian wasn’t really quiet talking to you just then, you know.” He comments, cutting you off.

“Oh I’ll kill him.”

“Doubt it, you’ve missed him too much these past months to kill him immediately.”

“Touché, maybe I’ll wait a few more then.”

“Stop avoiding the question, why’re you thinking about Mick?” Lewis asks, not giving the topic up. Oh what the hell, Sebastian trusts him right? So you could trust him.

Thinking of how you could word your thoughts properly, you start, “I kinda— I dunno— I mean he’s a nice guy, he’s pretty sweet, and we’re friends obviously so it’d be—”

“You like him don’t you.” Lewis cuts you off for the second time in a row.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he sighs, letting it linger for a moment. “That’s crazy.”

A beat of silence passes. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“Say anything else about what?” Sebastian butts in your conversation, clearly just having finished his short interview. He takes his place beside you, scooching in between you and Lewis instead of taking up the free space on the other side.

“Oh, Y/N was just talking about how she likes Mick.”

“Was not!” You exclaim.

“Was too,” Lewis retorts. His teasing never ceased to amuse and annoy you at the same time.

“I think I’m going to believe Lewis on this one. After all, you did tell me, and I quote, you ‘sorta have a little maybe crush’ on Mick.”

You hang your mouth agape incredulously before slapping Seb on the arm, “I told you that in confidence!”

Seb laughs before defending himself, “Well Lewis knows now! Besides, it’s not like you’ve been that discrete about it.”

You look at Lewis who shrugs in reply, “It’s true. Pretty obvious when a Ferrari driver keeps hanging around the Mercedes garage, mate.”

Oh well, cat’s out of the bag. There’s no point in keeping it secret from Lewis now, you think. Putting your head in your hands, you groan, “That’s the problem! I’m always at the Mercedes garage talking to you or Toto or even George but never him!”

“Well why don’t you…talk to him?”

“Great advice Sherlock, gee, got any more good ones for me?” You ask Sebastian sarcastically. While you and Seb banter though, Lewis recalls a conversation he had with Mick one late night back in Singapore.

“Hey Lew, was Y/N here earlier?”

Lewis, who was packing up to go home, redirects his focus to the only remaining guy in the garage save for a few engineers. “Yeah, she visited right after the race to congratulate me. Why’re you looking for her?”

“Oh nothing, just asking.” Mick replies, fiddling with his hands. Even in his tired state, Lewis could tell that there was more the young driver wasn’t saying.

“C’mon, spit it out.” Lewis says, taking a seat on a random chair and patting the one beside him for Mick to take a seat. The younger driver hesitates for a moment before sighing and sitting down. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than anyone. Do you know what happened when Alonso crashed his McLaren back in 2015?”

“No, what?”

“Exactly,” Lewis replies with a grin. “So what is it?”

“I…” Mick sighs, unable to find the right words for what he was trying to say. “I think I like Y/N.”

There, it’s out in the open, he thinks. Mick waits for a reply from Lewis, but gets none. “Hello?”

Another beat of silence.

“Okay, this is starting to scare me.”

Lewis finally snaps out of his trance-like state, before getting up and continuing to pack up his things. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“Well I thought it’d be something more secretive,” he says, putting up bunny ears.

“It is secretive,” Mick replies, mocking Lewis’ bunny ears. “No one knows.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that mate. I mean if you exclude Sebastian, Fernando, Toto, and myself, then sure, no one knows.”

Oh shit. Was he that obvious? “How- how did you all figure it out?”

“Well for one, if constantly tailing Sebastian and Y/N last year was your attempt at being discreet, then it was a horrible attempt. Second, you need to stop turning red and running away whenever she’s at the garage giving out food and what not. I can’t keep asking her for extra donuts for you forever, you know?”

Mick blushed slightly at the comment, not realizing how every time you came around to the garage he’d been unwillingly avoiding you out of fear you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

Lewis pats Mick on the back, getting ready to leave. “Listen man, if I were you, I’d make a move. That opportunity won’t last forever, plus, it seems like they like you back. Didn’t you guys go out together just the two of you a couple of times?”

Mick shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean I think she did that just because she felt bad for me being alone in the grid and because she missed Sebastian.”

Lewis internally rolled his eyes. He’s seen the way you look at Mick, there’s no way you didn’t like him too. “You have to stop doubting yourself. I mean the worst she can do is say no, right?”

“The worst she can do is avoid me for the rest of my life because I misread all the signs and she actually hates me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lewis replied sarcastically, before murmuring a goodbye and leaving the garage.

That was weeks ago now, but the conversation was still stuck in Lewis’ head. He’d been right all along, you did like Mick back.

“Hey Seb, can I talk to you in private really quickly?” He speaks up, making you and the retired driver stop your bantering for a moment.

“You can say it in front of Y/N, it’s fine.” Seb replied. He trusted you completely with anything and everything.

“Well not if it’s about her.”

“Hey!” you complain. “Are you openly gossiping about me?”

“Listen, if you want our help, then let us huddle for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and nod at them. You really really liked Mick, but you were too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So if these two old twats could help you, then so be it.

Lewis pulls Seb to the side for a moment, inhaling deeply before talking softly so you couldn’t hear. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Mick told me he likes Y/N.”

Sebastian whips his head to face Lewis, “Holy shit, I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going out with us all the time last year for no reason.”

“Yeah, he’s not so discreet. Here’s the problem though, he firmly believes Y/N may hate him, and you know that Y/N believes Mick only likes her as a friend.”

“So what you’re saying is they’re both hopeless?”

“Without our help, basically yes.”

“God I can’t believe they haven’t caught a clue,” Sebastian sighs. “I even excused myself from multiple meals so I could leave the two of them alone even for a few minutes.”

“You’re telling me mate, I basically had to shove Mick towards her whenever she was at the garage or in hospitality.”

Meanwhile, while the two men were devising on their own, you were getting antsy. What could they possibly be coming up with? You didn’t really want to think about it too much, so you decided to take a walk around the track. After all, the event was about to start, so you might as well familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

You went through the unpainted bee hotels, admiring their woodwork and the effort it must’ve taken to make them. Sebastian had sent you a text at three in the morning yesterday saying “Finished! :-)” with a picture of the bee hotels attached, so you knew he put hard work into this project. You were happy that he was doing something he loved while retired, but at the same time you missed him terribly on the grid. It was lonely, you will admit, without him by your side. Sure you had your teammate Charles and the support of your fellow drivers, but it never felt like anyone truly knew you on the track besides Seb.

Stuck in your thoughts, you failed to notice the man who was walking up behind you mustering the courage to strike a conversation. You turn around to check out another bee hotel when you bump straight into Mick walking up to you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Ow—” you hold your head in pain, which you bumped into the bee hotel roof when you recoiled backwards from the hit. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Great, Mick thought. Now what?

You’ve made a fool of yourself, congratulations, you thought.

Sebastian was about to walk over to see what all the commotion was about, when Lewis put a hand out and stopped him. “Look who bumped into her.”

Sebastian squinted a little— his eyesight had gotten worse but he refused to get glasses— and grins when he realizes who it is. “Best leave them to it then, I have an event to organize anyways.”

Meanwhile, Mick had no clue what to do. You were holding your head in pain, with your eyes closed trying to regain stability from the dizziness, and he was just standing there awkwardly trying to figure out what the right move was. Should he ask you again if you were alright? Should he hold you to stabilize you?

Well, why not both. Without thinking, he holds your shoulders, crouching down a little to look you in your eye, and asking a simple “You okay?”

You open your eyes, squinting because of the sun, and are met with a set of beautiful blue ones staring at you. Holy fucking shit. Now you don't know what to do.

“Uh— yeah, just hit my head. No biggie honestly, all good here,” you reply awkwardly. God, was it this hard to talk to him when Sebastian was around?

Mick lets go of your shoulders— you miss his touch already— and straightens up, nodding. “Good. Sorry for hitting you, I thought you heard me walking up.”

“No, it’s my fault honestly. Was stuck in my own thoughts. Nice that you pulled me out,” you joked, praying to whatever higher power was listening that it stuck.

Thankfully it did, and Mick let out a small giggle at your quip. It was enough for your stomach to do flips. And even though you had no clue, you joking around with him made his stomach do the same thing too. The simple interaction was enough to make him think that maybe you weren’t just hanging around with him before because you pitied him.

“You know,” Mick starts, before he loses confidence to breach the topic. He was here anyway, so might as well. “You’re always at the Mercedes garage but I never see you. I am sorry about that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. Why was he sorry? You were the one who avoided him out of nervousness whenever you were there.

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, honestly, that’s my fault anyway. Same with our lunches before, I’m sorry we did those less and less. I guess I got too caught up in the races. We should have another one here in Japan!” You add the last part haphazardly, not really thinking about what you’re saying because if you do you’ll lose confidence.

It was too late when you realized what you said, and terrified to see Mick’s reaction to the invitation, you stare at anything but him. Wow, the sky was blue today. How interesting.

Mick, on the other hand, was frozen on the spot. Did he hear that correctly? Were you inviting him to lunch for the first time in months?

Before the reserve driver could get his hopes up, however, he realized what was different this time. Sebastian was around.

Oh. Maybe that was the only reason you invited him this time around. Because, again, like before, you felt sorry for him being alone and you had the confidence to ask him because Sebastian was here.

“Would…Sebastian be coming?” He asked. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he begged God at that moment you would say no. He had nothing against the retired driver of course, he was like an uncle to him, but it would determine— for him at least— if you were going out with him out of pity or because you actually wanted to.

You, on the other hand, had a completely different interpretation of that question.

Did Mick not want to have lunch with you without Sebastian because he didn’t want to spend time with you? Did he feel like you were too awkward? Too weird? You stopped yourself before you could spiral even more.

“I mean, do you want him to?”

“Honestly? No.” Mick hears himself say without thinking. His eyes widened a bit at the fact that he said that aloud, making you giggle. It lifts the tension a bit and the air feels freer talking to him.

“Tsk tsk, I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Please don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it. I just meant—” Mick pauses for a second, finding it difficult to word his thoughts.

Oh fuck it. Fuck it all. “I want it to be you, just you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” Before Mick can regret saying anything and repeatedly apologize for the implications of what he said, you tug on his shirt a little to get him to look at you. “Me too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, laughing a bit at himself. “Thank god, I thought I made the wrong move there.”

“God no,” you laugh out. “I’m glad you said that honestly, I thought you just hung out with me before for Sebastian.”

Mick raised his eyebrows in confusion. Was that what you’d been thinking this whole time? “I thought you were just hanging out with me because you felt bad I was alone without Seb.”

This time you both look at each other, confused. You had both gotten it completely wrong.

The absurdity of it all makes you burst out laughing, and you try to cover it up with your hand but to no avail. “I’m sorry I just— ha!— I can’t believe I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time! I even avoided you in the garages because I thought you felt awkward around me.”

“I hid whenever you were at the garage because I thought you didn’t wanna talk to me,” Mick replied bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “In hindsight, that was pretty stupid, I suppose I wouldn’t ever know if you liked talking to me or not if I kept avoiding you.”

“Hold on, is that why Lewis always asked for extra food when I came around?”

“Yeah,” he answered, feeling embarrassed. It all felt so foolish now.

“That was stupid,” you tease. “So…what now?”

“I suppose we can just,” Mick gestures aimlessly with his hands. “Restart.”

You smile at him, liking the simplicity of the idea. After dancing around each other for a year, this is exactly what you wanted. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“What you were saying earlier, lunch? I know a good place. It’s pretty far from the track, but they have the best ramen and— hello Seb…?”

Unbeknownst to you, Sebastian had slowly inched himself closer to where you two were standing, trying to overhear your conversation. He was now stood a few meters away from you, pretending to be taking care of his bee hotel.

“You sneaky bastard!” you exclaim, slapping him on his shoulder for the second time that day. “How long have you been eavesdropping on our conversation?”

“I just got here!” Sebastian replied, trying to defend himself. He’d actually been standing there for a couple minutes, but if none of you had noticed, then it was better for him to not bring it up. “Anyway, I came to say we’re starting the event. Charles is looking for you at the Ferrari station, Y/N.”

Sebastian moves to leave, but turns back around, standing beside you. “And Mick, if it’s no bother, you could come with me and Y/N to Disneyland on Tuesday. Only if you’d like, of course.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?” You ask, but a quick glance at Sebastian's expression and you realize what he was trying to do. “Oh! Yeah, we totally planned on going to Disneyland. You should come with us.”

“Yeah! Sure, I have nothing to do anyways. And lunch on Monday, Y/N?” Mick replies. You give him a soft smile and nod in response.

Seb looks at you in confusion, “Am I part of these lunch plans?”

“No.”

“Great to know. Anyways, to the Ferrari station liebe, chop chop,” Seb retorts, putting his arm around you to pull you towards the station. As much as he wanted you and Mick to talk more, he also wanted his event to get going.

“Talk later!” you shout, being practically dragged by Sebastian. Mick laughs at the sight, waving a goodbye to you and the retired driver. He felt like he won the lottery. You might not like him the way he liked you, but this was a start. This meant that you hung around him for him.

“Was the plan you and Lewis came up with simply inviting Mick to go to Disneyland?” You ask, the second you were far away enough from Mick.

Sebastian shrugs, “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh you pricks. Thank God I didn’t rely on you two then.”

“Hey! We tried,” Seb remarked. “But we saw you two getting along without our help so we decided to leave you two to it. What did you even talk about?”

“Our shared hatred for you,” you replied with no hesitation. You look over at Sebastian with a grin, watching him roll his eyes, smiling.

“Well if that’s what it took for you two to talk, then I’d happily be the butt of your conversations.”

God. Why did he have to be so nice about it? “I’m just kidding Seb, we just cleared up some misunderstandings. Honestly we should’ve talked sooner, it was such a relief to find out I’d just been overthinking our interactions.”

“Like you do with half of all things, schatz,” Sebastian says softly, smiling at you. He was right, you did overthink too much.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m trying to change.”

“That’s great, but you know what you should try first before that?” Seb asks with a playful look on his face. He comes to a stop in front of a bee hotel and grabs a paintbrush from beside it, putting it in your hands. “You should try participating in the event.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you mutter, grinning. You didn’t even notice you had walked all the way to the Ferrari station until then. You greet Charles, who was already there, before facing Sebastian again. “Still can’t believe you and Lewis’ plan was just Disneyland. Remind me to never trust you ever again.”

“Love you too,” Seb retorts sarcastically, grinning as he walks away to assist the other drivers. You shake your head with a smile, before facing the bee hotel again. Cheeky bastard.

Sebastian and Lewis had planned more than just Disneyland of course, they weren’t stupid. But the first phase of their plan was complete. Sebastian smiled to himself as he watched Mick talking to Lewis at the Mercedes station, ready to operate the second part of their ‘genius’ plan.

It was going to be a long, interesting week for all of them.

#mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x you #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #a tiny crumb as in the tiniest of vettonso #because i can #writing

[spncvr]

could you write something with spencer and childhood bestfriedn to lovers?? haven't seen you write angst! but ik it'll be good 🤣❤️

glorious | s. reid

summary: leaving spencer isn't easy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst? and, again, english isnt my first languageLMAO its also too late to be writing so i hope this makes sense

a/n: IVE BEEN WAAAIIITTTINGGG FOR ANGST REQS this is so bad thp girl (gender neutral) im sorry i didn't do u justice

masterlist

YOU LOVE THE darkness.

There, you feel as though you hold the entire world in your grasp. The light, however, falters under your grasp, almost as if it’s causing itself pain by being in between your fingers. You can’t help but think that it’s almost like yourself, loud and bold (maybe, you think humorously, that’s why you’re not particularly fond of it). The light is chaotic, boisterous, and overwhelming, and it burns out your mind and soul. 

The dark is a contrast to the light in every way. It is solitary, silent, and careful in its movements against your skin. You feel a sense of power amidst it, as though you can control it with the mere flick of your wrist. The darkness brings a sense of contentment to you, as if you belong there, among its shadows and stillness. You revel in the power and peace that the darkness brings you, and for a moment, everything feels just right.

The wind dances around you, a melodic tune that you can never quite decipher. It hums on your cheek and creates an illusion of harmony in the bustling city that you know isn’t really there. It is akin to light, even in the darkness. Everyone is constantly bumping into someone, everyone’s always got somewhere to be. Because the city lives and breathes in constant distress; so much so that nobody seems to notice how the sky shifts from a light blue to a tranquil orange and then to darkness, even if the city never truly gets dark. There are always lights, stars, and the sounds of nightlife and parties that can last until dawn. Despite your disdain for the city and the way it makes you feel, you can’t help but smile as you study it from afar. Perhaps it’s the allure of the city’s chaos that keeps you here, or maybe it’s the thought of what you could make of yourself in the midst of it all—but that didn’t matter, not anymore.

You’ve always promised yourself when you were younger that you’d leave.

One day, you had whispered to yourself in the darkness, when you were six, your favourite stuffed animal tightly tucked between your arms, one day, we’ll go away. You can’t remember whatever caused you to tell yourself this at such a young age. You think it was probably something silly—a classmate’s admonition that some activities were simply reserved for boys. Or maybe it was because your parents had refused to let you get ice cream after you’d finished all of your green vegetables (all that suffering for nothing, really). But the mindset had continued to stick in your mind; an ember of determination that refused to fade away.

One day, you say again, when you’re thirteen because your teacher had failed you in your first ever physics exam, one day this won’t matter. We’ll go. We’ll leave. You say it so firmly and so surely that it scares you sometimes. Because, really, you’ve never been anywhere but here—so you ask yourself: What if it’s just the same? What if it’s just as bad?

One day, you say again, when you’re seventeen because you have been looking at universities far off and away from your city far away from the constant distress it emits. You’d stare at the campus pictures on the website and study the student’s bright wide smiles, and sometimes, you’d picture yourself in those hallways, with a group of new friends—you’d be the smart, and the witty one. You’d laugh a little harder, and smile a little brighter. One day, We’ll be there. Anytime soon.

“What are you smiling about?” his voice pulls you out of your small reverie. He looks good in the darkness. Specifically this kind of darkness, one that isn’t just quite completely dark. You find that kind of darkness here, where you could see the entire city live and breathe, where you could see some underlying beauty within the city.

You offer a meek shrug, eyes never leaving the city, “It just— feels so real now, no?”

He rests his chin on one of his bent knees, sighing. “It’s always been real. You’ve wanted to leave this city forever.”

“Well,”  you exhale, “I didn’t expect to leave so soon. I always thought maybe I’d stay in this city a little longer. I don’t know.”

“With me?”

You frown at him slightly at the question. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“For me?”

The question is cruel. You don’t need him to make you question yourself because you have spent your entire life yearning for nothing more than to go and leave. You hate him for it, kind of. Because really, what did he expect you to do? Stop everything, and stay with him; for him? I’ve got dreams too, damn it, you want to yell at him, scream at him, I’ve spent my entire life hating nothing more than the god-damn fucking city, and you’re here to mess all of it up. “For me?” Yes. Yes FOR you. Everything’s FOR you! 

You can’t dispute the truth, though. Yes, you’d stay with him. For him. Whatever.

Yet as you sit with him by your side and gaze out over the city, you suddenly realise —almost as if you had never thought about it before—that leaving this city meant leaving him as well. The very notion of leaving him felt so alien to your mind. Somehow, you had subconsciously imagined that you’d be going away with him —it’s always been one day we’ll leave, we’ll go— besides, you’ve always known Spencer. In a way, he was like… God, you can’t even say it. You just needed to leave. You can’t look at him when you answer a soft: “Yes. Yes, for you.”

i have like a pt. 2 of this but i hate it so heres a cliff hanger LMAOAIOSVUSBD

#c can’t write #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x male reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #flangst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #fluff oneshot #criminal minds fluff #child hood best friends to lovers #they never get tgt tho

[figgrrr0]

Hii im new here! Found your blog by chance and I love how you write! Would you be able to write wanderer x jealous!reader on valentines day? Lets say Wanderer has got a lot of admirers from the akademiya and reader is just silently furious abt it but doesnt say anything. When Wanderer finds out he fucks them nicely and praise them/ reassures them <333

Apparently I struggle to do angry jealousy, I just make it sad... but it's light this time! And soft.

Also it feels so weird writing Wanderer as a name??

Want to skip the lead up? Look for the NSFW sign that marks the smut!

Valentine's with Wanderer

Character: Top!Wanderer/Scaramouche

Reader: Bottom!Gn // Genre: Smut, angst

Cw: Classic Scara misunderstandings, praise/reassurance, fingering, soft sex, slight angst(?) it's more hinted I guess

Plot: A little // Word count: 1.9k

Valentine's Day: a day of love, gifts, and showing appreciation for your partner.

Usually, everyone tries to take the day off, freeing up their schedule so that they can focus entirely on the occasion, however it may be that they want to spend it. Which is why you were quite surprised to find yourself alone in bed when you woke up in the morning.

Now, that's not when you started feeling doubt. After all, maybe Wanderer, your boyfriend of the past few months, was in the kitchen. Breakfast in bed is a traditional start to Valentine's Day, and an easy way to get in anyone's good books. But, when you heard nothing after a few minutes of waiting, – no clanking of cutlery or slamming of cabinets – you just had to go see where he was.

Unluckily for you, all you could find was a little note, hastily sprawled and left waiting on the counter:

"I'll be gone for a while, don't wait up for me. I left you some breakfast in the cupboard, it might need heating up if you stay in bed too long, but that's not my fault...

–Happy Valentine's Day."

As usual, his handwriting is kind of hard to read; quick and messy. But, at least he did technically make you breakfast, even if he also alluded to you being lazy.

However, what most takes your attention, is the blotch of ink that splattered right at the end of "fault". It was as if he were hesitating to let go, to pick up the pen and leave it at that.

Which is why you felt oddly warm at the fact that the last part was perfectly legible and obviously had been written slower than the rest.

Even though you know Wanderer isn't particularly fond of outright expressing his feelings, you thought that surely, today of all days, he could push aside his own pride for you. Even just a little. Maybe that was too high of an expectation. His ambitions never let him take a break, so why would he take one for a made-up holiday?

Well... at least he's aware enough of your excitement for the day to acknowledge it first thing in the morning, even if he wasn't there to actually say it.

But, you knew that with Wanderer, everything would be awkward and touchy the first time around. You had to move slowly. Baby steps, you remind yourself, as you head back to your shared room to start getting ready.

It's only the start of the day.

...

You wish it weren't Valentine's Day.

Every street was lined with couples, each and every one of them holding hands, carrying flowers... things that you should be doing with your boyfriend right now.

And it didn't help that you felt like everyone was judging you for being alone, especially when most of them likely knew who you were dating. It's not like you hadn't seen them staring before now.

You couldn't blame them, really. Wanderer had shown up in Sumeru suddenly and didn't feel especially inclined to explain himself, so of course people would be curious. You just didn't like the way that their eyes would... linger after him. Even when you were there! And on the rare day that Wanderer was comfortable enough to let you hold onto him in public, the admiring stares turned to full-blown jealousy.

Now, what was wrong with that? Shouldn't that be an ego boost for you? You'd thought so too, at first. But then you realised that just meant they'd want to try and steal him from you.

You thought you could put up with it at first. After all, you knew that Wanderer wouldn't stand for anyone else touching him or getting in his way other than you. You trusted him just fine. You didn't trust the average Akademiya goer, though. They all seemed to think they were entitled to have whatever – or whoever – they wanted, just because they'd gotten into the prestigious school at all.

You'd tried to bring up your concerns to Wanderer about the whispers going around and the jealous looks you'd get when walking through the streets or halls of the Akademiya. Almost instantaneously, he shut down your complaints, finding the words so easily that it almost felt as though he hadn't even tried.

"Tch... they're annoying and only want to waste our time. Just ignore them like I do."

That response was actually exactly what you'd expected to hear, and while you were grateful for his straightforward answer, you'd wanted a more... passionate outcome. Something to show he cared.

That definitely isn't what you got, considering he didn't even look at you when he said it.

After that, you didn't want to bring up the same problem again. Especially not on Valentines Day, even though he'll probably come home having been confessed to over twenty times in the past hour alone. Okay, maybe you were over-exaggerating a little, but it really didn't feel like it to you. Plus, it's the day of love! You're allowed a little leeway for feeling paranoid, right?

Maybe this evening will be better, when Wanderer finally comes come.

...

As you walk through the door, you're instantly met with a faint smell that you recognised to be the lavender lemongrass scented candles that you kept around the house. Of course, this clued you in to the fact that Wanderer must already be home. But what solidified this, was that when you walked through the doorway, there he was, waiting for you standing next to a vase of beautifully arranged flowers. It was mainly made up of your favourite flower, along with some of the famous Valentine's flowers as well, such as roses, carnations, and even some daisies.

Most likely, it was thought up by the florist that he went to. But at least he knew your favourite flower, as well as followed the tradition of buying them for you at all.

Often times, it was unusual for him to initiate physical touch with you; even though he was comfortable with you, he still just wasn't used to it yet. Tonight, however, he seemed to have no trouble in walking right up to you, taking your hand to guide you into the living room, where you could both just relax in each other's company. The calming lavender lemongrass candles eased your mood quite well, and you were happy that your Wanderer had really tried for Valentine's day.

...

You had a lovely evening with your boyfriend, cuddling on the couch as you spoke in hushed voices about anything and everything (even if he was slightly apprehensive to start), the lovely atmosphere of romantic music quietly flooding through from the street.

And even though it had felt perfect, as you get ready to retire for the night, the candles having gone out a while ago, you can't help but feel the uncertainty from before start to overtake your thoughts again.

Resigning yourself to forget about it, you get into your side of the bed, your Wanderer already having been waiting for you to return. But he can tell that something in your mood has changed almost as soon as he lays his eyes on you again.

"What's wrong?"

"... Nothing."

He leans forward, showing his engagement. "Bullshit. If you don't tell me, there's nothing I can do to help you get over it."

"I just... those people from the Akademiya... they're still bothering me." You look down at your hands.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, "I've told you to just ignore them. There's nothing I can do to control how people think of you, or me, or us."

"I can't just ignore them!" You whine, "They're always looking at us when we're together... it's making me worried..."

At that, he looks over at you, his eyes scrunching as he thinks your words over. "Worried about what?"

Not sure how to say it, you move yourself to lay against him. Your back is pressed to his chest now, and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck helps to soothe your thoughts just enough for you to find the words:

"...I don't want them to take you from me..."

Now, it's Wanderer's turn to be silent. Now, he realises the mistake he'd made in telling you to just ignore those insignificant people; by ignoring the problem himself, he'd made you focus on it more. Of course you'd be feeling worried about this, he'd shut it down the first time you'd tried bringing it up.

You didn't need to just forget about it. You needed to work through it so that you could forget about it.

After almost a minute of tense silence, you're surprised when you feel his lips press gently to the back of your neck, accompanied moments later by his arm curling around you, pulling you ever closer against him. His hand rests over the place where your heart rests, while the other intertwines your fingers with his against your stomach, as if caging in the butterflies that start to flutter.

"Allow me to try again..." He presses a kiss to your ear before speaking again, "you don't need to think about them, or what I think about them." The hand on your heart shifts to cup your chest, your breath wavering when his hand brushes over your hardening nipples. "Because I'll never want anyone but you."

Then, the night is almost a blur.

Wanderer sneakily pulls a bottle of rose scented lube from under the pillow, liberally gathering some as he starts to stretch you out on his fingers. The scent slowly fills the room, intoxicating you on the heady fragrance, allowing it to pull you deeper into the moment.

He steadily pushes his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you, never slowing until after you've cum around his lubed up digits. Your hand finds purchase with the one on your chest, tightening your grip around him as you come down from the residual high.

He's whispering short encouragements to you while you collect your breath, the moans you'd been letting out dying on your tongue. Wanderer slowly lifts your leg, allowing him to guide his hard cock to finally, finally press against your hole, not making you wait to feel him as the slowly pushes in.

You don't need to adjust much, the lube and his attentive fingers having done the work well enough that only the comforting sensation of being full registers in your core. He starts thrusting when you signal that you're ready, his pace is easy and the power behind his hips is controlled enough to pull a soft moan from you with each stroke. It's different from what you're used to, but it's good. So good. And what makes it better is the hushed and stuttered, "I love you," and, "You're the only one that matters," that gets breathed into your shoulder as you both approach your shared climax.

The next morning, you wake up to find your Wanderer exactly where he ended last night; right next to you in your bed. You close your eyes contentedly, knowing you'll never have to worry about him being taken from you.

He's your Wanderer.

Want to send a request/brainrot with me? Check my rules!

Thank you for reading! 🩷

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin wanderer #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #genshin scaramouche #wanderer x reader smut #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #Writing for an ask~🩷

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ WHY IS THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER PUBLISHED ON DECEMBER IDK IM SLOW, also politics yay ig— MENTIONS OF MY COUNTRY! 🇵🇭💥🇵🇭💥💪💪 Also uh VERY long chapter

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @l0starl @depresssedcowboy

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You and Montrell seem to share a few qualities. In the midst of talks of politics with Miles, you find yourself parted from the reality you were raised in, instead finding a new world in Spirit Halloween.

This chapter is not sponsored.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

".. You should've definitely worn a coat over that."

You fiddled with your sleeve, staring comfortably past the window and out into the shining streets of Brooklyn. The comment was unnecessary , but it didn't entirely fly past your ears— in fact you swallowed it like a bad egg, making your stomach churn. As you turned your head away from the window, you're brought back to acknowledge your brother, Montrell, sitting beside you with his hand over the wheel.

"I like it as it is." You answered. "It's soft, fluffy, and big. Fragrant too." Because it belongs to Miles.

"It's the first time I've seen you wear something so.." His words trace away, but even without finishing the sentence, you knew what he meant. Unsophisticated— a little too boyish in comparison to your usual, refined clothes. The classic sort of unrefined your dearest mother taught you not to embody.

"What? It's comfortable." Was your attempt of a justification. Montrell shrugs, and you catch a twitch in his eye.

Your family had similar, refined tastes. Montrell, like you, was taught to imbue stylishness in every aspect of his life. He was often Armani-clad. Brunello Cucinelli, Hermes— and every other European household name you could recall. But in special events, he usually sported suits specially tailored to his tastes. His palette was consistently ashen, monochrome, with hints of cherry red. Like his car, which had been only recently cleaned after the staff was updated with his upcoming arrival, a slick, grey Aston Martin. It was likely the peak symbolism of his tastes.

You were never really fond of vehicles, particularly their strong, Italian leather scents (Or stench, as you called it). It was because of your sensitive nose that you often requested the seats to be replaced with anything but leather. Scentless polyester was your more preferred option. Leather alone was enough to urge your stomach to clear out your last meal, by ascending to your esophagus.

"I'm not insulting your tastes. I'm glad you're exploring new aesthetics." He manages to lure out his teeth, a compliment— a not-so-good one at that. "What is this?.. Like, street style? Grunge?.. What's that other one— e-girl, I believe? Or was it Emo?"

"You sound not twenty-five years old."

"Don't be mean. The idea of it is new to me, okay?" He clears. "I haven't seen you in three years. The last time I saw you, mom was the one in charge of your wardrobe. I only ever saw your pictures and you seemed more high-end. Saint Laurent, Dior, Dolce Gabbana."

"Those are my brands, I'm just taking a break. I'm not a walking advertisement. I don't want to get robbed in the middle of Brooklyn either."

With a three-second pause, Montrell looks at you and queried.

"Does that jacket belong to a boy?"

You sit right up, ready to defend yourself when Antonne adds. "You would have to introduce him to me immediately— I won't stand aside while some boy prances around your presence. You're sixteen, and that's a prey-able age for stupid and good-for-nothing men… Unless,” He pauses. “You’re gay.”

"What— What are you talking about!?” You feigned ignorance. “I'm not g— this is— it doesn't belong to a.. Well, it does belong to a boy, but it's my friend's jacket okay?"

Oh, the way Miles would glare at you had he been there.

"Don't try to outsmart me." He shot back. "You’ve got little to no friends.”

You parted your lips. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m only stating the truth.” He sighs. “You’re too condescending, and you hate people.”

“And your sources are what? A small interaction I had when I was twelve?”

Montrell grows uneasy a bit, tapping his nails over the thinly veiled compartment. ".. So who is he?" He starts. "From which family? Who are his parents? And how did the both of you meet?"

"That's none of your business, Mon." You sighed, running a hand across your face. "I'm not seeing him, I'm simply hanging out with another friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, it surely wouldn't hurt for me to meet this friend of yours, then? If he's not a boyfriend."

Your mouth hung open, a steady sigh escaping your lips while you sink a little deeper into your seat. As a hand runs across your cheek, you looked at Montrell as he eases the car down to a red light.

"He doesn't know that I'm a Chávez."

ＢＥＥＰ

Suddenly, you're jolted to a sudden halt— nearly flying out of your seat upon Montrell's way of hitting the brakes. You grabbed onto the board before you with widened eyes and a curse in your mouth.

He remains calm, but slightly irked.

At that moment, he pulls a finger to his lips as if to hush you. He signals with another finger as it leads up to boost the music from the radio. The song blasts, and swiftly, he takes his jug hidden by the side of his seat, unscrewing the top before pouring some of the water onto his palm, flicking at the air conditioner.

Oh, he was checking if the car was bugged.

You hold out your hand, gesturing him to give you some of the water. Together, the both of you took care of the recording devices, from the front of the wheel to the back of the car. Upon gathering all of them, you stuffed it all inside the water bottle, permanently eradicating its usage.

Finally, Montrell places his hands on the wheel and speaks.

“I want you to be honest with me, [Y/n], and cut out any of the bullshittery.”

You feared that at that moment, you and Montrell weren’t brother and sister, but rivals in a battle for power.

ＳＨＯＵＬＤ ＷＥ ＥＡＴ ＹＯＵＲ ＢＲＯＴＨＥＲ？

Your finger twitches.

Wait.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes off a little too similar to tasteless poison. It’s a gamble in itself— and it leaves you sitting upright and crossing your legs.

“He makes me feel alive,” Was your starter. “That’s a power no other boy could do, and it’s a rarity, since I’ve always lived for other people, but he makes me feel like I’m living for myself.”

A short hum exits his lips. “And your happiness? Does he make you happy?”

You harshly swallowed. “What difference would it make if I tell you that he does make me happy?”

Montrell’s gaze narrows a bit, the heel of his boots pressing against the gas as the green light shone. “… I ought to applaud you for your sneakiness if by now, dad still doesn’t know anything about his existence.. Unless,” Gulp. “He ordered you to spy on him.”

“And for what reason?”

“It could be anything,” His grip on the wheel tightens like the coil of a noose. “Hostage, information, any of the latter. I’m not sure why father would send you off to spy on a fifteen-year-old boy, but I’m sure the truth’s far deeper than petty business rival bullshit.”

Your mind blanks.

“It’s nothing like that. I just.. Like him, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie to you about how much he means to me?”

“Because we’re not just siblings, [Y/n],” He whispered. “If anything, we’re not a normal family, but, I’m here for you because I think you’re a good kid, even if everyone else says you’re not.”

“Cease the speech, Mon. I’m not a good person. Stop romanticizing me.”

“But why?” He adds. “Is it because you managed the media and the hotel?”

And hearing those words, you come to face the fact that there was a reason Montrell was your father’s favorite. The effortless way he’s able to read every situation, the effortless way he managed to read through your emotions. It was a talent you could only wish for.

“It was so obvious, you know.” He chuckled. “I knew— I already knew before I came home.”

“Why?”

“Because Antonne handles things messily. He makes decisions without thinking about the consequences, and he despises planning things on the long run. Dad wouldn’t trust anyone outside the family after what happened with Mom, nor would he allow just anyone to handle such shaky affairs. It’s not like it’s beyond father’s morality to hire his own children and calling it practice.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Montrell took one look at you. “The Warehouse. It’s said that it was recently burnt, and that Antonne had to fight the Prowler, but Antonne wouldn’t have had the time to take care of all that because he was investigating you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spat.

“Also, no one but family takes care of the Warehouses.”

“No— I know that, fuck that. You were going to find out one way or another, but what the fuck was Antonne investigating me for?”

Your brother simply shrugs, his shoulders dropping comically.

“It was about that boy.”

“What!?” Your voice breaks a little. “Jesus fuck, what is wrong with him!?”

“Evidently, he’s worried about you.”

You snorted. “Worried!? Worried my ass!” The vulgar way you spoke caught Montrell so off-guard that he had to look at you twice to check if you were still the same person. “I’d rather believe the world’s ending. Antonne and I stopped being siblings the moment he dropped responsibility for all those who were killed, forcing me to step up and do damage control because Dad stopped trusting everyone else.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Plus, there’s nothing to be worried about. The boy I’m meeting he’s.. He’s just.. I like him. That’s it. I know it’s hard to believe since most of the time I’m a conniving bitch, but I genuinely, wholeheartedly like him. Like how a normal teenage girl ought to like a boy.”

Montrell hums. “… Alright, I’ll believe you. It’s not too far off from unusual, when I’m also facing a similar issue.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“… You see, [Y/n], I’ve got also got a girl for myself.” He announced so suddenly. “Met her at Oxford. Like your boy, she bore no idea of who I was.. Who I am, and understandably, and I know you know about this too— but it’s a refreshing feeling to not be recognized as the potential inheritor of a business empire.”

You part your lips, processing the information with confusion all over your expression. “But— there were no reports of you being in a relationship.”

“Of course there weren’t,” He laughs. “I had her carefully hidden from everyone’s sights.”

And that could mean two things. You didn’t want to think of the latter.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Montrell added, turning the wheel. “Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance. It’s frightening to think how Malachi’s going to inherit our tendencies.”

“I’m not,” Your heart raged within the cage of your ribs. “I’m not like that to him. I can never allow myself to trap him.”

“You can either be one of them.” Montrell sighed. “Mom or dad, I mean.”

The good ol’ bird or the cage.

“But I won’t be able to stand by and watch when that does happen,” He straightens his lips. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You can hear the voice whisper back in your mind.

“Which is why I’ve got to meet.. [Y/n]?”

Your hands slithered up against your ears in an attempt to block out the voice.

“[Y/n], are you okay?”

You gasped for air, a familiar voice taunting you like the one from your dreams. Except, this one didn’t speak like the voice of the symbiote, rather, it endowed this sweet allure as though it could sing you a lullaby to sleep.

Before the symbiote, there was someone else who plagued your thoughts and mind and actions.

Before the symbiote, there was your mother.

“Stop the car.” You croaked, palms still over your ears. Montrell speaks, but his words were blurred out into the void of nothingness. The more he speaks, the more your mind shreds itself into pieces. After a long second of thinking, Montrell finally pulls up by the sidewalk, taking his hands off the wheel and pulling one in front of you. He waves it hesitantly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Breathe, [Y/n], breathe.”

“I-I,” You lengthily stammered. “Mon, I’m sorry, but can I go?” As he’s about to answer, you add. “I’ll introduce you another day, I promise, I just, I need to be alone right now.”

“But isn’t it unsafe? We’re in the slums, you’ll never know how—“

“Mon, I can fight.” You ended the conversation with that alone. Hesitantly, he nods and unlocks the door. You reach for the handle, moving along with the click as you turned to leave.

“Can you at least message me when I can pick you up?”

You looked over to Montrell.

“… Okay.”

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Miles!”

And he could already hear you from a block away, jogging with steady and loud steps.

Without even looking up from his phone, he unconsciously opened his arms to welcome you with an embrace— closing in immediately upon your arrival. You felt like you were going to stain his jacket with your glossed lips, but you barely managed to care anymore at this point, as this hug was beyond a need. You clung onto his neck, burying your aching head into the nape of his collar, taking in this familiar scent of spice and wood. A subtle homage, or a reminder of your older brother, Montrell.

What was it about men and their perfume?

It felt like you hadn’t seen Miles in such a long, long time. It was like you were a child who’d parted from their favorite blanket for a little too long that it made you uneasy. You liked the world and space you had between his arms— it was your warmth, your only true home, and it was yours.

All yours.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, simpering around with you in his arms.

“I just want to stay like this for a moment.” You whispered. “I need to steal the warmth off of you.”

“Well, nena, why are you only wearing my hoodie? It’s so cold out.”

“It’s not that.”

Miles’ ears metaphorically perked up upon hearing you sniffle.

“Who the fuck hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

Oh, Miles, you can’t possibly kill off a multi-million dollar industry.

“Can you kill a car, then? My brother drove me here and his car’s smell made me age twenty years,” You grumbled. “I’m boutta die at thirty-seven, I swear.”

“Your brother?” He lightly jolts away, eyes journeying from road to road in search of him. “God, where is he? Is he here?”

And at that moment, Miles subsequently fixes his posture, his words suddenly endowing some strange sort of politeness. You nudge at his shoulder, “I told him to drop me off somewhere else. I didn’t want him to meet you yet.”

“Awe,” He pouted. “Well, that’s aight. I’m gonna dress up real nice when I meet your family.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “And what are you going to be wearing?”

“I’m gonna borrow my unc’s suit, and I’ll talk business with yo father.”

“Only business you’ll be discussing with my father is your damn funeral, Miles. My papa don’t want me out here dating, that’s why he put me in private school.”

“With a face like yours?” He smugly grinned. “Your daddy’s kinda underestimating the power of your pretty face.”

“Oh, so you like me ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking unbearable, that’s what you is.” The boy joked. “M’just kidding. I like you because you’re pretty much everything to me.”

Despite the fluttering of your stomach, you persevered with your little game. “Doesn’t answer anything— what do you like about me? Did you like my face or my personality?”

“I liked you ‘cause of your pretty face, and stayed for your amazing personality.” He answered as though he’d been preparing for the question his whole life.

“Amazing personality?”

“Extravaganza bonanza personality.”

“I’m not a banana split sundae, Miles.”

“Might as well should be with yo damn split personality.”

Your hands dangle away, Miles unconsciously attempts to reach for it but instead accepts defeat when you held his hand. “So where are we going for halloween spirit, exactly?”

“Halloween spirit?” He queried.

“Yeah, didn’t ya mention something about being in halloween spirit?”

Miles paused, holding back a loud laugh in the middle of the street. “My girl, I said I was in Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween?”

“Holy shit,” He verbalized. “You’re in for a scare, nena.”

And he meant those words a little too literally.

Growing up, it wasn’t within your household to make halloween one of your yearly traditions. Your father deemed it unnecessary, while your mother was anything but fun (Same difference, really). Your brothers have celebrated halloween, one way or another, but since you were the child closest to your mother, you were anything but free of her beliefs.

So being greeted with a large, bloodied skeleton first-thing upon entering the building was a first for you.

“WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN THAT!?”

Miles simply explodes into laughter, holding his phone up just to record your reaction. You fall right back, hand still holding onto his. “Come on, nena, you can do it, let’s get past the entrance.”

“Miles, what in THE FUCK is that!?”

“Don’t be mean to your brother, ma.” He attempts to drag you inside as you sat down by the floor with petrification scribbled all over your face. “[Y/n], come on, introduce me to the rest of your family.”

“FUCK YOU!” You whisper-yelled.

“It’s not even moving yet, come on, [Y/n].”

“THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MOVE!?”

After managing to drag you past the animatronics (Which Miles described was a work out in itself), the both of you marveled at the isle where all the costumes were, skimming through the racks and looking at each and every picture. “Oh, Miles— look at this,” You pluck one out, the hanger dangling from your fingers. “It’s Emily from the corpse bride! Shit, I haven’t seen the movie since I was eight.”

“Look at this one, Ma, this shit’s so you.”

He pulls out an Elsa costume.

“Even got the white ass wig and everythin’.” He giggles as you playfully smacked his arm. “Let it go. Let it go.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t hold this shit anymore!~”

“MILES.”

“LET IT GO!”

You tried to hush out his horrible singing, but the way he giggled was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle yourself. When bystanders started walking past the both of you with weird ogles in their gazes, you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughing.

“Puñeta,” Miles added, pulling out a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtles costume. “You’ve got to fucking try this, ma.”

“Miles—“ You couldn’t even continue a sentence without wheezing.

You did eventually find a costume— unlike the original plan, the both of you couldn’t find a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague, but Miles did manage to find a dark priestess costume along with a plague doctor costume.

“We’re like business partners. The patients go to me, and when they die, you send them off.” Was what he said.

“Wouldn’t that make you a really horrible doctor?”

“Doctor’s still a doctor, ma. I mean, it’s the police’s job to protect all of us but if that’s really the case, they’re doing a pretty fucking horrible job at it, but hey, we still call them the police.”

You looked at the mirror, watching the confusion materialize over your face as you heard Miles’ rant behind the curtain. As you clumsily tried on your costume inside the changing room, you couldn’t help but ask. “What makes you say that? That they’re doing a horrible job at protecting y’all?”

As you zipped up the bolero, you hear Miles’ curtain open.

“Well, Ma, brutality’s been upper than hell compared to the last few decades, so’s poverty. For the last four years, the economy’s been going downhill, which made us have a recession. ‘Cause of that, a lot of the cops had to kiss up some of the wealthy folks’ asses to keep their jobs.”

“So that makes them corrupt?”

“That makes them desperate,” He alluded. “No one wants to die of starvation, and they all have families to feed. It’s divide and conquer, really.”

“Divide and conquer?— oops,” You pick up the fallen headdress from the floor. “Expand on that.”

Miles hums a bit. “Imagine the crab mentality. I’ve read about it before for a philosophy research, and it’s a term used in the Philippines. Put a fuck ton of crabs in a bucket. You’re gonna see the crabs drag each other down in order to pull themselves up, but in the end, none of them ain’t gonna reach the top.

Because the true problem was never the crabs, it was the person who put those crabs inside the bucket in the first place. Same goes for us, the poor. We all have to fend for ourselves so we put others down— because if we’re too busy surviving, we don’t have to pay no attention to the rich who put us all inside the damn bucket in the first place.”

The way he described it was so familiar.

It was like he was describing you with your siblings.

ＨＥ’Ｓ ＳＭＡＲＴ. Ｉ ＬＩＫＥ ＨＩＭ.

Hearing the symbiote’s approval echo in your mind, you couldn’t help but smirk.

He’s not just smart. He’s a genius.

ＤＯＮ’Ｔ　ＯＶＥＲＰＲＡＩＳＥ　 ＨＩＭ,

ＳＷＥＥＴＨＥＡＲＴ

Don’t call me that, ever.

His experiences and your experiences were similar despite being so contradictory, and it didn’t make sense. You were rich, so extraordinarily wealthy that the recession was never a part of your problem, hell, the decline of the economy was never your problem— and Miles was struggling along with his family to keep themselves afloat.

And you could never put yourself in his shoes, as you knew nothing of the loss he felt.

But the both of you were kids in line to shape the future, and if the generational trauma ever continued, you’d only end up the oppressor, but you knew, Miles was going to tear himself apart from the title of ‘victim’, and he was going to stand up against you— maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,

But soon, as villain versus hero.

You pushed the curtain away, unveiling the costume to Miles.

But rather than seeing him, he was nowhere to be found.

You lifted the veil, stepping out of the dressing room to take a peek at him, but you couldn’t find any trace of his broad-shouldered figure anywhere. You softly called out for his name, head spinning from constantly turning. Your feet took you forward. You try ignore the giggly and bloodily-clad animatronics whose haunting stares scared you far worse than any unwanted confrontation with any of your family members.

And there he was, talking to a girl.

That sort of closeness— the way they spoke. Laughing, catching up, or something like that. Acquaintances? Friends, maybe?

Something ugly pricked at your skin from within.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

Montrell’s words began to spiral inside your mind. ‘Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance.’

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

The feeling seared your veins, making you dig your nails into the bed of your palm. Your knuckles quivered from the intensity, like a sort of anger you felt when you saw any of your elder brothers being praised for the bare minimum, except.. This one felt different.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

You watched the way her braids fell, wondering if you could pull it off with such grace. High society’s always been too picky, which forced you to drown out most of your interests, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. You wanted to wear the clothes you wanted to wear, try out the makeup you wanted to try.

It felt like your mother’s shadow was being cast on you, making you embody the very phase you feared, your mother’s daughter—

and like your mother, you were quick to get jealous.

And it devoured you, whole.

You faltered, taking a step back before fully pivoting your heel and running off back to the dressing room. You shut the curtain behind you, only now finding the symbiote staring right at you through the mirror— its grotesque body mirroring your move.

“For a girl who knows how to handle most of her emotions, you can’t seem to handle jealousy well.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.”

“And I’m Sofia Vergara.“

“How the fuck do you know who Sofia Vergara is?”

“Memories, my dear.”

You felt a surge of panic take course of you.

“This is unhealthy. I can’t be like this, I don’t even know who she is.” You exasperatedly murmured. “I need to calm down— Miles and I aren’t even official yet.”

“Exactly, so be the lady that you are and introduce yourself, damn it. You have no friends.”

“I have friends.” You seethed. “I’m popular as hell in Acadia.”

“If I had a dollar for every friend you have, I’d be the one giving you a poverty rant.”

“[Y/n]?” Miles pulled you out of your thoughts yet again.

“Y-Yeah?” You called out, whipping your head back. “You done?” He asks, shuffling a bit. You hesitantly open the curtain to reveal yourself, your sights eventually welcoming the image of Miles dressed in all black— with a long, beak-like mask over his head. As you were too busy trying to find his little acquaintance, Miles gawks at you from behind his heavy façade.

The faux black silk draped over your curves seamlessly, the crimson of the bolero gleaming beneath the light as it contrasted against the dress. You lifted the veil past the dark crown like a bride, lashes fanning up to meet him by his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” He sighed. “Wow, you— the woman that you are.”

There was something about the way he looked at you.

It was like you were all that consumed his mind and being. Nonetheless, it was the truth.

But even now, as Miles held out his hand for you to hold, you couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’ll look at you like this until it manifests from love into something else.

“It’s a halloween costume, Miles, not a wedding dress. I can’t possibly be lookin’ all that great.” You took his hand, drawing closer to the mask. “God, you look like a big bird.”

Lost in the way you looked, Miles’ hands unconsciously trailed around your waist, looking down on you with a dumb stare that you couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, the both of you were disrupted by an abrupt cough. You both turn your heads, finding the same girl you’d seen him talking to just a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” She beamed, waving her hand at you. “Hope I ain’t disturbing anything?”

“You definitely were.” Miles’ gaze narrowed. The girl laughed, her white grin wide like a crescent moon. You couldn’t help but think, she’s got such a pretty smile.

“Mind introducing me, Miles?”

With a hand still on your waist, Miles gestures towards you. “This is my lady,”

“[Y/n],” You held out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Both Miles and the girl stared at your open palm.

“Wow, ain’t she prim and proper? Like a princess.” She teased, accepting your hand. “I’m Amadi, nice to meet you too.”

Her palm was warm and smooth, decorated by the lacey sleeve of her periwinkle sweater. She stood in heeled boots, a couple inches taller than you— an inch or two off of Miles’ height. As she shook your hand, the girl couldn’t help but helplessly marvel at you as though you were a statue carved from marble.

“God, how in the hell did you land on Miles? You’re just,” Amadi’s hands airily traced your figure. “You’re just wow. I-Is Miles keeping you hostage or sum? You don’t look nuthin like human. You look outta this world.”

“Thank,” You stifled a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I can hear you, Madi.” Miles churned.

“M’just stating truths ‘cause—“ She clicks her long, acrylic nails. “Why she be lookin’ outta this world while you’s lookin like you snuck onto earth?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your hardest, you very hardest, not to laugh. Miles pulled you back away from her with a disintegrating glare.

“Tu puta madre,” He spat. “.. Go back to Monique.”

“Monique?”

“Mi novia— love of my life, we’re off halloween shopping too. Gotta big date tomorrow, we gon be watching horror movies n shi.” Amadi added, decisively looking around. “Speaking of which, Ionno where she went.”

“She might be with Voshon.” Miles piqued.

“Voshon?” Your head started to spin with the amount of new names you were processing. “That’s a.. Interesting name.”

“Mama was gonna name him Joshua, but my dad wanted to combine or grandparents’ names together, so— Vaughn and Shontelle.. Voila, Voshon.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” You queried. Amadi hums. “Unfortunately. I mean, I’d always preferred being an only child but we all don’t get what we want most of the time.“

“Oh, I definitely get that.”

“No way, you got brothers too?”

“Yeah, I’m the only girl.”

“Can’t imagine the mess in your house, damn.. Hey!”

Amadi soon joins a pair, one with a much brighter and pinker style and the other satisfied with a mere hoodie for marking a fashion statement. You fiddled with the skirt of your dress, evidently nervous as a million thoughts flooded your mind. You weren’t the friendliest person out there, nor were you the most likable out of all your siblings.

It was never easy for you to make friends. Too many found you overbearing, the rest condescending. Your position was overwhelming enough for any other person your age, and those who knew about you were ambitious to make connections and forge deals.

What if they won’t like me?

What if I mess up?

What if I come off as too condescending?

But Miles took your hand, grabbing your attention from the spur of your overthinking. He took off his mask, easing you with the familiarity. One look at him and home found its way back to you.

“You wanna meet ‘em, ma?” He asks.

With an anxious smile, you nodded.

“Of course.”

And like a whirlwind into the night, you were off.

For the first time, you part yourself entirely from the world you knew and entered Miles’ world.

“Oh, hello!” Bubbly and sweet, Monique greeted you with such warmth that it melted away all your previous worries. “Oh my god— don’t tell me,” She glances over to Amadi for confirmation. “Are you the [Y/n] Miles always talks about!?“

“Nica— please—“

“You ARE!”

She spoke of you as though you’d been a legend told to the latter, like a tooth fairy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve been dying to meet you and– wow, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Your cheeks were bound to be flushed. “I think you’re very pretty too. I-I really like your hair and your makeup, it’s super well done.”

“Awe, thank you so much!” She placed a hand over your heart, wholeheartedly touched by your compliment. Monique looks at Miles with a pout.

“… Miles, can you fight?”

“Fuck you mean ‘Can you fight?’, I will square you the fuck up r’now.”

His friends were sweet— welcoming without the need of a surname. Monique, with her free and silk-like curls, was a firecracker who liked glitter on her lids and her nails and her clothes. Amadi was ever-so loving of her, despite preferring black and chains for her aesthetic. The two girls were a stark contrast of one another— and unsurprisingly, Monique already had her mermaid costume prepared and was just helping out Amadi pick her Dracula ensemble.

Voshon, although quieter, was one you recognized as similarly withdrawn and reserved like Miles when the both of you first met. Amadi described him to be a total nerd, and quirky— later proven when he and Miles chased each other with fake swords, running across the aisles while exchanging hits.

When Voshon tosses over the sword to you, however, chaos truly ensued.

“GO GET HIM!” The girls cheered as you and Miles managed to create a questionable chase scene of a Priestess holding a Minecraft sword chasing after a Plague Doctor with a scythe. Onlookers couldn’t help but watch on as the both of you squabbled.

Like a livid cat and its cheesy mouse.

“Esto en un mamey. You too fuckin’ slow!” He teased in between a heave. “Can’t catch me for shit!”

Shit went down as you bent over to take off your boots.

“That ain’t changing, nun— aye puta.” Miles narrowly avoids one of the shoes that came flying at his direction. He looks over like a child in awe, head following the direction of wherever it went.

“I never knew you were Latina, mam– MIERDA LOCO, CEBOLLA COÑO!” And a couple other curses exit his tongue as you tackled him to the ground with a loud crash.

You let a hearty, chesty giggle escape your lips. The adrenaline got you cackling like a comical villain, that even Miles couldn’t help but laugh helplessly along with you. Seeing you like that, with your hair all wild and your smile at its wildest, it softened his whole being.

“… You’re so pretty, mami.” He airily sighed with a cough to the side.

“.. Sure.” Was all you could answer.

And of course, after getting an earful from the staff, you and Miles finally ended your tiny sword-fighting sequence. After changing out of the costumes, all five of you prompted to test out the animatronics.

It was about taking turns.

“AYE, MAMAHUEVO.”

And it was also when you realized, Amadi was Dominican.

You learned a lot of Spanish that day, especially from one step of a button to activate an animatronic.

Everyone’s mouths were.. Extraordinarily filthy.

But you liked it— from watching bursting and spinning animatronics screaming bloody murder at you, to going around talking about all kinds of things with his friends.

“God, I’ve always wanted one of those.” Amadi points at the lace parasol one of the mannequins were holding. “It’s so Morticia Addams.”

“Well, maybe you should get it.” You suggest. “It’d look great with your vampire costume.”

Amadi sighed. “I only got money for the costume, can’t buy sum like that. Maybe I’ll just DIY it with my nana’s old umbrella.”

You squinted a tiny bit, eyeing the sign that announced in bold lettering: $16.99.

And for privileged little you, the sixteen was just change for a hundred dollar bill, which made you inadvertently blurt out. “I can pay.”

“Nah, girlie, it’s gon’ take me whole two to three months ‘fore I can afford to pay you back.”

“I mean, it’s fine—“ You realized just how spoiled you were sounding. “I recently got my paycheck so I guess I can buy you something.”

“Where do you work, though?” Monique added, clinging onto your other hand as the left one was occupied by Miles. “Like do you work at a café or a restaurant?”

“Family business,” You vaguely replied. “Boring stuff. But my dad pays me well enough, so I guess I can live with it— so maybe I can pay for that.”

“No, no, no.” Amadi answered, accent thick. “Really, we can pay for it ourselves.”

But you couldn’t ignore it. Not when you could see Miles openly contemplating on buying the costume or not— as he’s been fiddling with the price tag the whole time you two were walking. And you’ve seen the way Voshon’s been eyeing the diamond sword for a while now.

So you made up your mind.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a moment— can you hold this for me, Miles?” You gently nudged your costume towards him before walking away without another word. As you did so, the group gawked in confusion.

“… Where’s she going? The bathroom’s that way.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Chávez’s office, how may I help you?”

A simple, roundabout greeting, said over and over for the last few years. Usually followed by a “No, he’s not available at the moment” or a “I’ll take word”, but for the first time, the secretary stammers in embarrassment with her nails clutching onto the phone for dear life. The old man behind the wide, glass doors took note of his poor assistant’s sudden faltering, yet he maintains naturally unfazed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put him on the phone with you right this instant.”

Stumbling in her high heels, the secretary staggers inside the man’s office with the whole telephone in her hand.

“Sir, you’ve got an important call.”

“I’m busy, Nicole.”

“It’s your daughter— Miss [Y/n]?” She uttered your name as though you’d materialize out of thin air after chanting it three times. She was horrified of you.

With a click of his tongue, your father picks up the phone.

“What do you want?” He instantly asks of you.

“Dad, remember how you’ve always claimed that the celebration of halloween is unnecessary?”

Without even uttering an answer, you decisively went on.

“Well, in November, there is a tremendously large spike of sales when it comes to anything horror-related. It’s always been capitalist to clad November as a scary month in order to convince people to buy into scary things—“ He hears something tumble in the background. “— and since late October to early November is usually one of the hotel’s lowest months, I figured my proposal would be a perfect proxy for my apology for the way I acted during dinner.”

You didn’t even know what you were talking about at this point, but you were willing to try.

“.. What are you talking about?” He snaps.

“Well, I—“ You hesitated a bit. “I researched a bit, and I’ve come with an unsure solution.”

“What is it?”

“… Can we buy Spirit Halloween?”

#miles morales #42 miles morales #42 miles morales x reader #astv miles #astv x you #astv x reader #miles morales x reader #astv x y/n #miles morales x you #astv #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales prowler #miles morales x y/n #prowler miles #miles morales 1610

[tsireyasluvr]

modern au neteyam headcanons <3

pairing: neutral gender!reader x neteyam

warnings: none!

• he’d be a senior

• he’s on the football team because jake loves football and it totally rubbed off on him

• he looks for you in the crowd during his games, smiles when he sees his number on your cheek

• he’s really busy with school, he’d definitely take an unhealthy balance between AP and regular classes and always has homework.

• he just wants to impress his parents

• so sometimes during your more casual dates he’ll be doing homework

• you’ll be cuddled up together on the couch watching a movie, laying against his chest and he’ll have a hand over your stomach. the other is finishing writing a paper on the side table

• “teyam! you’re not paying attention!” you’d complain after noticing. “im sorry princess, i’m almost done” he’d say, kissing the top of your head

• he got his license but only because he was kinda forced. Neytiri hates driving and Jakes road rage scares Tuk, so it kinda fell on him. he’s not particularly against it though, and it is useful. plus, since it wasn’t really his idea, neytiri and jake bought him his first car.

• the passenger seat is ofc reserved just for you

• kiri crocheted him a cover for his steering wheel and he loves it. it’s the perfect shade of brown

• he pierced his ears to match with his mom

• him and neytiri go on mother/son dates all the time. hes a total mamas boy, and he loves to catch her up on things.

• he also likes to hang out in the kitchen with her when she cooks, and he’s picked up on some things so he knows a little bit on how to cook.

• absolutely loves frank ocean.

• he really loves r&b and music in general. he always has something quietly playing in his room, and he actually became really fond of morning drives when he’s by himself listening to his playlist

• he’s not super huge on PDA at school, but he does love everyone knowing who his significant other is.

• he’ll hold your hand or have an arm around your waist when you walk through the halls together, and he always walks you to your classes. even if yours are across the school from his

• he also drives you to school every morning, and home whenever he doesn’t have practice.

• texts you good morning as soon as he wakes up, which is always bright n early. like 6 am

• you think it’s super cute that that’s how he starts his day

• unfortunately he goes to bed just as early so when he’s not working, he’s asleep by 9:30.

and that’s it! lmk if you want more <3

#modern avatar #neteyam headcanons #neteyam x you #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar headcanons #neteyam x reader

[muffinbeliever]

Jacob black for prompt 12 would be appreciated. (fem reader)

Forever Yours

The reader spots Jacob and Bella walking along the shores of La Push, and she is reminded of everything that had happened, before she is faced with a choice of what could be.

Pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

Word Count: 1809

Warnings: just like sad stuff i guess... not much resolution but a little resolution at the end ?

A/N: wow. this is actually so terrible. i have no words as to how long it took me to crank this out and im actually really disappointed in myself and i would like to formally apologize to everyone, especially @sugaraddict301 who has been waiting patiently for MONTHS and now its just a terrible one shot that i could barely eke out but it has been weighing on my mind particularly heavily these past couple of days so i just knocked something out

Masterlist

The cool ocean breeze swept your hair across your face, leaving you sputtering like a fool. You wrapped the ends of your blanket tighter around your body, as the sounds of the waves crashing accompanied your friends giggles beside you. 

It was cloudy, but that didn’t stop your friends from dragging you out of the house and to La Push. None of you surfed, and it was definitely too cold to swim, but you were enjoying the time out with your friends, cracking jokes and complaining about classes. At least you had been, until two figures walking together along the shore caught your eye. 

It was like your heart had been crushed, and all of the air left your lungs. 

He was with her. 

Jacob Black— your first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. 

You got up from where you were sitting— no longer feeling like hanging out with your friends— and began walking alongside the shore, in the opposite direction of them. Eventually, you found a large rock, one that you could sit on and observe the depths of the water.

Of course, you were ecstatic to hear of her return to the rainy town, having fond memories of braiding hair and sleepovers, but along with the happiness came bits of grief. You knew of the feelings that lingered between her and Jacob, your ex-boyfriend never fully getting over the dark-haired girl.

You had read that first loves shine the brightest and hurt the worst, which you unfortunately found out the hard way. The two of you grew up together, tugging on each other’s hair in simple, childish bouts of teasing. It was unclear when romantic feelings for your friend developed, but one day you were suddenly hit by waves of emotion, and you found yourself on a rapidly-moving train with no stop in sight. 

It wasn’t until you were 14 that you began to act on these feelings, after sensing that Jacob had felt the same. Dating Jacob was like breathing— it never took much effort nor thought, it simply existed. Your routines didn’t change much; you still hung out for the majority of the week, enjoying the time spent together. 

Some days you would watch movies for hours, cuddling on the couch in your living room, throwing out corny quips and references that only the two of you understood. Other days, you would simply coexist, working side-by-side but separately. And that was okay too. 

For three years, you followed this routine. It was simple, and it worked. It was filled with love and adoration but also immense respect and joy. Until one night, Jacob revealed something to you, completely catching you off guard and changing the course of your relationship for the worse. 

“Jake,” you started as the laugh track of the sit-com you were watching accompanied in the background. 

“Hmm?” He asked, and you felt the reverberation from his chest through your body.

It was Saturday, and the two of you were intent on spending the day inside, away from the bitter cold of Forks winters. You had finished your homework last night, in anticipation of cuddling up with your boyfriend for hours on the couch. You were both laying on the couch, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close against his body.

“Did you ever think we would end up together?” You asked. 

It was not an investigative inquiry, but rather just a random question that popped into your mind. You twisted your head back, looking at him with a smile that fell when you saw his eyes clouded with a haunted look. 

“Babe?” You asked, tentatively. And he blinked quickly, snapping out of his trance. By this point, worry filled your heart, and it beat fervently against your chest. You felt your hands grow clammy with sweat, and you began to pull away from his warm embrace. 

“I, uh… If I’m going to be completely honest,” he started, and your breath hitched, a deep pit in your stomach forming. You mentally cursed yourself, cursing your curiosity and inability to simply leave things be. 

“I had the biggest crush on Isabella Swan when we were younger. I don’t know what it was, but something about her just drew me in,” he continued. 

You and Bella Swan used to be close friends, being the same age and all. But after she stopped visiting Forks for summer and winter break, the two of you began to drift apart, no longer writing each other letters filled with life updates. In your later teens, as life began to pick up, you had almost forgotten about her completely— the thought of her, merely a childhood memory.

Your heart clenched, and you stirred up the courage to ask the first question on your mind— the most important question. 

“If she didn’t move away, would you still be with me?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer, but you needed to. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. 

Your stomach dropped, and you pulled away further, no longer wanting to be near him. 

“Oh,” you said. And that was all you could say.

“No, baby, it’s not like that though. I love you, you know I love you. Who cares about the ‘what ifs’? Who cares about the hypotheticals? We’re together now, and that is all that matters to me. You matter.” 

You could tell he was trying his hardest to reassure you, to backtrack and make up for his mistake, and you knew that it was partially your fault for backing him into a corner, but the damage was done. 

What was said could not be unsaid, and that is the nature of living. 

That night was a low point in your relationship— in your life. It was the turning point of the pure, uncomplicated love that you had for Jacob. It created friction between you two, even though you desperately tried for it not to. You both did. At one point, it was too much to bear, and you let go. You walked away from him. 

You were unsure as to how long you were sitting there, but you heard soft footfalls in the sand, alerting your senses to a presence behind you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. 

“I should’ve known better than to come here,” you said, tears filling your eyes, still focused on the shore. 

You didn’t want to look at him. 

It was hard to speak, the huge lump in your throat creating a crack in your voice along with the stinging of tears. At that moment, you embraced the cliche. Childhood loves never fully died, and now, you could attest to that based on first-hand experience. 

“Y/N,” Jacob started, with a sad smile. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Even though we may not be together anymore, the Rez is your home too.” 

You shook your head in defiance, and finally you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, ones that were once filled with love and happiness for you. 

“No, I can’t keep coming here. I think we should stay away from each other, Jacob.” 

His eyes softened with sadness, and you swore you saw heartbreak in his eyes. But maybe you were just projecting. 

“You don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I…” you sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s that I can’t. I can’t move on from you if I don’t step away now.” 

His eyes crinkled in confusion and his head tilted, reminding you of a kicked dog that simply did not understand the complexities of life. 

“What changed? We still would see each other after we broke up. It was hard at times, sure, but I think that’s natural.” 

Your heart was heavy, and the tears spilled over as you came to terms with bearing your heart to him one last time. One more time and then never again. 

“I can’t stand looking at the two of you together, knowing that used to be us. I miss us. I miss the way we were together. And I know that you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I want you to know that I’m okay with that. I understand. I just don’t think this is healthy for me… for either of us,” you stated with finality, truth ringing in your voice. 

“You don’t think I miss you? Miss us?” He whispered, and you shook your head. 

“I know you don’t, Jacob. I see the way you look at her, and you never looked at me that way,” your breath shook as you attempted to take a calm inhale. “And like I said, that’s okay. I’m okay. I just can’t keep hurting myself by staying.” 

Jacob was quiet, and you waited with baited breath to hear his response. He looked away, his eyes towards the shore where the waves crashed upon the black sand. Sand that you would often roll around in together on the rare sunny days, laughing and splashing your time away. 

“You’re wrong,” he stated, still staring at the murky water. 

“I did… look at you like that. I still look at you like that. You just didn’t see it. You never do. You never look at me anymore, and it kills me to know that it’s my fault. I lost you. I should’ve held onto you when I had the chance— I should’ve fought harder for you. I lay in bed, thinking about you. About all the time we spent together, and how I would trade anything in the world to get those moments back. To get you back. And I am so sorry, Y/N, for not telling you. For not reassuring you that it’s you I want. Not her. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

It was your turn to remain quiet, unsure of what to say, of what could be said. 

You found yourself in tears, silently sobbing on the rock that numbed your body, or so you had tried to convince yourself. That it was the rock that did it. And not the boy next to you. 

He pulled you in a comforting embrace, not unlike the ones he would pull you into when you were together. He rested his chin on top of your head, cradling you close to his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispered, barely heard over the crashing of the waves.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, muffled by the fabric of his cotton black t-shirt.

You were unsure as to what this meant for the future, for the next steps of your relationship. But you knew that the pieces of your heart were beginning to be stitched back together, slowly, but surely. 

And that was all the reassurance you needed in that moment. 

Taglist: @final-girl96 @garfieldsladybird @britty443 @cevans-winchester @oh-kurva

#jacob black #jacob black x reader #jacob black x female reader #jacob black angst #reader x jacob black #y/n x jacob black #twilight #twilight angst #twilight oneshot #request #muffinbeliever #sugaraddict301

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ i ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

author's note: i wont take tags for this im sorry 😭 also, i changed the faceclaim

masterlist.

The room is dimly lit. You didn't like dim lighting. It reminds you of your childhood bedroom. A barely functioning lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, your mother never bothering to change it. You were too short to change it yourself. You asked your neighbor once to do it for you but he had asked for a night with you in exchange so you kicked him out of the house before he could change the light bulb. You chose to study under the sucky light which became the reason behind your poor eyesight today.

You sit on a chair across Atty. Kim Jin Hwang, HAN entertainment's legal representative and one of the best lawyers Seoul has to offer, with a table dividing the two of you. He’s a man in his fifties, quite close to the age of retirement. He’s a veteran and despite his age, his mind is still sharp. 

You refrain yourself from tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Anxiety does not look good on you and you refuse to show people that you're anxious. Anxiety is weakness so you keep your posture straight and make sure to keep eye contact with Atty. Kim. If you look away first, you're a coward.

“Tell me honestly. Is this you in the pictures?” Atty. Kim Jin Hwang points at the pictures sprawled across the table. They’re blurry and grainy and incredibly zoomed in. You can't even tell it was you from some angles. You look quite different from the person that you were when you were sixteen. HAN Entertainment is particularly fond of investing in their idol’s plastic surgeries and while they only fixed your crooked teeth, removed the hump on your nose bridge, altered your uneven ears, bleached your skin, and plucked your brows—which are quite minor changes—you still hold very little resemblance to the teenage you. 

You grew up well. Thankfully, you inherited only the best parts of your parents. Or at least, the best parts of your Mom. You have no idea what your father looked like, only knowing that he was from Brazil or some country in South America.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, not bothering to lie. What is the point of lying anyway? People have been calling you all sorts of malicious names across different social media platforms and you’re sure Atty. Kim has seen some of them. There’s no point lying to his face and saving your image anymore. Might as well admit that you are exactly the kind of person they’ve been yapping about. An illegal driver. A criminal. 

“Why did you do it?” Atty. Kim asks and truthfully, you did not expect the question. You expected the what and how and where and when but never the why question. You fall into a thoughtful pause.

“I was sixteen,” you shrug your shoulders, almost uncaringly so. “I wanted to leave home as early as I could and to do that, I needed money. Nobody wanted to accept student part-timers and I tried doing stuff like tutoring and doing other people’s assignments but it wasn't enough. I have a friend who joins street races. He’s not a good driver but he’s got a good car. He really wants to win so he cheated and let me drive his car on the condition that if I win, he’ll split me the winner’s money. I did it. I won races in that car, acting as if he was the one driving it.”

Atty. Kim gives you a long look. You don’t know what it means. 

“Alright,” Atty. Kimlifts his chin and rises from his chair. “That concludes our meeting. In the meantime, you lay low. We’ll handle everything.”

You nod, “Okay.”

True to Atty. Kim’s words, HAN entertainment handled everything. They released a statement that you watched one race because you were sixteen and clueless and didn't know you were getting yourself involved in an illegal activity. It helped that you drove under a different name so people were easily convinced of this lie. You knew your friend—the owner of the car— wouldn't even reveal that it was you who’d driven the car. His ego would be bruised once the people discovered that he cheated on the street races and a sixteen-year-old girl with no license and no personal car outperformed him. 

Additionally, HAN announced that you were to depart your group—ORACLE—which absolutely destroyed you because ORACLE had been the place where you felt like you belonged. ORACLE had been your goal. You worked yourself to the bone to the point of collapse because you wanted to be in ORACLE and wanted to remain in ORACLE.

Nevertheless, you accepted your fate easily. There was no point destroying the other members because of your fault alone. 

Your members cried for a whole week after the announcement was made public through HAN Entertainment’s official social media platforms and you spent every single day you could still spend inside the dorm reassuring them, telling them that you’d still be there for them, that you’d be standing behind them in each step to their success. You loved your girls so much. You wouldn't even choose to leave them. If only fate was a bit kinder to you. If only life was less brutal.

Furthermore, HAN made you publish a handwritten apology letter. You couldn't remember what you wrote anymore but you did remember how heavy the pen felt, how your hands trembled as you wrote each sentence, how writing the damn letter took three hours because you kept breaking down midway. They announced your hiatus promptly after. They used the term indefinite hiatus but it might as well be retirement.

You can't believe that you suffered through sixteen years under the same roof as your incredibly abusive mother, left home with only a backpack and a paper bag of cash just as you hit eighteen years old, worked your way in the harsh world by juggling three part-time jobs and a scholarship-shouldered university education until a scout noticed you, undergone the rigorous and borderline suicidal training of a KPop idol to-be, and sacrificed everything you had—mental stability, blood, sweat, and tears—just so you could pass every monthly evaluation and become your company’s darling, only to have everything disappear because someone found pictures of you predebut in an illegal street racing event. Fuck. 

You were fucking sixteen at that time! You didn't know any better. You only wanted money. You didn't have a license. Getting one is too expensive. You borrowed a car from a friend. It's an unregistered car. You drove the car. You won races. You stopped when you turned eighteen. That was it. 

Knetz decided to crucify you for a sin born out of your desperation when you were sixteen. When a dog was hungry, it ate whatever was thrown its way, uncaring if the food thrown at it was good or not because its primary instinct was only to cure its hunger. It was not as if you sexually assaulted someone. It was not as if you bullied someone and involved yourself in school violence. It was not as if you drank alcohol and drove or even involved yourself in gambling. Sure, street racing was illegal but you never even hurt someone! You never even crashed into someone mid-race.

You’re sure you’re going to leave the company and you won't fight their decision if they want you to do so. People spit out their gum when they lose their flavor. That's also what the industry did. You saw it happen too many times to too many idols. They collect pretty faces, push them to their limits until they could be loved by the public and once the public decides they’re not worth loving anymore, they’d spit them out. You are a gum in this story.

You feel like you’re eighteen again. You want to run away from home all over again. You ran away from the house you were born in once and now, you’re going to run away from the house you worked hard to live in. You want to pack your bags and board the next plane to another country even before the light of the rising sun touches the ground. That gnawing feeling of not belonging to a place that’s supposed to be home kept tormenting the cracks of your heart and the only way to seemingly get rid of it albeit only temporarily is to pick up on your feet and run away, never to leave anything behind you. Not ghosts, not traces, not memories—nothing.

But HAN entertainment won't let you. Yoon PD-nim knocked on your door, a contract in hand. He offered you an apartment to live in, a salary, a place in the company, and told you to keep creating songs. HAN Entertainment knew your talent in song making and producing was partly behind the success of ORACLE, their rising girl group. You were too useful to get rid of easily. 

And like that, you spent the last two years making music for every kpop group under HAN Entertainment. You mostly made B-sides for the junior girl groups, AURORA and PRIZMA, and the title tracks for boy groups, HIRA and 1THEBOY. You worked for soloist, Ciel, once for his last comeback before his mandatory military service and worked on half a mini-album’s worth of songs for ORACLE every comeback. Thankfully, the songs gained positive feedback from the general public. That was your ticket to keep staying in HAN entertainment as a ghost producer and ghost song-writer.

Two years. You rotted in your apartment and the studio. This felt no different than the time you lived under your parents’ roof. You felt like a ghost, present but also not quite there. It's quite fitting, you think. You're a ghost producer and a ghost song-writer. 

This was not a life worth living but you’d rather a life not worth living than have nothing at all. 

You empty your fifth cup of coffee for the day—an unhealthy brew of Americano with five shots of espresso—before standing up from the ergonomic chair where you’ve glued your ass on in the last two to three business hours. The demo for Sunset Paradise is almost finished. There are still a few parts that need major adjustments and refinement but you’re confident that you’ll be done by midnight.

Manager-nim enters the studio just as you reach the door. You jump, almost kicking the indoor potted plant inconveniently positioned near the door. The caffeine made you extra jumpy today. Once you get over your tiny shock, you bow your head in greeting. Manager-nim mirrors your actions.

“You're still working?” he asks.

“You're still bald?” 

Manager-nim rolls his eyes at you, smiling. You chuckle. 

Manager-nim, or rather, Song Dan, is ORACLE’s manager. He is a middle-aged man who only came up to your shoulders. He’s shaped like a square with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He treated you and the other members of ORACLE as if you were his daughters. 

“I’m going to go get coffee. You can sit here for a while,” you invite, gesturing to the tiny cream couch. You use your feet to nudge the potted plant and clear Manager-nim’s path.

“No coffee,” Manager-nim stops you, taking a seat. “That's enough coffee for you today. Sit down here. We need to talk.”

“You can't kick me out. I won't give you Ciel’s first post-military mini album and ORACLE’s summer title track if you do.”

Manager-nim’s eyebrows draw together, a vertical wrinkle appearing between them, “What? No. We're not kicking you out.”

Your shoulders sag, relieved.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single.”

At that, your entire body stiffens, eyes going wide as saucers. You let out a noise in disbelief.

“You're joking.”

Manager-nim’s face doesn't shift in the slightest.

“You're actually serious,” you rub your chin with your hand. 

What is Yoon PD-nim trying to pull now? Two years have passed since you’ve disappeared from the limelight. You're certain that you're not returning to the world of flashing lights and stage performance anymore and you’ve already accepted that your career has ended.

“Why?” your voice slightly wavers as you ask. Manager-nim sighs heavily, patting the vacant space beside him.

“Take a seat. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She looks exhausted. She has deep bags underneath her eyes. Her shoulders are bony. They look like they're about to pierce through her pale skin. Her lips, which should be a nice shade of pink, are pale. Her eyes hold emptiness.

You pull your gaze away from your reflection and direct it to the bathroom sink, where a hair brush sits on the white tiles quietly. Fallen hair gathers up in its numerous sharp teeth. At this rate, you’re going to end up like Manager-nim—bald. 

You can't go bald. You have a weirdly shaped head.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single but before the release, he needs you to be in a PR relationship with someone.”

You hiss loudly, slapping a hand on your temple. God, you want to act like Manager-nim never said that. You don't want to remember it.

You? A PR relationship? With someone you don't know? How atrocious. You didn't even need to hear Manager-nim out until the end. You are out. You do not vibe with romantic relationships. They make your skin crawl.

“Listen, [Name]. This might be your only chance to come back again.”

“What if I don't want to come back again?”

“Then why are you still here? Why are you still making music? You're good at leaving so why didn't you?”

The public still terrifies you but you will never tell that to anyone. You can’t even go out and buy groceries without trembling. So many eyes. So many judging eyes. They're all waiting to destroy you again with their stupid eyes and stupid mouths with sharp teeth. A stupid PR relationship won't save you.

But what if it will?

You hold the edges of the sink and lean the majority of your weight against it. Your knuckles slowly turn white. Your knees feel weak. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

Why are you still here? A voice in your head asks.

I just want to be home. You reply.

Do it. This is your ticket to go home. It says.

You open your eyes and gaze into the mirror. 

Do you want to be home?

More than anything.

With a nod, you push yourself away from the sink and exit the bathroom.

Yoon Sang Hyuk, CEO of HAN Entertainment—the black marble desk name plate indicates; the text an intimidating shade of gold. The owner of the name sits behind the table, his legs crossed over the other. His face is sealed with a neutral expression. Suddenly, a satisfied smile works its way across his face and you swear the wrinkles that permeated his entire face doubled in amount.

“I knew you still had it in you,” he says calmly. “That's good.”

“Thank you,” you say, your tone coming out bland. 

“I’ll give you a manager and you are to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Oh and [Name]?”

“Yes, Yoon PD-nim?”

“I know you're smart and you're hardworking and you're strong,” he begins. “I am confident you’ll do well so when you fly out there, don't be intimidated by any of them. You're as powerful as them. Remember the reason why you're there in the first place and do what you think is best.”

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you observe. 

It's questionable; the amount of trust he’s giving you. You already expected that Yoon PD-nim would send out an entire escort team just to make sure that you're not going to mess up again and get yourself involved in a PR nightmare incident. Who knows? Maybe someone will dig up pics of you copying homework from your seatmate in middle school and crucify you for being an academic cheater while you're out there holding hands with your fake boyfriend.

“I know you won't make the same mistake twice.”

You finally catch the underlying message behind his seemingly harmless words.

Focus on coming back and don't make another mistake. 

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Lando Kinder Norris,” you read the name on the folder, brows furrowing. That's a rather unique middle name. “British-Belgian. Born November 13, 1999—” 

It's good that your fake boyfriend and you were born in the same year. You're not very fond of age gaps.

“—in Bristol, England. Currently racing for McLaren. Car number 4. First entry is the Australian Grand Prix.”

Below is a series of long paragraphs detailing his racing history that you’re definitely not reading. Shoving the folder aside, you lean back into the seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes flutter close. Jinnie, a HAN entertainment manager who looks like she’s half white and half Asian, gives you a judging look from her seat. 

“You should read it,” she advises.

“No,” you say.

“I spent hours compiling that information,” Jinnie frowns. 

“You compiled the wrong info,” you tell her, not even bothering to glance towards her. “Nobody will believe we’re real if I only know the things written in Wikipedia. You should have asked his PR team how he likes his coffee, if he prefers brunch dates or dinner dates, if he likes staying in or going out, if he likes the sunny weather or the rain, if he’d rather get food delivery or cook, if he’d like to hold hands and walk side by side or walk ahead of you so he can act like your guard dog. Those things.”

To be loved is to be known.

“You speak as if you have romantic experience.”

“Do poets have to experience the things they write poetry about?” you retort. “Immanuel Kant believed that everything depended on how individuals interpret and respond to his environment based on their personal opinions and feelings. I don't need to experience it to know.”

Recurring observations are your common source of knowledge. Reading is another.

And besides, this isn't your first PR relationship. You like to think that you know exactly what you're doing.

“Tell me something that's not written in the folder, Jinnie-ssi,” you open your eyes and tilt your head so you can lock eyes with her. “For example, why does a distinguished racer need a fake relationship? I can’t be the only one benefiting from this agreement.”

Jinnie purses her lips, “I don't know much.”

“But you know something,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Tell me.”

“There have been rumors that Lando Norris got a girl pregnant. The woman marched into Woking and demanded to see him. Apparently, he got her pregnant when they slept together in a bar,” Jinnie shakes her head. “It's a messy ordeal but McLaren recently proved that Lando wasn't the father. Too bad though, the public isn't believing them.” 

“And they think giving him a girlfriend would somehow make the public love him?”

“They need to show the world that their boy isn't an asshole,” Jinnie says. “That he’s a loving, loyal partner. That he isn't capable of committing fuckboy crimes because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.”

You snort. McLaren really decided that you’ll be the best girlfriend? How did they even know your existence? The KPop community and the F1 community are worlds far away from each other. It's easier for them to choose a supermodel, an American actress, or even a pop star. But no, they really decided that a washed-up KPop idol is a good girlfriend for their star boy. You can think of a few reasons why they chose you. 

“Are you sure he really isn't the father?” you ask. Companies can ignore morality for the sake of protecting their golden images. HAN Entertainment is no different. For all you know, you’re going to be fake dating an asshole who made a woman pregnant and refused to take responsibility. He’d be no different from your father who left your pregnant mother.

“Beats me.”

An hour later, the plane lands in the most expensive city in the world, Singapore.

You have three choices: a VAQUERA blue devil sweatshirt, Motel Rock chute trousers, and a Adidas forum low shoes combo, or a varsity baseball jacket, Bonbom rhee cargo pants, and a Curetty C round toe mary janes combo. You went with the varsity jacket-cargo pants-mary janes combo. You put on a bonnet to finish the look. When Jinnie enters the hotel room and sees what you're wearing, she immediately says:

“No. You're definitely not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with this?” you ask, looking down at your fit. This is what you usually wear. They're comfortable and acubi fashion is a trend nowadays. 

“You're a WAG now. Dress like it.”

Your eyebrow arches.

“WAG?”

“Wife and girlfriend,” Jinnie replies. Your confusion isn't absolved, not even the slightest. Your mouth pulls to the side.

“And how does this correlate to my fashion sense? Do race car drivers control their girlfriend’s fashion style?” you genuinely question.

“No,” Jinnie says. “But they’d prefer it if you dress in something befitting for a WAG, you know? Elegance? Classic timely looks?”

You put a finger up, “No.”

Jinnie huffs, “I’m not taking a no for an answer. Wear a satin dress. Wear cotton trousers and silk blouses. Look like you're from an old money family, not some hip hop dancer from the streets. You're no longer your own person, you are an extension of Lando Norris. You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain way. Your goal is to make Lando Norris look good.”

You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek, annoyed. Your jaw is tense.

“And when Lando Norris looks good, you’ll look good. Good enough that the public will love you again to support your new song. Do you understand?”

She's right.

She's right.

You hate that she's right.

No matter how bitter the truth tastes, you are irrelevant and Lando Norris is your ticket to going back. In any other world, you will never ever allow yourself to become a jewelry for a man to wear. So you grit your teeth, keep the ugly prideful monster within you at bay, and clench your fists. You have nothing and when you have nothing, you need to be resourceful and make use of the people who have the things to push you to the top again.

You let out a sigh, “Jinnie, choose my outfit for me.”

Jinnie nods and leaves the room immediately.

It's three days before the Singapore FP1 2023. Jinnie drives you to meet Lando in his hotel. They organized a lunch gathering with you, Jinnie, Lando, and the other McLaren PR representatives who are responsible for this entire PR scam. 

You're wearing a Versace tweed cardigan and a boucle tweed skirt paired with high heel leather boots and Greca goddess large shoulder bag. All black in color. Jinnie is the one who styled your hair. She insisted on it actually, claiming that your beach waves hair isn't doing it. She flat ironed the hell out of your hair so now, it's straight as a pole. She also sprayed your bangs with strong hold hairspray to keep them in place.

The outside world is nothing but a blur of high-rise buildings and cement pavements as the car runs. You're picking on your nails. They're clean but bare of manicures. Your two pinky nails are a bit too short. You tried to stop yourself from biting them in the airport but you can’t resist.

Two years is a long time. A bit too long in your opinion. You don't remember the things you learned in your etiquette classes anymore—how to stand in the public, how to walk, how to pose in front of the cameras, how to smile, how to greet people, how to look completely in your element despite being anxious of having a thousand eyes staring at you, how to act as if you're not crumbling at the pressure of looking good for everyone. That's the only way they’ll love you. If you look good in their eyes.

“We’re here.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

Jinnie points outside the car window. The car stopped and you didn't notice.

“Sorry,” you mutter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You let out a breath, roll your shoulders back, and push the door open. Your entire face relaxes and you smile politely at the valet when Jinnie hands him the keys of the car. You ignore the starstruck expression on his face as you gesture to Jinnie to lead the way, following after her but not before saying your thanks to the valet. You're polite. You're trained to be.

You keep your shoulders square and your walk confident as you enter the hotel lobby. There aren’t a lot of people inside. There's a family of four in a corner, a group of elderly people sitting in the waiting area, and a group of posh friends chatting near the front desk. You can see a few heads turning in your peripheral vision. You can't blame them. You can be stunning if you try to be.

Your heart begins to ram violently against your rib cage. A million butterflies infest your intestines. Your ankles feel like it’ll snap in half a few minutes later. Your mind chants: DID THEY NOTICE HOW SCARED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE HOW TERRIFIED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE? DID THEY?

You want your ball cap and your sunglasses and your face mask. You want to hide your face.

You have to control your breathing as subtly as you can but you continue walking as if you're the prettiest yet the most down-to-earth creature to ever grace the planet. You fix your hair again once Jinnie and you stop in front of the elevator. Jinnie presses a button and you wait. While waiting, you twist the sole of your boot against the floor. It's better than tapping it against the floor. The elevator dings and the two of you enter the empty box.

When the doors close, your knees give out. You slam your hands against the stainless steel walls to stop yourself from dropping to your knees on the floor. Jinnie’s hands wrap around your waist, supporting as you pull yourself up. Her face contorts in worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You nod quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lay your palm against your chest, right above your drumming heart. “Thanks.”

You straighten up, tugging the hem of your Versace tweed outfit to smoothen the creases and fixing your hair again. You clear your throat. The elevator dings and the doors open. You step out and your mask slides in place. 

Jinnie leads you to a private dining hall. In the middle of a hall is a table occupied by five people wearing tacky orange-black polo shirts. You recognize one of them to be your fake boyfriend, Lando Norris. 

Jinnie had already shown you what he looked like in her tablet and a few printed pictures but the pictures didn't do him justice. He looks extra charming personally.

He's still not your type.

The entire group rises to a stand just as you and Jinnie reach the table. You give a ninety degree bow, hands flat on the collar of your top so you won't accidentally give the McLaren people a view of your chest. (It's not like they have something to see anyway. Your chest is flatter than a rice field.) The edges of your lips curl upwards in a polite smile. You see Lando, your supposed fake boyfriend, try to imitate the bow, although he doesn't go as deep as you did. Your head tilts slightly at his action. 

Jinnie is the first one who speaks, stretching a hand in front of her to shake hands with the McLaren team. She introduces herself in fluent English, “I’m Jinnie Jo of HAN Entertainment. It's a pleasure to meet you. This is [Name].”

They each introduce themselves one by one. Nicole, Greg, Kyla, and Louis. You try to memorize their faces and their names, drilling it into your brain so you won't forget. You're going to be working closely with them after all.

“Hi,” you greet them. You also shake hands with each of them. It feels weird, shaking hands as greetings. You are more accustomed to bowing. 

“Wow, Jinnie, your accent is good,” Kyla compliments your manager.

“Thank you,” Jinnie smiles pleasantly. “I was born in Chicago. English is my first language.”

“How about her? Does she speak English?” Louis inquires. He's giving you a funny look. You ignore it.

“She does,” you smile at him pleasantly. “I’m very fluent. You don't have to worry.”

Risha, the Canadian member of ORACLE, was the one who helped you master English. You even have a Canadian accent when you speak English because of her. Additionally, you also took language classes when you were a trainee—Japanese, Chinese, English, and you even requested Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Korean sign language. You dabbled a bit on Tagalog, too, because you know how large the ORACLE fanbase is in the Philippines. You continued taking the classes up even after debut, even after all the members of the group had stopped, because you wanted to master the languages for the fans, to be able to hold conversations with them, to connect with them. You only stopped going to the classes after leaving the group two years ago. It's nice to see that your English skills are still in perfect shape.

“Please take a seat,” Nicole invites. You and Jinnie sit down. You place your bag on the empty chair beside you and when you pull your gaze up, you coincidentally meet Lando’s eyes. They're blue and green with flecks of hazel dusted in the middle. It's the first time you've seen someone with eyes wielding three different colors. They're stunning.

You smile at him. He smiles back and then averts his gaze. You turn to Nicole, who’s sitting beside you.

“Now,” she says, putting two folders on the table. She slides them towards you and Jinnie. Jinnie picks them up. You don't. Instead, you stare at them. 

“What are these?” you question, slowly bringing your eyes up and meeting Nicole’s gaze.

“Contracts,” she answers.

“Contracts?” you echo, picking the folder up and opening it. You take your sweet time reading from top to bottom, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“You don't have to read it all. It's all just formalities. Just sign it,” Louis inputs. “Reading can be hard for you since it's not your first language—”

“I read just fine,” you interrupt, not glancing up as your eyes thoughtfully scan through the words printed on the paper. “Thank you for the concern but this is a contract that involves me and my future. I wish to know what I’m agreeing to.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. You put your hand on your mouth so you can discreetly smirk.

When you finish reading, you slowly set the folder back on the table. You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you tap your finger on the wooden surface of the table. 

“This is unfairly written, don't you agree?” you ask. “You're putting rather lots of demands on me but so little on him.”

From beside you, Jinnie thins her lips. You know she's also thinking the same thing. Fucking HAN Entertainment. They didn't even make sure that the contents of the contracts are not disadvantageous towards you. You are disappointed but not surprised. They really just sent you to be devoured by wolves and demanded you to not make a mistake.

McLaren also thinks they can just choose a washed-up KPop idol to cosplay as their golden boy’s trophy girlfriend and make her do all their demands with little benefits and zero complaint. They deliberately chose someone who still holds popularity but little power. Someone who needs them as badly as they need her. They chose you.

Assholes. The two of them.

“What do you want him to do anyway?” Louis sneers. His face is beginning to look a little too annoying. “He's busy building his career. All you have to do is support him and make sure everyone knows it because you have none. That's all. Or is that a little hard for you?”

Louis is getting this all wrong. Jinnie told you that you're going to fix his reputation for him so his career wouldn't be ruined. In exchange, he gives you publicity so you could bring your career back from ruination. This is not a parasitic relationship where only their side gets the benefits. How could you even work on that comeback of yours if you're going to be glued by his side? 

Your jaw ticks with restraint yet you choose to smile, “He’s not the only one building his career.”

You pick up the folder and toss it to Jinnie, who catches it skillfully. 

“Throw that away. We're flying home. I don't need a PR relationship to promote my single that much.”

Satisfaction fills you when their faces grow alarmed. 

Ha.

“Wait,” Kyla stands and she shoots a dirty glance towards Louis. Your eyebrows scrunch a little. “The contracts are open to revisions.”

You clap your hands together, smiling widely.

“Perfect. Jinnie, hand me a pen.”

The team leaves you and Lando alone in the hall to eat, to give you both a chance to get to know each other. 

You allow your eyes to scan the hall. It has a bright spacious ambiance. The windows are stretched from the floor to the ceiling, allowing as much natural light inside. Singapore looks absolutely breathtaking down below. The flooring is made out of natural pine and a crystal chandelier hangs atop the table where you and Lando ate. You keep thinking: what if it'll fall? You shake the thought out of your head and put a fork full of pasta into your mouth.

“Is the pasta good?” Lando asks. You nod, humming and smiling. You don't like it one bit. You're also mildly allergic to shellfish. You're definitely going to get a bad case of rash later. You hope Jinnie is prepared with a medicine kit. You forgot to bring yours.

You wipe your mouth with your table napkin, announcing, “I’m full.”

You have only eaten half the plate.

“Oh you have a…” Lando points at the corner of his lips. You wipe the same area in your face. “No, the other side.”

You wipe the other side, “Is it gone?”

“Allow me,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning across the table to thumb the stain. 

“Is it gone?” you ask again. Lando nods.

“Yeah, it is.”

He goes back to his seat.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You're already doing great with the whole fake boyfriend act.”

A flustered smile splits Lando’s face, shaking his head.

“I try.”

“By the way,” you begin, leaning a little forward. “Did they also give you a folder with my information?”

Lando nods, “Yeah.”

“Did they also suck?”

He purses his lips.

“Well….” he drawls.

“You can tell me if it sucks. The one my manager gave me looks like it's copy-pasted from Wikipedia.”

Lando chuckles. 

“I mean, your biography is very…detailed? Too detailed, I think. I didn't remember most of them, sorry. I only remember a few of them. Like your birthday. January 1, 2000.”

“1999.”

“Pardon?”

You wave your hand in a theatrical flourish, “I was born in 1999. The company manipulated my public information.”

Lando’s brows raise in surprise.

“They do that?”

“You’ll be surprised,” you lean back into your chair.

“But why?”

“So every member in ORACLE can be born in 2000. I don't know,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“That seems like an unnecessary change.”

“It is,” you agree. “But HAN wants everything to be perfect. They see a flaw. They fix it to their liking immediately.”

“What are the other things that are a scam in your biography?”

“Scam is a big word,” you tell him, amused. “But I’ll tell you. In exchange, tell me about yourself. Not the info I can read in Wikipedia. In order to make this work, I have to know you.”

To be loved is to be known.

“Alright,” Lando says. “We can take turns asking each other questions.”

“Cool,” you bring a glass of water towards your lips, taking a sip. “I’ll start. How do you like your coffee?”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #kpop idol! reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 imagines #fanfic

[alexa-fika]

Could I ask for robin and franky kinda adopting a little girl? Like she sits and cuddles Robin whenever Robin is reading. Just loves how silly Franky can be? Just imagine a little kid running up to then when their scared

Relaxation and entertainment( Robin x f!child!reader x Franky)

A/N okay anon im gonna confess, I ‘ve had this ready for a week… maybe more. I just was so ashamed cause I thought it was really bad so I just kind buried under other works but you deserve something even if it’s not the best.

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha as a placeholder which means reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Robin sat in her usual spot, on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Sitting at one of the tables and enjoyed one of the rare peaceful moments they were able to have as she read one of her books.

In her lap sat the youngest of the crew, a darling little girl who was taken in by the crew; she had grown particularly fond of two of the members; however, the one she was currently cuddling with and a certain Cola-loving Cyborg

“Here you go, Robin-chan,” Sanji said, dropping down a drink in front of the archeologist, his usual love-sick look adorning his features

“Thank you, Sanji,” Robin replied, smiling at the blond and putting her book down

“Anything for you, Robin-chan,” he exclaimed, heart filling his eyes until he glanced down at the child in her lap

“Here you go, Dokucha,” he said, placing a similar looking drink in front of her

She beams quickly, grabbing the drink

“Thank you, Sanji-nii!”

“You’re welcome,” Sanji replies, ruffling their hair and waving the pair goodbye as he entered the kitchen once again

“It’s yummy, Robin-nee!”

“I’m glad it’s to your liking,” she says, smiling, her face softening as she looks down at the young child

“I love you, Robin-nee!”

Robin laughs and ruffles her hair gently

“Love you too,” she replies hugging her softly

“Franky-nii!”

Yeahhhhhh?

“Im boreeed”

“Uh oh, sounds like a big job for the SUPERRR Franky!“ he said, turning with them with his usual grin

“So whatcha bored about?”

She giggles at that and shrugs

“Everyone’s busy.”

“Well, if no one is around to entertain you, then it looks like it's up to me! You want to hang out and have some fun?”

“Yeaaah”

“Awesome! I've got a good idea... I know a new cola shop that has the good stuff; we could start there?”

“Wah, really?!”

“Yeah! It just opened, and they have all kinds of cola! They say they have one that's so good it makes your skin feel tingly; wanna try it?”

“Yeah!!”

“SUPERRRR” he exclaimed, throwing the small girl onto his shoulders and making his way out of the ship

“Superrrr,” she parrots, strings of laughs escaping her as she tightened her hold on his neck exited for the bubbly drink.

My first time trying this Format… what do you think? Nay or yay? I could also just write a transition between the two rather than dividing them, I just din’t have any idea how to join them so I wrote two different scenes, originally I had them separated by a divider/timelapse but I thought ‘Might as well try this’

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

#franky x oc #franky #straw hat robin #robin x oc #straw hat pirates #strawhat franky #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #one piece fluff #one piece x child!reader #nico robin #robin x reader #nico robin x reader #nico robin x you #nico robin x y/n #nico robin x oc #franky x reader